Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Disappointment surging through her, Isobel stared at the huge stone blocks, then turned back to Michael, who had stopped two steps above her.

"Perhaps we'll be able to move one of those stones," he suggested.

She shook her head, thinking that his father and grandfather must have been as eccentric as Henry or as mad as Mariota. Anyone could see that the large granite stones were as heavy and solid as they could be. The stairway led nowhere.

"It must go somewhere," he said, as if he had heard her thoughts. "The space below us here is a veritable warren of cells and dungeons, although Henry and I have thoroughly searched every one of them over the years. Still, let me see if one of the stones might be hollow inside."

Moving past her, he held his candle close to the bare wall, carefully examining it, then drew his dirk and methodically began tapping each stone with the handle.

After some minutes of watching him, Isobel turned with a sigh to go back up the stairs. As she shifted her candle, its light glowed stronger for a moment, lighting a section of the outer wall above the wide end of the lowest step. She knelt and looked closer, holding the candle near a figure carved into the stone.

"Michael, look at this," she said, scarcely daring to hope that it might actually mean something.

He moved to stand by her, resting a hand warmly on her shoulder. "It is just another carved head," he said. "Doesn't even have a beard. It looks more like the mossy one near the waterfall that I told you about. They call him the green man."

"Does this one look exactly like that one?"

"Aye, near enough," he said, knocking the dagger's hilt against the stone, and then trying to shift it. "This stone is solid. I don't think it can mean much."

"But it is the only thing here," she protested. "It must mean something. Moreover, it is the Green Man."

"Aye, well, the other one is green, too," he said. "But only because of the moss." When she did not reply, he shifted his candle up to look into her face. "What is it, lass? What are you thinking?"

"I tend to forget that you were not raised in the Highlands and Isles," she said. "The Green Man is the Celtic god of plants and vegetation. Since we're not in the Highlands now, it seems odd to find him here—odder still if he appears twice. If someone chose to honor a Celtic god in such a way here, he must have had reason."

Michael frowned. "But does it mean that we search here or at the falls?"

"Since the bearded heads led here, your father's message to Henry could mean we are supposed to look behind that stone for a key to the treasure's hiding place, but I'd like to see that other head before we attempt such a thing. Is it far?"

"Come, I'll show you."

They hurried upstairs and outside to a steep path leading into the lush glen—an apt location, Isobel thought, for the Celtic god of greenery. Soon trees on either side of them created a green canopy so thick that only occasional beams of sunlight penetrated it. Ferns, flowers, and dense shrubbery carpeted the woodland floor, obscuring their view. The cool air was redolent of herbal scents and damp earth. The trail zigzagged down until Isobel could hear rushing water, and soon afterward they came to the roiling, froth-filled river.

Michael strode along the path ahead of her, and when he came to an arched stone bridge spanning the river, he said, "We'll cross here. We'd get closer to the falls by following the track on this side, but the carving we seek lies yonder."

"Is there a path on that side, too?" Isobel asked.

"Aye, sure," he said. "I'll warrant fishermen have worn tracks along every bank of every burn and rivulet in Scotland." With a smile, he added, "Art afraid I'll get us lost, sweetheart?"

"Of course not, but I am not wearing stout shoes, and I don't relish the notion of clambering about on wet rocks near a waterfall," she said.

"We won't get that close to it," he said, holding back a branch for her. "The carving I want to show you is in the cliff face some yards from the water."

The path remained narrow, and with Michael again in the lead, they made their way up the river gorge without speaking. Except for the soft padding of their footsteps and the rushing sound of the water, the woods were silent.

Isobel realized that they were too silent. When a faint equine whicker sounded ahead of them, she said urgently, "Michael, wait!"

He had heard the sound, too, and had already stopped, but as she spoke, a vast, weighted net fell from the tree above him, ensnaring him in its web. Men erupted from the shrubbery and quickly overpowered him.

