Thirteen

 

Torin sat looking over another smoldering tower. Thin trails of black smoke rose above the stone tower, betraying the fact that it had been put to the torch. There was an unnatural silence, one that he noticed and felt lonely hearing. All around, the hills were green with flowers and the buds of new crops, but around the McBoyd tower there was nothing but death. From the front gate, four bodies hung. Those men would be McBoyd’s captains, the same ones who had attacked White Hill.

Torin didn’t feel any sense of victory. It was an ending, but there was nothing good about it. There were more widows now, and the color of their tartans didn’t matter—not here, not to these people. The only place that it mattered was in a palace where a boy was being used as the justification for seizing control. It was not a unique battle; history was full of them.

“Why would the Douglas tell us to come here when he was clearly no’ going to wait for us?” Connor asked the question with suspicion coating his voice.

“He didna need us.” He never had. Torin cursed his lack of forethought. He wasn’t used to thinking on the orders of his overlord; he did as commanded. Which was exactly what someone had counted on.

“I need to return to Donan Tower.”

“Aye, that we do.”

Connor spoke with passion and turned his horse in the same moment that Torin did. Their men fell in behind them, shaking the roofing thatch of the villagers’ homes they passed. No one came out to see them; they hid inside their homes, fearing another round of justice. Torin leaned low over the neck of his stallion. He felt the prickle of urgency pushing him to go faster. The sun set and he pressed on, unwilling to rest.

Donan Tower was visible at dawn. Torin didn’t slow down to greet the villagers who waved to him on his way toward the bridge. Dread was pounding through him, driving him forward. The gate began to grind upward before he was halfway across, but he still had to pull his horse up and wait while it rose high enough to allow him to ride beneath.

Baeth stood on the top step, and the pallor of her face sent his blood boiling.

“Where is Shannon?”

His head of house looked furious. “Lundy took her off to Edinburgh.”

Torin roared. His rage shook the rafters and drew men and boys out from every corner of the castle. Brockton appeared with a scowl on his face.

“Cameron was with him, but they came with the authority of Archibald Douglas, the lieutenant general. We could nae hold her.”

“Cameron is a fair man.” Connor slid from his saddle, and his men followed. “We must rest the horses, or they’ll die beneath us halfway to Edinburgh.”

Torin wanted to argue, but his friend was correct. Two days of riding and his horse needed time to recover its strength. He dismounted in spite of every muscle resisting the urge.

“We will ride tonight.” Connor’s face was alight with anticipation in spite of the fatigue that was etched into his expression. Beneath his eyes there were dark smudges, but in his eyes there was no trace of that exhaustion.

“You may count on it, my friend. I will be honored to have yer company.”

Connor grinned cocky and arrogantly. “Of course I am coming. We Highlanders must stick together. We keep what we steal.”

“Ye have that correct, my friend. I will be keeping Shannon McBoyd, and woe be to the man who gets between me and what I consider mine.”

***

“I will bid ye farewell here, lass.” Quinton Cameron shot her a serious look. They were being escorted down a long hallway that echoed with the booted steps of the Douglas retainers surrounding them. They paused for a moment outside a set of double doors. A chamberlain stood there, his hand wrapped around a thick staff. He listened to the captain for a moment before disappearing through a small side door.

“I wish ye the best of luck too.”

“I doubt there is enough luck in the entire country.”

Cameron smothered a short bark of amusement. “Well, if nae luck at least ye have plenty of spirit.”

“And ye have an abundance of arrogance.”

Quinton didn’t bother to smother his laughter this time. It drew the disapproving looks of their escort. Shannon felt her lips twitching up too; if she were heading to her execution, there really was no reason not to enjoy what she might. If fate were going to be unkind, the least she might do is laugh at it.

The chamberlain appeared and walked back to his post. He cleared his throat before lifting the staff and striking the stone floor three times with it.

“His grace, the Earl of Douglas and lieutenant general, summons Shannon McBoyd.”

His voice bounced off the stone walls. The doors opened, and the sound of the wood parting was like a cannon. Shannon drew in a deep breath while her escort began moving. She hesitated, her pride refusing to jump the moment that she was told to. Cameron reached out, but she struck his hand away.

“I’ll take myself there.”

He watched her with an expression that was bright with respect. Shannon stepped forward and discovered that the first one was the hardest. After that her feet moved faster, until she was even with her escort once more. They all lowered themselves to a knee and stayed there while the man sitting in the throne aimed his attention at her.

