Chapter 15

Eleven Years Earlier…

"The coffers are empty," Laird Rory MacKay announced to his wife and daughter as they broke the fast. "We dinnae have enough coin tae pay the king's taxes. I am forced tae go a begging tae Laird Bain Sutherland tae either petition the King tae give us more time tae pay or tae give us coin himself."

Seventeen-year-old Isabelle MacKay looked up in concern. The foul, bad-tempered tone of his voice was a warning sign that violence would soon follow. She sat very still, waiting to see what choice he would make. Her mother, Ella, did the same. Everything within Isabelle screamed to run, but she would not leave her mother to face his wrath alone. Fortunately for the both of them, this time he chose not to lash out.

"As he is me friend, I believe that he will grant me his grace. Be ready tae leave within the hour," he instructed. Standing, he left the house to tell the stable master to prepare the horse and cart, grumbling about the humiliation of a proud Highland man being forced to beg.

"If he did nae drink away all of our money, he would nae have tae beg the King for leniency," her mother muttered under her breath as they went to prepare for the visit.

"Shh, Mama, he might hear ye," Isabelle cautioned. She was terrified of getting another beating. The bruises from the last beating her mother had received had not quite healed yet.

"I dinnae care if he hears me," her mother argued in rebellion, even though they both knew that that was not true.

"Mama, he will beat ye again and I will nae be able tae stop him!" She knew that her mother was terrified but was putting on a brave face for Isabelle's sake.

"Dae as he has commanded and prepare fer departure," Ella instructed.

"Why does he wish fer us tae go with him?"

"I dinnae ken, but we must dae as he says."

They informed the cook to pack enough food for the journey, gathering anything else that they might need, then joined Rory out by the horse and cart. Isabelle climbed into the back of the cart, while her mother sat next to her father. "Are ye nae afraid that the Laird Sutherland will take the horse and cart from ye in payment fer this favor?" Isabelle's mother dared to ask.

"He will nae dae so if he wishes tae get any money from me in repayment. As our only source of transportation, it would be foolish tae take the mare from me." As the laird of the Clan MacKay, he should have had many horses, but he had gambled and drank them all away.

Isabelle doubted that the Laird Sutherland or the King would care about her father's excuses, but she said nothing. They journeyed in silence, only stopping to relieve themselves and water the horses. When they arrived at Sutherland's fortress, the laird greeted them with happy smiles. "Rory, me friend, tae what dae I owe the honor? Where are yer men?"

Rory dismounted from the cart and handed the mare's reins to a stable hand. "I have traveled alone so that we might speak in private."

Sutherland nodded in understanding. "Come, dine with me in the great hall. We will speak further upon the matter when there are nae so many people about tae hear us. Yer wife and daughter are welcome tae join us fer the evening meal as well. Ye will stay the night, of course. I will have the servants prepare ye a place."

"We thank ye, Bain, and accept yer generous hospitality," Rory nodded in gratitude, then followed the laird inside.

"Is yer son still in France?" the laird asked as he led them into the hall.

"He is," Rory confirmed. "We dinnae expect him tae return fer some time yet."

"He is doing well then?"

Rory nodded. "He is."

"I look forward tae seeing how he puts his newfound skills tae good use fer the clan upon his return."

"He will dae his duty tae his laird and his people."

"Aye, I ken that he will. Join me fer a drink, Rory?"

Rory smiled. "Aye, Bain, I will."

Isabelle and her mother shared a look. He was always more angry and violent when he was drinking. Rory sat with the laird on the raised dais. In order to avoid being within Rory's direct reach, Isabelle and her mother joined some of the other women of the clan for the evening meal at a different table. The Laird Sutherland and Rory spent half of the meal with their heads together speaking of business and the other half drinking more alcohol than any two people should ever consume. As the evening wore on, the louder and more boisterous they got. Isabelle and her mother retired to their beds as early as was acceptable.