Isobel took two or three hasty steps toward them only to stop short when a hand of iron grabbed her upper arm from behind so abruptly that it nearly jerked her off her feet. A muscular arm clamped around her waist and the large, gloved hand that had caught her arm shifted to smack hard across her mouth, yanking her head back against a brawny chest as a harsh voice muttered in her ear, "How thoughtful of you to bring my cousin to me, lass. I'd expected to spend more time pondering how to entice him outside, but you've made that unnecessary. Nay now, do not bite me," he warned. "My gloves are thick enough to protect me, but biting is most unmannerly. If you try it again, I'll beat you until you screech."

Isobel ignored the threat, struggling as wildly as she could, kicking and biting until he cupped a hard palm over her mouth in such a way that her teeth could not gain purchase. Even then, she kicked and squirmed, but he tightened his hold around her waist until she could scarcely breathe.

"Ah, you're tiring," he said. "I think you need a lesson in conduct though, so we'll see if you learn quickly. I want to know how many people are in the castle."

"Waldron, damn you, let her go," Michael said, struggling against his captors but severely hampered by the netting. "What sort of villain makes war on women?"

"Not your sort, certainly," Waldron said. "Hand me his sword and any other weapons he might have, lads. Then wrap that netting around him and we'll carry him back to the castle to find out what he knows. Now, lass, tell me, how many?"

Isobel pressed her lips tightly together.

"Very well, then, I'll have my lads begin by cutting off his fingers and toes."

Shock surged through her. "You wouldn't dare!"

"You think not? Dom, take out your dagger," he commanded. "If she does not answer my question, begin with the little finger on his left hand."

"By heaven, you're a madman!" Isobel exclaimed as the ruddy-faced, barrel-chested man he'd called Dom drew a long dagger.

"How many?" Waldron asked again.

Michael had not spoken, but Isobel believed Waldron would do as he threatened. "I don't know exactly," she said, adding hastily when he looked toward his man again, "We brought sixty men with us from Kirkwall, but some stayed in Edinburgh to look after the ship, and Michael gave others leave to visit their families. I think a dozen came with us to the castle. There are the servants, too, a few guardsmen, a cook, the baker, and their minions. I can't think of any others."

"Where is Hugo?"

"He went with Hector Reaganach and the others to St. Clair."

"So he was the one pretending to be Michael. Who pretended to be you?"

She was silent, terrified that he would force her to name Adela.

"I can guess," he said. "They will both have to pay penance for that, I think. What about stable lads?"

"Oh, aye, there are several. I forgot."

"I wonder who else you forgot," he said. "Not that it will make much difference, but we'll unfurl him, lads. We cannot take him up trussed in that net if guards on the wall can see us. That pathway is treacherous enough without the added threat of a rain of arrows. But don't let him get free," he added sharply as he pushed Isobel toward another of his men, whom she recognized as Fin Wylie. "Don't let the lass slip away this time," Waldron warned him. "Not if you value your life."

"Nay, master, she'll go nowhere," the man promised, gripping Isobel around the waist nearly as tightly as Waldron had.

Remembering that Michael no longer had his weapons, Isobel watched as the others pulled the netting off, hoping he could still manage to regain his freedom, and determined to do what she could to aid him. As always, she had her dirk.

But Michael remained quiet as he said, "You do no honor to your family, cousin. I once admired your skills, your energy, and your clever brain. But I see now that you have only the instincts of an animal. Your brain serves no more to improve your character than would the brain of a badger or a wolf."

"Stand him up," Waldron said. "But hold him in place, and watch his legs and feet. He's no great warrior. Faith, I'd have bested him easily last time, had our Hugo not come to his aid, but even a rabbit will fight if a fox corners it."

Michael offered no resistance, standing to face Waldron, even thanking one man who picked up the hat he had been wearing from where it lay on the ground. Then, to Waldron, he said gently, "Is greed alone what drives you?"

"As I will say every time you ask me, I am bound by my word of honor to make restitution for a wrong your branch of our family committed years ago."

