Chapter 18

18

T he journey back to the keep had been long and arduous. Elvira and Rory had been marched back at an intense pace, leaving them gasping for breath with their muscles aching. The keep ascended in the distance, a huge blot against the beauty of the natural landscape. The stone that had been used to build the keep was a dark shade of gray, as though it had always been designed to be ominous. The sense of dread that pervaded the keep was palpable, as though a perennial storm lingered above. Elvira felt sick to her stomach. This was the place she had sought to avoid for so long, yet now she was in the heart of darkness. Her skin prickled just knowing that the Laird was nearby. Everyone she passed looked at her with disdain. They spat at the ground and flung curses towards her. They tried to make her feel ashamed for her culture and her heritage, but they would not succeed.

Samuel and the other guards led them down to the dungeons, throwing them in the same cell.

"Ye can suffer and wait for yer fate taegether," Samuel said. It was perhaps the last mercy he would provide. The dungeon was dark and dank. A lantern hung outside the cell, offering dim amber light. The ground was hard and cold. Elvira expressed dismay at her surroundings as she rubbed her wrists. Their hands had been freed when they had been placed in the dungeon.

"Let me look at ye. Did ye get hurt in the battle?" Elvira asked, reaching out towards Rory to examine him in case he had any lingering wounds. He wasn't dripping blood, but that didn't mean a bone couldn't have been cracked, and it was likely that bruises adorned his flesh. However, Rory pulled away and moved towards the bars.

"I'm fine," he snapped, testing the strength of the bars. He moved from one to the next in a straight line, curling his fingers around each bar and heaving it with all his might, bending back to try and pry the bars loose. However, they were sunk deep into the stone, and there was no hope of moving them. Rory still tried them all, though.

Elvira narrowed her eyes after he stepped away from her, annoyed that he refused her kindness. "Why did ye come for me? Ye should hae gone tae the tavern and told the others what happened. Ye should hae saved yeself."

"I went with ye tae protect ye. What kind of man would I be if I hae left ye tae fend for yeself? If ye hae listened tae me in the first place, then we would nae be in this situation. I knew that Samuel could nae be trusted. It was tae suspicious that he wanted tae meet ye alone," Rory scowled.

Elvira tilted her head back and folded her arms across her chest. "Aye, well, I thought I could trust him. He hae lost all sense."

"Aye, and if he's nae an ally, who is? Can we even trust that Hamish still wants tae betray his Da? I dinnae like this at all. I feel like we came here on a rumor, and now we're suffering for it."

"Sae ye are blaming me for this?" Elvira asked in a haughty tone. She arched her eyebrows towards him. Rory slowly turned away from the bars and looked down his nose at her. He pursed his lips, thinking about his words carefully. When he spoke, his voice was slow and rasping.

"I dinnae blame ye for Laird McKovac. I dinnae blame ye for Samuel. I saw the way people treated ye out there," Rory shook his head in dismay, as though he could not believe people had behaved that way even though he had seen it with his own eyes. "It's nae right, and something needs tae be done tae stop it. But I dae blame ye for what is about tae happen. If the Laird forces me tae make weapons for him… I cannae bear the thought that my creations are gaeing tae be used by an evil man like him. What if they use my weapons when they attack the village? The blood of people I care about will be spilled by my weapons… ye hae just given him an advantage, Elvira."

"I was trying tae save yer life. Samuel was just about tae cut off ye head," Elvira glared at him, confused at how someone could be angry at her for saving their life. Rory skulked around the walls of the dungeon, kicking at the walls. Thud, thud, thud… the noise was maddening. "Will ye stop daeing that?"

"I'm trying tae find a way out of here," Rory snapped.

"I'm surprised ye dinnae just bash ye head against the wall if ye are sae determined tae die."

"I'm nae determined tae die. I dinnae want tae die. I just dinnae want tae be used as a puppet by the enemy."

"Well, I dinnae want tae see ye die right in front of me. It was the only thing I could think of at the time. Next time we are in that situation, I'll just let them chop ye head off," Elvira rolled her eyes and shook her head. She leaned her head against the wall and let out a frustrated sigh, which rolled around the dungeon. Then, there was another sound. It was deep and rich, and at first, she couldn't quite believe she was hearing anything like it. Then, she turned to Rory to confirm that she wasn't hearing things. He had thrown his head back and was laughing uproariously.

"Oh, grand, ye hae lost ye mind," Elvira muttered.

Rory shook his head and kept laughing. He wiped tears from his eyes and approached her, slumping down to the ground, crossing his legs. "It's nae that, it's just… here we are, arguing again. I remember when I saved ye from the bandits, ye chastised me, and now I'm angry at ye for saving me. Ah, I am nae really mad at ye, I am just frustrated that we were captured."