Usually, guests who were not of noble station would sleep in the hall on pallets with everyone else, but Rory, as a laird in his own right, was given a private bedchamber. He was a special favorite of the Laird Sutherland's and was always treated to the highest levels of hospitality during meals and a room that once belonged to the Laird Sutherland himself as a boy. They had grown up together, played together, fought together, as foster brothers.

When Rory had married Ella, he had inherited her father's croft at the edge of the Sutherland laird's lands upon his death, but they never stayed there when they visited. Ella's father had been disowned by his own family when he had married a Sutherland woman of low birth, so he had spent his days in trade transporting goods for his wife's clan. It was on one such trade run that Rory had met Ella and desired her so much that he had wedded her very soon thereafter. Ella had no notion of what she was getting herself into, blinded by the fact that he was a laird, with land and power. It was a choice that she would regret till the end of her days.

Isabelle and her mother lay in the darkness of the bedchamber anxiously awaiting Rory's return. "How does it feel tae be home again, Mama?"

Her mother sighed. "This is nae me home."

"I meant being on your clan's lands once more," Isabelle clarified.

"I ken what ye meant. Go tae sleep, lass. It has been a long day."

"Aye, Mama." Isabelle tried to obey, but she could not sleep for fear of what might come.

When Rory came staggering in that night, he was too drunk to do anything but collapse into bed. It was a mercy in the moment, but come the morning he would be in a foul mood. Isabelle closed her eyes, praying that things would be different since they were among other people. Her father would not wish to lose face with his friend by making a public scene, or at least she hoped that he would not. He had not behaved this way before her brother Arran had left for France. He had always been a drunkard, but it had been as if her brother's leaving had been the catalyst for her father's abuse. Isabelle knew that it had to be something more than that. Something had to have changed within him, but she did not know what.

Once her father's snores began to fill the room, Isabelle allowed herself to drift off to sleep. He cannae harm anyone in his sleep, was her last thought as sleep finally claimed her.

"Where have ye been, woman?" Rory's angry voice broke through Isabelle's sleep fogged brain.

"I went down tae the kitchen tae arrange fer yer usual morning restorative drink," Ella answered him, her voice uncertain. She held the cup in her hand. It was what she always did for him after a night of drinking, to ease the inevitable headache.

"I heard the Laird Sutherland's voice outside o' the door afore ye entered. Were ye with Bain this night?"

"It is morning, me love. I didnae leave this room until the dawn. The Laird Sutherland saw me out by meself and generously walked me back tae the room. He was in the great hall when I passed by, that is all," she answered, her voice quivering as his tone became more enraged.

Rory looked as if his eyes might pop out of his head. "Were ye in his bed?"

Ella's eyes widened in surprise. "Nay, I was nae. How could ye say such a thing?"

Isabelle arose from her pallet on the floor, fear gripping her heart.

"I saw ye eyeing him at supper last night. Ye were gone when I awoke afore the dawn. Ye were with him. I ken it tae be true. Ye have whored yerself tae the Laird Sutherland fer coin, have ye nae?"

Ella shook her head. She was trembling and crying. "I didnae dae any such thing. How can ye accuse me of being unfaithful? I would nae e'er dae such a thing. I would nae damn me eternal soul fer the sake of some coin."

"Dinnae talk back tae me, ye bitch!" Rory backhanded Ella causing her much smaller body to be propelled backwards under the sheer force of the blow. The drink that she had brought him to soothe his headache dropped and shattered on the floor. This made him angrier, and he proceeded to beat her, punching and kicking her defenseless frame.

"Faither, stop! Ye are killing her! Stop!" Isabelle screamed and sobbed, attempting to pull him off of her mother.

Rory shoved Isabelle back away from him as if she were little more than a gnat and continued to pummel his wife. Blood poured from the cuts on Ella's head and face, terrifying Isabelle further. Her father did not slow down. Unable to pull him off of her mother by herself, Isabelle looked all about her for a way of subduing her father long enough for her to get her mother to safety. Her eyes fell on a small wooden stool in the corner near the hearth. She moved over to the fireplace, picked up the stool, and brought it down hard on her father's head.