"By my faith, I do not know why you keep harping on that stupid tale."

"And I do not know how you dare speak of faith when you and your family have stolen from the Holy Kirk what rightfully belongs to it."

As he said the last words, Waldron's fist shot out, and although Michael clearly saw the blow coming, Waldron anticipated which way he would duck, for the blow struck the point of his jaw, and he slumped in his captor's hands.

"You vile, horrid man!" Isobel exclaimed angrily. "We have done naught to harm you or yours. You can have no cause to harm us."

He grabbed her arm again in his viselike grip, and Fin Wylie released her. Looking closely into her eyes, Waldron said, "If I did not know my cousin has better sense than to prattle his secrets to a woman, I'd question you harshly, lass. Still, he made a mistake in marrying you and another in letting me see that he cares what becomes of you. A man's courage is no greater than his willingness to sacrifice all he has. Only one who cares for naught and has naught to lose will fear naught."

"Michael is not so callous."

"True, and therefore he will soon tell me all he knows. You recall how you reacted when I threatened his fingers. Imagine how he will, when I threaten yours."

She gasped.

Laughing at her, he said, "Aye, sure, and it does astonish me that a fool like Henry and a weakling like Michael have kept their secrets as long as they have."

"Mayhap you should simply believe them when they say they do not know those secrets," she said. "I have found them both to be honest men."

"Have you, indeed?" He jerked her forward, saying, "Take him tenderly, lads. We'll leave the horses here. I don't want his men fearing us and rushing out to meet us on that damned path. As for you, my lady, you will behave decorously, or I'll slit his throat and yours before my men and I depart. Do you understand me?"

"Aye," she muttered, trying to imagine how she could put a rub in his way, if only to divert her thoughts from his apparent fascination with fingers.

She could think of no way to warn the castle and keep Michael safe at the same time, however. She could only be grateful that Waldron believed she could tell him nothing of importance. Trying to remember if she or Michael had said anything revealing that Waldron or one of his men might have overheard, she recalled the deep silence that had seemed too quiet for too long, and realized that they had not spoken at all for some time before the attack.

The journey back up to the castle seemed to take no time at all. As they crossed the narrow part of the pathway, Waldron leaned close to her, one arm tight around her shoulders, the other hand bruisingly gripping her wrist. She knew that to the men at the gate, and to anyone who might have watched their approach from the wall-walk above, he would look as if he were reassuring or consoling her.

As one of the guardsmen stepped in front of the gateway, Waldron murmured, "If they try to stop us, we will kill them, so be sure they understand that we are welcome. And do not imagine that they can succeed in overpowering my men, because you would be making a fatal error."

Believing him, Isobel forced a smile for the guardsman and said, "Sir Michael slipped on a wet rock and fell whilst he was showing me the glen, but by heaven's grace, his cousin's men came upon us and were able to help. We must get Sir Michael inside, however, so that he may rest and recover his senses."

"Then he is not …" The man hesitated. "Seeing him brought up like that gave us all a shock, my lady."

"We'll take him inside straightaway," Waldron said.

At a shout from the guard, the porter opened the main door. Frowning at seeing his master in such a state, the man said anxiously, "Shall I send for the herb woman, my lady?"

"No need," Waldron said. "Sir Michael merely took a knock on the head when he slipped in the glen. Is my aunt expecting us in the great hall?"

"Nay, sir, her ladyship be still enjoying her wee nap. Shall I send to tell her that ye ha' arrived?"

"Nay then, do not disturb her yet. We'll look after Sir Michael first."

As they passed into the entryway with Waldron's men herded behind them, Isobel heard the door shut, then noise of a scuffle. Looking back, she saw that Fin Wylie and another man had overpowered the porter. They bound and gagged him, then perched him on his own stool in his own alcove, no more than a widening of the entryway landing. No other men-at-arms were posted nearby.