Archibald Douglas was a proud man. That was the thing she noticed most about him. He sat on a raised platform in an ornately carved chair that looked fit for a king. He wore an overrobe that was fine wool dyed a deep blue. It was a costly dye, which none used save to polish vanity. He stared at her, frowning when she did not lower herself to a knee. All she offered him was a deep curtsy. He snorted and waved his hand.

“Leave us. Cameron, ye have our gratitude.”

Shannon straightened, stunned by the use of the word “our.” Only monarchs spoke in such a way. Of course, the man was king in everything but name. His retainers quit the room with another round of boot heels hitting stone.

“Ye are either brazen or foolish to nae get on yer knees in front of me.”

“I was taught to kneel in church and that I should not offer the same to any earthly person, else I diminish what I offer to God.”

He tilted his head and pressed his lips together in a hard line.

“Ye are more opinionated than I care for in a female. A woman should know her place. Which is lower than a man’s.”

Shannon lowered herself again, this time slowly. It was a silent mockery of him and his ego, possibly a foolish thing to do, but she refused to coddle him. She suddenly understood why so many nobles walked willingly to their deaths; they refused to abandon their dignity by begging the monarch who signed their death petitions.

She felt the same way, undeniably, deep inside herself.

Douglas laughed at her, a short bark that hit the closed doors behind her.

“I see yer point, mistress, and I’m pleasantly surprised to discover ye have enough spine to make it.” His eyes narrowed. “There aren’t many men who would test my good humor.”

He sat forward and began rubbing his fingers against one another. His forehead furrowed while he contemplated her.

“Yer father and brothers have been condemned for their allegiance to Atholl and for raiding the McLeren.”

He watched her to see her response. Shannon simply let out a short breath. It was practically a relief to have the matter at an end. The Earl of Douglas lifted one dark eyebrow.

“Ye have nothing to say?”

“Nothing that would change anything. My words will only further damn them. I watched them celebrate their raiding of the McLeren. It was disgusting.”

The earl nodded. “Aye, I suppose I see the direction of yer thinking. Yer father sent ye to Atholl, and if ye told me that, it would seal his fate all that much more. I owe McLeren a debt for preventing yer wedding.”

The earl stopped and fingered his chin while his gaze slid over her. From head to toe, he inspected her, every curve, even lingering over the apex of her thighs for a long moment. Her cheeks heated, but she bit back her scathing words. This man was powerful, and there was nothing she might say that would sway his opinion when it came to what he believed women were placed on earth for.

Torin did not treat her so…

The earl suddenly stiffened and drew in a harsh breath.

“I have nae decided what to do with ye, Shannon McBoyd. Not yet.”

Relief flooded into her so quickly, she stepped back, a single step that she was helpless to prevent. Douglas snickered, amused by her show of emotion.

“So ye do understand that I hold yer life in my hands. I am impressed with yer courage. Ye may see yer father once, and I suggest ye do it soon, because he’s nae going to see many more days.”

“My father is here?”

The Earl of Douglas nodded, his expression grave. “Every clan that stood with Atholl will feel the weight of my fist for it. Every traitor will die.”

He flicked his hand toward the door.

“Go on. See yer father, if ye please, and do nae give me a reason to sentence ye to the same fate. Ye will remain here and stay where I put ye until I’ve thought on the matter some more.”

Shannon lowered herself into a curtsy once again.

Douglas leaned forward and rubbed his fingers against one another again.

“Ye look like ye meant it that time. Why? Because I spared yer life? I didna promise ye that yet.”

“Ye said ye would think upon the matter more, which proves ye to be a reasonable man. That is something I can respect.”

His face reflected shock, his hands closing around the ends of the armrests.

“I see why yer father has no affection for ye, Shannon McBoyd. Ye are nae the sort of ego-coddling creature he prefers his underlings to be. That is worth a bit of thinking on the matter of what is to be done with ye. I have no stomach for cowards, be they male or female.”

His eyes narrowed, and she felt her throat tighten. The earl was a man who planned to rule, and that meant he could not afford subjects who refused to bend to him. That was where rebellions began. More than one king knew that to kill the leaders meant the rest would bend in submission.

“Go. I’ll think on yer fate.”

The door behind her opened, and two burly Douglas retainers moved up beside her. Turning her back on him, Shannon swept from the room.

But she couldn’t help wondering if the retainers wouldn’t be the same men who would later take her to her execution. Douglas might find it much easier to condemn her if he didn’t have to look at her face while he did so.

Too easy.

***

“She’s a strong girl.” Joan Beaufort moved out from behind the tapestry where she had been sitting. The widow of James I wore a simple overgown of wool to mark her mourning.