Rory stumbled back, looking at Isabelle in surprise. "How dare ye tae lay yer hands upon me! How dare ye tae lay a hand on yer faither and laird!" He shouted. Reaching up to feel his scalp. His hand came away bloody. He charged Isabelle, but she brought the stool up between the two of them and shoved as hard as she could. Rory staggered backwards and fell over his wife's beaten form upon the floor. His head hit the stone of the hearth as he fell. A sickening crack filled the room. Isabelle watched in horror as the life left his eyes.

"Mama," Isabelle sobbed as she knelt beside her mother's battered body. "Mama, please wake up!"

"Isabelle," the Laird Sutherland's voice startled her from the doorway.

She turned and looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Help me," she sobbed. "Help me maither!"

The Laird Sutherland entered the room and knelt down beside Ella. "She is alive, but she will nae be if we dinnae find her a healer."

"Please help her."

The Laird Sutherland stood and walked over to Rory's prone form. He knelt down once more beside his friend. "He is dead. Ye have killed him, lass."

Isabelle looked at him, fear gripping her heart. "I didnae mean tae kill him. It was an accident. I only wanted him tae stop hurting me maither. He was going tae kill her if he didnae stop."

"I understand that, lass, but others will nae. Ye will be punished fer this."

Isabelle shook her head. "It doesnae matter what others believe as long as me maither is safe."

The Laird Sutherland gave her a pitying look. "Yer maither will also be blamed, lass."

Isabelle shook her head. "She is nae tae blame. She did naething wrong. Me faither accused her of sharing yer bed. When she denied it, he proceeded tae beat her. She did nae raise a hand tae him."

"It will nae matter. With yer faither dead and yer braither away in France, ye dinnae have a man tae protect ye. Even if I stand as witness on yer behalf, others will nae see it as an accident. Ye will both burn or hang afore the week is out."

Isabelle shook her head in disbelief. "Nae, me maither is innocent! Please, me laird, help her!"

The Laird Sutherland stood in thought for a brief moment. "The only way that I can protect ye and yer maither in the way that ye would need is if ye were a member of me household."

"I will work fer ye here in the kitchens or wherever ye may need me, if ye will please help me maither."

The laird shook his head, moving to kneel beside her. "Nae as a servant, lass. Ye are the daughter of a laird. Ye have killed a laird. Ye would need the protection of me name and me favor with the King."

Isabelle looked into his eyes, her heart shattering into a million pieces as she held her mother's broken body. "I will dae whatever ye ask if ye will please just help her."

The Laird Sutherland nodded. "Marry me and I will give ye the protection of me name and me body."

Isabelle looked at her mother's battered face, then back at the laird. She had no choice. "Aye, I will marry ye if it will save her life."

The Laird Sutherland nodded. "I will dae all in me power tae make it so." Surveying the room, he turned his eyes back to Isabelle.

"We will say that he was drunk and tripped over the stool hitting his head on the hearth. Yer maither tried tae catch him as he fell, but he pulled her down with him."

"Will anyone believe that?"

"Yer maither may need tae be hid away so that nae one can see how beaten she is, but they will believe the story if it is attested tae by the laird and his wife."

"But we are nae yet wed," Isabelle pointed out as she attempted to staunch the flow of blood from her mother's head.

"I will see tae that." Moving to the door, he slipped out into the corridor. "Lad," he called out to a passing servant boy. "Go and fetch the healer and the priest. Dinnae tarry and dinnae speak tae anyone of what I have commanded ye. Dae ye understand?"

"Aye, me laird," the boy replied.

Isabelle could not see the boy and he could not see her, but she heard the entire exchange through the closed door. The boy scurried off to do as bidden and the Laird Sutherland reentered the room. "We should move her tae the bed and cover him with a blanket. As they are now, our story will nae be convincing," he recommended.