Impulse tempted her to beg Waldron's men to treat the man gently, but she stifled it, certain from what she had seen of their master that such a request would stir him to do something horrid. As it was, they merely closed and barred the iron yett across the main door. Should anyone try to enter the castle now, he would find himself locked out.

The three men carrying Michael, two at his head and one at his feet, stood watching the others, and she saw Michael's eyes flutter open, then shut again. His lax expression did not change, so she could not tell if he was conscious or still comatose, but her relief at seeing him move was enormous.

Glancing at her, Waldron said, "He's no dead yet, lass, but you'd best hope he speaks quickly. I've little patience left."

She sighed, showing her frustration. "I do not know why you persist in believing he can tell you anything. He told me he does not know what you seek, let alone where it is. Surely, you cannot believe that either he or Prince Henry knows the whereabouts of any great treasure."

"Why not?"

"Well, surely, if they had a treasure, they would be extraordinarily weal—" She broke off, realizing her error too late.

"Exactly so," he said. "Extraordinarily wealthy. Do you ken naught of your new husband, lass? To be sure, he does not flaunt his wealth, but Henry certainly does. You saw for yourself the grand way he celebrated his new princedom."

"But you must know as well as I do that Prince Henry's wealth is inherited from his mother's family."

"They do expect everyone to believe that it's her money, but 'tis odd that my uncle never lived as well as Henry, or even as well as Michael does, come to that."

"Sir William believed in living simply," Isobel said. "But Prince Henry has a higher position to maintain. He is expected to do so in a grand style."

"Faugh, that tale simply covers his taking of a treasure that his supporters expected him to guard and that the Pope expects him to return to the Holy Kirk."

"I don't understand how anything he has could belong to the Kirk," Isobel said, hoping to keep him talking long enough for Michael to recover and defend himself. As the thought crossed her mind, she wondered what she could be thinking, since Waldron had at least ten men inside the castle now and heaven knew how many more outside. That the two of them alone could defend the castle, or themselves, for that matter, even if Michael did regain all his faculties, seemed impossible.

Waldron had not answered her. Instead, he gazed at her as if he were trying to peer into her mind to judge the truth of her words.

She gazed limpidly back at him and said, "Pray, sir, how could something in Henry's keeping belong to the Kirk?"

He shrugged. "I do not try to explain such things to females. 'Tis rare that they can understand any but the simplest political scheming."

"So it is a political scheme then, this treasure of yours?"

"Enough, lass. I weary of your prating. You merely seek to delay the lesson you have coming, or did you hope I'd forget?" With those ominous words, he turned to the man he had called Dom and said, "Take Sir Michael below. We'll make use of Roslin's dungeons, but leave two men at this door and take the others with you. And take devilish good care that you don't let him get away. I'm going to take the lass above and see how many men guard the ramparts. Send a pair of our lads up to assist me once you have him shackled below and have made sure we hold the castle. But tell them to await my command before they show themselves on the wall."

"Aye, master," Dom said. "Is it your wish that we give Sir Michael a taste of what awaits him before you return to deal with him yourself?"

"If he is obedient, just strip off his clothing and hang him, well spread, from the wall shackles," Waldron said. "Let him anticipate the kiss of the whip whilst he awaits me. If he gives trouble, you may punish him as you will, of course. Just take care that you do not render him unable to talk to me."

Dom's smile told Isobel that he looked forward to meting out punishment whether Michael disobeyed or not, and the thought chilled her. But Waldron gave her no more time to think about Michael.

"You may precede me, my lady," he said as politely as if he were an ordinary visitor.

Gazing up at him with an expression she hoped would pass for helpless innocence, she said, "What are you going to do to me?"

"That must depend on you," he said. "If you are cooperative and exert yourself to please me, you will doubtless enjoy my questioning. If you do not cooperate, I will teach you some methods the Holy Kirk employs. I warrant you have heard something of how they deal with heretics."