"I suppose we hae tae argue with each other when there is naebody else around," Elvira confessed, allowing a smirk to drift across her face. "The truth is, I'm angry at Samuel. I cannae believe he is sae short-sighted tae side with the Laird."

"Did he tell ye why?"

"Aye, his sister is still ailing and he needs medicine. The healers are all hiding, at least the ones that hae nae already been killed by McKovac. Instead of turning against the Laird tae drive him away and welcome the Romani back, he seems tae think that the Laird cannae be stopped."

"I'm starting tae get that impression myself," Rory sighed, grimacing. He picked up a small stone and threw it against the wall. Then, he rose, and began looking in every nook and cranny. He disappeared into the far corner, swallowed by the shadows. The light did not reach far enough to penetrate the darkness there.

"What are ye daeing?" she asked.

"I'm looking for an escape. I cannae just sit her and dae naething, waiting for our inevitable fate. There hae tae be a loose stone somewhere, or a wee hole. Maybe if we can create one, ye can burrow out," he said.

"I'm nae sure that's gaeing tae be possible. Laird McKovac is known for keeping people in his dungeons. I hae nae heard any story of anyone escaping."

"Then we can be the first," Rory replied. Elvira sighed and shook her head, refusing to join him because she would rather recover her strength.

"Ye should rest with me. Ye are nae gaeing tae find a way out of here."

"Ye dinnae know that. I need tae try."

"But why? Ye are wasting ye time."

"It's my time tae waste," Rory replied firmly. It was clear to Elvira that she wasn't going to talk sense into him. He was one of those men that needed to do something just to feel like they were accomplishing anything. She left him to his own devices, scraping and prodding about, until the noise became too vexing to stand.

"Will ye give that a break," Elvira eventually said, looking to the ceiling and holding out her hand. "Are ye gaeing tae poke intae every crevice?"

"If I need tae, aye," Rory said.

"Why? There is nae escape. We need tae rest, sae that when we are released, we can look for an opportunity."

"We cannae wait that long. There is nae gaeing tae be an opportunity like that once they come for ye," Rory said. Elvira noticed the way he said ‘you' instead of ‘us'. She angled her body towards him. He was a silhouette standing with his back to her.

"Rory, what is this really about?" she asked.

Rory hung his head. He exhaled deeply and trundled back toward her, sinking to the ground again. "I dinnae know as much about this land as ye, but I hae seen enough and heard enough about the Laird tae know that naething good awaits ye here. As soon as he calls for ye, ye are doomed."

Elvira welcomed the concern in his voice, but she was not prone to fear. She swept locks of her hair away and spoke in a calm voice. "Rory, I am nae afraid of him."

Rory's gaze shot up, and he glared at her, looking shocked. "What dae ye mean? How can ye nae be scared? Ye hae seen the way he treats ye people, how he hae his guards hunting ye. He is cruel and insane. I dread tae think what he hae planned for ye. Whatever fate lies in store for me… the one waiting for ye is gaeing tae be far worse and there is naething I can dae about it. I will nae be able tae protect ye."

Elvira drew her neck back and regarded him with an icy stare, but this coldness was not meant for him, it was meant for the man who had started all this; Laird McKovac himself.

"Rory, while I appreciate that ye hae put yeself in danger for me, I dinnae need ye tae protect me. I hae been surrounded by danger my entire life. I hae seen friends and family be hunted by Laird McKovac's men. I hae seen our homes burned. I hae skulked away in the night hiding from his patrols. My Da died at the hands of his men. I hae always known fear and danger. It hae been a part of my life, sae this is nae new tae me. It is the curse of every Romani tae know that a fate like this is likely, yet still, we live. Still, we thrive. Still, we dae everything we can tae survive. I am nae afraid of the Laird because he is a cruel, petty man whose heart is twisted with rage. There is nae joy in his life. No matter how many Romani he kills, he will still be bitter, a hollow husk of a man. He is nae even a ghost. I am nae gaeing tae waste my time being afraid of him. I only fear what may happen tae my people. But, as long as I am being held against my will, it means that others of my kind are free. I will take the punishment if it means they can be saved. And when I stand before Laird McKovac I will look in his eyes and he will nae see me cower in fear. He will nae hear me beg for my life. I am a Romani, and while we are intimately familiar with death, we dinnae fear it from men like McKovac. I will nae give him the satisfaction. He might kill me, but he will nae win. I promise ye that."