“She is a woman, which makes her more of a threat. I do nae need that sort of thing. Her blood alone is a good reason to send her to the gallows with her kin.”

Joan shook her head. “Daughters do not decide their father’s actions. They obey.”

“That does nae mean her blood will not inspire further rebellion among her father’s men.” The Earl of Douglas stood up and faced her. “This is Scotland, madam. If ye want yer son to remain king, you will listen to me. Strength is respected here.”

“And you believe it is different in England?” Joan kept her voice mild and smooth, just as pleasing as her face. “I saw plenty of executions as a girl there. In fact, there were times James was forced to watch them to remind him that he was a captive of the English king and subject to his will.”

“Then why are ye arguing with me, madam? I am the man who will help ye keep yer only son sitting on the throne. If I fail to keep these lairds in check, what do ye think will become of ye and yer gaggle of daughters?”

Joan Beaufort, cousin to the king of England, held her tongue through years of practice. She had only one living son. His twin had died at birth, and fate had given her nothing else save for daughters. Her position was precarious. Her son’s inheritance hung in the balance. The lairds of Scotland sneered at her English blood and the string of girl babies she’d produced. But James had loved every one of them, just as he’d loved her. Love was worth holding her tongue for, especially in the presence of a man who was too stupid to understand the treasure that love was. Douglas only looked at something if there was gain there for him. He was ruthless, but that was in her favor, because her son needed men like this one to help him remain king until he was a grown man. Once enough years had passed, Archibald Douglas would be given his due. She would wait silently until that day.

The Earl of Douglas took her silence as a sign of surrender to his will. “Ye need to keep yer mercy for yerself and yer children. Ye do nae have enough to spare.”

“You said you owed Laird McLeren. I hear he has affection for Shannon McBoyd. Would it not be a good reward to give her to him? That would settle your dues and cost you nothing in the doing of it.”

Douglas snickered. “He has lust for her, like any man. My own cock is hard after meeting her. She’s a fresh bit of meat with spirit, and that is something no Scot ignores. Especially no’ a Highlander.”

Joan walked in a small circle, fighting against the urge to snap at the man who was so gleefully trying to impose his will on her. A woman’s life was filled with tests of her resolve to outmaneuver the men surrounding her.

“I hear he flew a soiled sheet from his window after spending the night with her.”

“I heard it was an undergown, which means he tumbled her when he caught her in a dark-enough place.”

Joan drew in a deep breath to make certain her voice remained calm. Being queen had helped her refine her control in a manner that she had never thought possible.

“And yet Laird McLeren flew the proof of her virginity. I only thought to add that to your thinking. The man may well want her back. I hear your Highlanders consider what they take during raids to be theirs to keep. It is possible he will be most unhappy if you hang her.”

Douglas grunted. “Aye, ye have that correctly. Which is why I need to think on the matter.”

Joan Beaufort, queen of Scotland, lowered herself deeply and gracefully before the lieutenant general. She did it perfectly, and the man was vain enough to think her sincere. She was not. Inside, she was a cauldron of boiling discontent, but that must never be suspected. She was a mother, and all her energy must be directed at keeping her children in the positions to which their blood entitled them.

“I will await your decision.”

Joan quit the room, craving a bit of solace to calm herself. She must always be careful of showing her feelings. The earl was correct about one thing; she didn’t have enough friends to be worrying about other people’s children.

And still Shannon McBoyd drew her interest. She did not care for the fact that it was most likely that Douglas would send the girl to the gallows. Such an action would make everyone rest easier, for it would wipe out the last of the traitor’s blood and serve as a grisly example to those who might think about rising up against her son. Not only would they die, but their families would as well. It was one sure way to ensure that her son continued to wear the crown of Scotland.

But it would be innocent blood shed for the survival of her own innocent son.

It would also not be the first time such was needed. She could not say she was entirely against the idea.

Yet she could not set the matter aside either. Her conscience pestered her even as she tried to outwalk it.

***

The dungeon reeked, a true stench that made Shannon want to retch.

It smelled of blood and rot and worse yet, of fear. The stench was enough to make a person’s knees quiver.

Shannon followed the Douglas retainers down the rough stone steps toward the cell where her father was. The stone was uneven here and dirty. It smelled musty and dank from the lack of sunlight. She suddenly realized that she could smell the fresh springtime on her clothing; she noticed it because with each step the air became more stale and moldy. Every downward placement of her feet took her farther away from the light of day. It was like sinking into hell.

A soft whimpering touched her ears, and the grating of something against metal. They were forlorn sounds, almost too pitiful to endure. Candles flickered in their iron holders against the stone walls. There was a chill surrounding her that told her they were well underground now, where the earth was still frozen from winter. During the summer it must be like the mouth of hell, without a single breath of air to relieve the suffering.