She did not try to suppress the shudder that shot through her, and saw by his reaction that he enjoyed her fear. With that knowledge threatening to undermine her confidence, she fought for calm as she said, "Do you deem me a heretic, sir?"

"I merely want answers," he said. "I'll get them any way I can."

His matter-of-fact tone, as if they enjoyed a casual conversation, frightened her more than any of his threats had. Her feet began to feel heavy and the steps of the spiral stairway more and more difficult to mount, as if each were higher than the last. She focused her thoughts on Michael instead, and what he faced.

When she hesitated at the next landing, Waldron gripped her elbow, pressing nerves there, and she cried out at the sudden, sharp pain.

"Just the first little lesson," he murmured.

"Has it occurred to you that if you kill me, or harm me in any way, you will incur the wrath of the Macleans, the Macleods, and the Lord of the Isles?"

"I've no intention of killing you, lass. What a waste that would be! But whatever I do, their wrath means naught to me, nor are they at hand to aid you."

That last bit was certainly true, she mused unhappily, but she and Michael had escaped Waldron's clutches before, so perhaps they could do so again.

He stopped her when she reached for the latch of the door leading onto the wall-walk. "One moment, madam. I doubt that there can be more than two men on that walk, but should there be more, do not think you can play me any tricks. I'll defeat as many men as I must to gain what I seek."

Recalling the role she had chosen to play, she fluttered her lashes in the hope that it would make her look nervous or at least woefully feminine and complacent as she said, "I have no thought of flouting you, sir, not whilst you keep my husband confined below. You are far too strong and powerful."

"I think you like powerful men," he said. "Most women do, I've found."

She looked quickly down, hoping he had not seen her anger and would think her overcome, even shy.

"I am glad to see that you can show wisdom, lass," he said. "Open that door now, but mind you don't forget who stands behind you."

Nodding, she obeyed and stepped onto the walk. As she did, one of the lads she had met the previous day came around from the north side, smiling when he saw her. "My lady, be aught amiss? I saw them carrying the master up the hill."

"He fell and hit his head," she said. "But have no fear, for he is already much restored to his usual good health."

"'Tis glad I be t' hear that," the lad said. "Being alone up here as I be, I dared no go downstairs t' see if he were dead."

"Are those horsemen approaching yonder?" Waldron asked casually, pointing as he stepped around Isobel.

When the lad turned his head, he felled him with a single blow of his fist.

Isobel gasped. "Sakes, sir, do you hurt people just for the pleasure of hurting them? You could simply have sent him downstairs."

"I don't need to explain my actions to you, but had I sent him below, he might have met my lads and come to grief."

"Oh, then 'twas kindness," Isobel said, remembering the role she was trying to play and seemed so unsuited for. "I am sorry not to have realized as much."

Giving her a look, he said, "I'll just bar this door to be sure we're left alone up here to begin your lesson, but first I'll see if that lad was telling the truth."

She watched him maneuver the heavy bar, certain she could lift it by herself and hoping he would leave her alone long enough to escape him. But he grinned at her, and she knew that something in her expression had given her away.

"You'll come with me, my sweet. I have not enjoyed a woman in weeks, and I shall take great pleasure in enjoying my cousin's beautiful new wife."

Although she had suspected that he intended more than just to question her, or even to beat her, both of which he could easily have done by taking her down into the dungeon with Michael, she had not expected him to declare his intention so baldly and wished devoutly that he had not. Until that moment, except for one or two brief instances, she had been able to keep her fear at bay. Now, with the specific threat hanging between them, dread gripped her to her bones.

Her knees felt weak, and her hands trembled. Calling upon advice Hector had given her years before, she bit her lower lip and forced herself to focus on pain.

Focus on your enemy, he had said. Make a plan. Do not admit even the possibility of failure, for only if you truly believe you can succeed will you do so.