Her words dripped with determination. She was tenacious and unflappable, and she meant every single word she spoke. The Laird had set many things in motion. People had died by actions carried out by men under his command, and this atmosphere of hatred and prejudice had festered under his rule. However, he was the one at the heart of it all and while Elvira had always been scared about what could happen, she was not scared of the man himself. The worst he could do to her was take her life, and she had been prepared for that a long time ago.

Elvira could feel her heart hardening inside her, becoming like stone. Rory's lips were parted. He didn't know what to say. Perhaps there was nothing he could say. He started to reach out to her with a tender hand, but then they heard the sound of guards stomping towards them. One of them took out a key and unlocked the door. Rory stood up, facing them.

"It's time for ye tae come with us," the guard said.

"We are nae gaeing anywhere," Rory said defiantly.

"Dinnae be stupid," the guard said. Another man came up and struck Rory across the face, his fist moving so swiftly that Rory did not get a chance to defend himself. Rory cried out, more from shock than pain, cradling his face. Elvira pushed herself up and went to his side, inspecting the blow. Thankfully, there would be no lasting damage.

"Come on, the Laird is waiting," the guard said.

"We will nae make any trouble," Elvira replied.

The guard snorted. "Aye, fine words coming from ye. Ye people always make trouble," he said. Elvira scowled at him. The hatred in his words was so casual. There was no shame from any of them. Before Elvira left, she let the cloak fall from her shoulders, leaving it in the dungeon. She was tired of hiding her face. If they were going to mock her and torture her, then they would have to see her for what she was. They would witness the pride on her face and the resolute expression. She would show them that she could handle death better than any of them could handle life, and perhaps, through her efforts, she could shame them into seeing themselves.

Elvira and Rory did not exchange a word as they were led up from the dungeons, through winding hallways, towards a great hall. Elvira's heart thumped in her chest, but her face belied none of her fear. Her expression was placid, and she tried to make herself as cold as the stones that had been used to build this keep.

The guards opened the sturdy doors of the great hall. There were feasting tables arranged around the room, as well as copious amounts of alcohol. There was a stale smell lingering in the hall, hinting at the revelry that stained the air. At the end of the hall, Laird McKovac sat on his throne, a man who looked as though he had been carved out of granite. His face had a deathly pallor, while he was draped in thick black cloaks that hid his physique. He was flanked by his advisors and his son, Hamish. Elvira looked in Hamish's direction, but could not discern anything from his face. She feared that his rebellion had been a lie all along, a way to give people false hope that things might change.

As soon as they entered the hall, Rory sidled past her, trying to put himself in between her and the laird. Elvira appreciated his efforts, but knew they were futile. The Laird was obsessed with Romani people. As they walked forward, the guards pushed past her as well to draw Rory back. They grabbed him and tore him away, pushing him aside. Elvira maintained her composure, not wanting to show any sign of weakness. She feared that if she showed concern for Rory, then Laird McKovac might prey on that, might hurt Rory to get at her. Next to him was a younger man, the spitting image of his father, but a much kinder aura emanate from him; Hamish.

"Bring this mongrel tae me," Laird McKovac said, beckoning Elvira forward with a bony finger. The nail at the end was long and yellow. Wispy white hair fell about his face. His eyes were beady, like a hawk. Elvira stepped forward and met his gaze, wanting to show that she was not daunted by his presence. As she came closer, Laird McKovac's expression changed. His eyes widened, as though he had seen a ghost. His mouth parted, revealing yellowed teeth and a black abyss. He pointed to Elvira, trembling. At first, she thought it was anger, but she quickly realized it was fear.

"Ye… this cannae be!" he cried, and then leaned forward, perching on the edge of his throne. One more inch, and he would have toppled off. "Nae," the breath rushed out of him. "Maria… it cannae be ye… Maria. Ye look just like ye did back… ah, ye devil woman! Ye witch! Release me from this curse, release me! "

His tone turned from low to desperate in an instant, as though some force possessed him. He lunged forward, pushing himself from his throne and falling to his knees. He clasped his hands together and looked up at Elvira, haunting desperation in his eyes.

"Please, Maria. I hae suffered… oh how I hae suffered. Ye must release me from this terrible curse. Please, I am begging ye," he croaked, and muttered insane, unintelligible words that barely made any sense. His advisors ran forward and grabbed him, hauling him back to the throne. He was still babbling, talking about how Maria had haunted him for years, how he had been unable to sleep because of the curse. He was shaking terribly, and at that moment Elvira realized that she held all the power. It wasn't her who needed to be afraid of the Laird at all. Rather, he was afraid of her.