Of course it was intended to be a place of suffering. The dungeon was where traitors went. She looked around at the black mold clinging to the stone walls and tried to recall the way her father had so gleefully celebrated slaughtering his neighbors. She couldn’t dismiss the fact that they were a good fit for each other, murderer and dungeon.

Another whimper and a sob. This time they were louder. There was something familiar about them too. Two more steps and they reached the main floor of the dungeon. The flickering flames from the candles danced over the mold-splattered walls while leaving deep shadows in the corners. The scent of human filth was so strong, her stomach heaved.

“Shannon McBoyd! You must beg Douglas for mercy for me!”

Shannon jumped away from the iron bars near her. Fergus appeared, and his face told her she’d discovered the source of the whimpering. He still wore the clothing she’d met him in, and she could smell the scent of his unwashed skin. His eyes narrowed, and envy shone brightly. His fingers clasped the iron bars so tightly, they turned a ghostly white where they were not black with grime.

“You tell him… you tell him to have mercy on me.” His voice broke, and another sob passed his lips. “He’ll listen to a woman. Tell him that I am naught but an obedient servant, doing as he was commanded.” His eyes brightened. “That’s the way of it. Tell him how diligent I am to the will of my master… tell him I will serve him as well.”

“Stupid weakling.” One of the Douglas retainers aimed a jab at the secretary. “The only mercy ye can expect is a hanging, as opposed to some of the things a traitor might expect. Besides, the girl cannae help herself, much less anyone else. Spend yer time making yer peace with God so that ye are ready to meet him. It will be soon.”

Fergus scooted back to avoid being hit, his sobbing becoming smothered behind one of his forearms. The retainer looked at her.

“Don’t try the lieutenant general’s patience by siding with traitors.”

It was wise advice, especially when she considered that Fergus was guilty. But her heart still ached. Life was a precious thing, full of so many wonders. Thinking that it was going to end was a misery beyond compare. She understood the lament surrounding her; it was plastered onto the walls with their thick wax drippings that had not been cleaned away. Beneath some of the candleholders, there was a full foot of wax dripped down the walls. Worse than that, where there were manacles set into the walls, the wax had been carefully molded into little sculptures of flowers and other things, like ships. Along the floor, she could see them scattered into the shadows, the hands that had formed them long gone. Scuff marks marred the floor, telling a horrible tale of prisoners who had been chained long enough to leave their marks in stone.

Her belly heaved again.

“McBoyd.” The retainer hit the iron bars of a cell with his long spear, making them vibrate. “Ye have a visitor.”

“Well now, is that a fact?” Her father rolled out of the bunk that stretched across one end of the cell. It wasn’t even long enough for a man to fully stretch out on, and it took up the entire width of the cell. It was also only a stone shelf and not really a bunk at all.

“Have ye brought me a priest, lads? Better fetch the man a stool. My confession is going to take a good long time.”

Her father peered through the dim gloom toward her. He began chuckling, continuing into full laughter.

“Ye brought me my daughter. The most useless thing God ever cursed me with! I suppose this is Douglas’s attempt to torment me.”

He stumbled toward the front of the cell, unable to straighten up because of the low roof.

“Well now, girl, look at this mess ye’ve gotten me into.”

“Shannon?” Her oldest brother spoke from the cell next to her father’s. “Shannon, ye must go to the earl and beg him for mercy for us.”

“Aye, there’s an idea.” Her father suddenly raked her with cold eyes. “Offer yerself to him. A man will do a lot for his mistress. I hear Douglas has quite a hunger for female flesh. Maybe that’s the reason God cursed me with a daughter.”

He reached through the bars. “Go on, I tell ye. Get on yer knees, and tell him ye will please him any way he likes. I hear McLeren had ye, so ye should know yer way around a cock now. That should do the trick. Use everything ye learned in McLeren’s bed to coax Douglas into freeing yer kin. Even the mighty lieutenant general is nae stronger than his lust.”

“Aye, Shannon, Douglas likes his women on their knees, I hear.” Her brother sounded hopeful. “Suck his cock…”

“Stop it! Enough scheming. Look what it has brought ye.”

Her father snarled and reached through the bars too, but she was not close enough for his fingers to grasp. “Ye’ll do as I command, Daughter! I am yer sire! God demands that ye obey me…”

“I will nae.”

Shannon turned around because she just couldn’t stand the pathetic sight any longer. Her father let out a strangled sound.