Waldron clearly expected her to follow him now, since the wall-walk was too narrow for two to walk abreast. It was no more than a low parapet that in several places gave access to wooden hoardings, attached somehow to the stonework to protect archers and other defenders in times of siege or attack. She wondered how he thought he would find space enough there to ravish her.

As she followed him, she felt for her dirk in its usual place, but he kept glancing back, and she had a horrid feeling that even if she could find it in her to stab him in the back, he would look again just as she tried to draw it from its sheath.

Not since she had last faced him had she worn a dress that denied her access to it, and as he rounded the corner ahead of her, she jammed her hand through the slits. Snatching out the dirk, she concealed it in a fold of her skirt.

Her thoughts raced, seeking a plan, but he was so large, so skilled at fighting, that her only hope was that he would expect no resistance from her. In the cave, as far as she knew, he had never suspected that she had done anything but let Michael rescue her, and he still clearly believed as much, since he had just described her as a weak and helpless female.

That knowledge gave her an advantage, she knew. What she did not know was what she could do with it.

"No one else is here," he said, turning back with leering intent. "I fear our coupling will not be comfortable for you here, lass, but you have done naught to deserve comfort, have you? I'll test your obedience first, I think."

"How will you do that?" she asked, amazed by her sudden sense of calm.

"Come here to me, and I'll show you," he said.

"I want to know what you mean to do."

"First, to kiss you," he said almost amiably. "I want to taste my cousin's wife a little before I punish her. But if you give me further cause," he added in the same tone, "I'll just tip you over my knee and beat you until you scream for mercy, and then I'll beat you more."

She had been trying to judge exactly what he was wearing, and she decided that his leather doublet was the sort Borderers called a jack-of-plate. That meant she could not count on piercing it with her dirk and, by trying, might infuriate rather than incapacitate him. So she smiled and said, "I've no objection to kissing you, sir."

"I thought you would not," he said with a smirk. "I wonder if Michael knows what a flirtatious little bitch you are."

"He knows," she said with a sigh. "He does not approve."

He chuckled, reaching for her.

She allowed him to draw her close, offering no resistance, holding his gaze as he did, even fluttering her lashes, hoping to disarm him more by continuing to appear weak and helpless. She felt momentary fear that he knew her apparent compliance was a sham, but she ruthlessly suppressed it and widened her smile.

"Faith, but you're a bonny one," he said, grabbing her shoulders to peer into her face, as if he would memorize her features. "It will give me great pleasure to conquer you, and when you are mine, I'll teach you many ways of pleasing me."

He cupped her chin with one hand and tilted her face up, pulling her tight against him as he did. She let her body press against his, noting his readiness to claim her and the welcome fact that his jack did little to protect that part of him.

When his lips touched hers, she had all she could do not to stiffen or resist. Instead, she forced herself to respond, fervently hoping he would assume that she found him irresistible.

When he forced his tongue into her mouth, she nearly gagged but focused on the dirk in her hand, easing it from its concealing fold to one nearer the front of her skirt. Its point was down, and she knew no safe way to reposition it so that she could strike normally, but its handle was good, stout, leather-wrapped steel.

He raised his head, looking into her eyes. "I would have you show me true submission, lass. Unlace your bodice for me, and show me your breasts."

She licked her lips and said boldly, "I would prefer that you unlace me, sir."

A glint of pure lust lit his eyes, and he reached at once for her laces, jerking the tie loose and then grabbing the two sides of her bodice, one in each hand. As he wrenched it open, she clutched the dagger with both hands and jerked it up hard, driving its handle right into his bollocks, then ducking low, certain that he would fold forward to try to ease the sharp pain, as indeed he did.

When he did, she snapped her head up, striking the point of his chin hard enough to make her own teeth ring.

He staggered, and while he was off balance, she put her hands up and pushed as hard as she could, hoping to get enough distance between them to elude his grasp.

He lurched, hit the low parapet, and toppled over, twisting in a wild, desperate attempt to catch the rim, but his own weight and momentum carried him over.

He cried out once. Then she heard only the river.