Isabelle nodded. "Please move her carefully," she warned, as the laird lifted Ella up into his arms and carried her over to the bed.

"Dinnae fash, lass. All will be well." He tucked her mother in under the bedcoverings as if she were a small child, then took a blanket from a chest at the foot of the bed to cover Rory's body.

Isabelle did all that she could to help her mother while they waited for the healer and the priest to arrive. Taking the bucket of water that had been provided for them upon their arrival to wash with, she bathed the blood from her mother's face and neck as gently as she could with a piece of wet cloth. Wiping the blood away only proved to show the already violet hue of her mother's many bruises. The pillow quickly bloomed red beneath the cut on her scalp.

"Och, Mama," Isabelle breathed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "What did he dae tae ye?"

"He didnae dae anything, lass. Remember that. Ye cannae e'er tell anyone what has transpired here this night. Dae ye hear me, lass?" His eyes met and held hers. "As far as the world kens it, yer parents were deeply happy and in love. This was a tragic accident. There can ne'er be any rumor of misdeed."

She nodded. "Aye, I understand."

Nodding, he went to await the healer and the priest in the corridor and to ensure that no one stumbled upon Rory's corpse unawares. Isabelle waited in what felt like an interminable silence. She tried to staunch the flow of blood, but it just kept coming. When the healer finally arrived, he took over Ella's care, but his face bore the grim look of a man who was fighting against the inevitable.

"Will she live?" Isabelle asked him, fearing the answer.

"I dinnae ken, but I will dae all that I can fer her," the healer promised, patting Isabelle's hand in comfort. He had kind compassionate eyes.

"I thank ye."

"There is nae thanks needed, me lady. The laird has arranged tae pay me generously already. As the laird's maither-in-law, she will have the very best care that I can provide."

"Me dear," the laird's voice called for her from the doorway. "The priest has arrived."

Isabelle stood, looking down at her blood-smeared hands and clothes, then back at her mother. She bent down and kissed her mother's forehead. "I love ye, Mama."

"I will take good care of her, lass, upon that ye may depend," the healer promised.

"Are ye ready, lass?" the laird asked, his eyes entreating her to hurry before it was too late.

Straightening her shoulders, she nodded. "I am ready."

The priest entered the room. His eyes swept over the situation taking in the corpse and the battered woman. He looked first at the laird, then at Isabelle. Neither said a word. Taking a deep breath, the priest nodded, and set to work. He delivered the last rights, belatedly, over Rory's body. He then performed the proper rights for Ella to aid in her recovery. Lastly, he came to stand before Isabelle and the laird in the far corner of the room where the smell of blood was not so strong. "It is me understanding that ye wish tae be bound in marriage this night."

"We dae," the laird confirmed.

"Very well. Please take the lassie's hand, me laird, if ye would," the priest instructed.

The Laird Sutherland took Isabelle's hand in his. "Let us be quick about it, Faither," the laird urged, motioning towards the circumstances in which they found themselves. "Time is of the essence."

"Aye, me laird," the priest agreed. He tied a long strip of cloth around their hands. "Dae ye, Laird Bain Sutherland, take this lassie, Isabelle MacKay tae be yer lawfully wedded wife?"

"Aye, I dae," the laird agreed.

"Dae ye, Isabelle MacKay, take the Laird Bain Sutherland tae be yer lawfully wedded husband?"

"Aye, I dae," Isabelle agreed, her thoughts on her mother, not on the words that she was saying or what it meant for her life.

"Then with the good lord's blessings, I pronounce ye husband and wife." He untied the cloth, then took a step back.

"Wife," the Laird Sutherland said as he lowered his head and kissed Isabelle on the lips, his breath still smelling of the alcohol that he had drunk with her father, the very alcohol that had led to his death.

Isabelle's mother, the Lady Ella MacKay, died one week later without ever regaining consciousness.