“A curse and blight upon ye, then! Do ye hear me, Daughter? A curse upon ye…”

“Yer blood is curse enough, traitor.” One of the retainers tilted his head to the side and looked at her. “I suggest ye leave. There is nothing for ye here. At least the earl did nae say ye were to join this lot.”

“Aye. A kindness, that.”

She left the dungeon much faster than she had entered it. It felt like a blessing to emerge from the musty, stale air. The chill clung to her long after she smelled the change in the air. That was because it was coming from her heart. She scolded herself for becoming upset. Her sire had never seen her as anything but a burden.

“The lieutenant general has given orders that ye be kept in the south tower.”

The Douglas retainer spoke almost kindly toward her. The man watched her through an expression that guarded his true thoughts. Living in the palace must make it a necessity to be able to hide what you were thinking.

“I am ready to go there.”

The retainer nodded with approval. Shannon cringed as she realized that the man was not sure if she would do as her father instructed or not.

Was she wrong not to? Wasn’t life worth more than her pride?

She followed the two men, her thoughts tearing at her. But she recalled the way Torin had looked at her when she was on her knees facing him, and her entire body rebelled against doing as her father commanded.

That wasn’t pride; it was love. She couldn’t offer herself to the earl, because she loved Torin. It might mean her death, but she could not change how she felt. It was too strong, filling her heart to the point of madness. That love had the power to drive the scent of the dungeon away. It was life, shining and shimmering with everything wonderful. She allowed it to fill her mind while she followed the Douglas retainers to her assigned chamber. It was a cell, but so much better than she had dared to hope for. She kept her mind on that, and it gave her the courage to keep placing one foot in front of the other.

She would not be dragged, and she would not whimper. At least, not until the door was shut and no one might witness her shame.

“Here it is. It’s not so bad. I’ll send some of the maids up this way.” The older of the two men looked around the room and nodded. “Mind ye, ye will not be allowed out without escort. I’m going to leave young John at the door. Do nae be giving him any trouble while I’m fetching up some girls to tend ye. I dinna like to treat the lasses poorly, but I’ll do what needs done, to make sure I follow my orders.”

“I shall nae, and thank you.”

The man tilted his head slightly. “Ye are a good lass. Shame about yer kin, though. Right nasty lot they are. Still, at least yer no’ sharing the dungeon with them.”

“Yes, that is a kindness. Please thank the earl for me.”

Maybe the last she might expect. In truth, it was more than she had hoped for along the road, with Lundy aiming sneers her way. The door shut, leaving her to investigate her prison. It was certainly better than where she had just visited her family. The room was large enough for a bed and sitting area. It was an entire floor of the tower and had windows set into three sides of it. They were small windows, but the afternoon breeze blew through them with a whistling sound. She could smell the heather blooming in the hills, just a faint hint of it, but her senses were keen to it.

Life was most definitely sweeter now that she felt it slipping away from her.

Besides the bed, there were a table and two chairs. No fireplace to cut the chill, but there were curtains hung on the bed. The floor was bare, the wood marked in places. The wind whistled again, this time sounding lonely. There was a forlorn feeling in the chamber, the furniture seeming to hold so many tales yet unable to voice them. How many days could she last within the bare walls, with nothing to do save think, before her father’s idea became palatable? She doubted she would be the first prisoner broken by the stone she stared at. What value did pride have when there was nothing to do, no one to listen to, absolutely nothing at all?

But she had her memories of Torin. Her lips curled up, and she walked in a slow circle while she allowed the images of him to fill her mind. Contained inside her mind were treasures of recollections too priceless to name. She happily allowed them to drown out everything else.

***

Well after sunset someone knocked on the door. Shannon turned to watch one of the retainers arriving with more food. He set it down and left without a word. She stared at the food but was sure it would stick in her throat if she attempted to swallow any of it.

Was Torin coming for her?

She closed her eyes and felt as though she could see him riding that stallion of his.

But would that be enough?

Torin would be subject to the earl’s will too. She paced around the chamber until the lack of light sent her into the bed. She might burn the candles, but there was something fitting about the darkness. It suited her dark thoughts, so she climbed into the bed and shivered, in spite of the blankets.

In her dreams she reached out for him, straining to make her fingertips reach him. Sometime in the darkest hours of the morning, she relaxed. There was no longer any reason to struggle. She could feel him near, feel his presence in the night. Smell his scent…

She turned her face toward that teasing hint that she was no longer alone. She sighed when she felt the warm slide of fingers along her jaw, the palm cupping her cheek. No one did that except Torin…

Her lover…

“Sweet Shannon… open yer eyes, lass.”