Chapter Twenty-One

"A little more research led me to Ambroise Paré, whose 1573 treatise on ‘monsters and marvels' includes the description of popular techniques, known since the time of Galen, for creating false evidence of virginity by inserting a fish bladder filled with blood into the vagina, so that the sheets on the wedding bed would be stained with the necessary proof."

Elizabeth C. Goldsmith, WondersandMarvels.com

Sara felt the muscles under her skin turn to stone. Even if the devil and England's King Henry suddenly walked arm-in-arm into the hall, she wouldn't have been able to move. Only her heart continued to prove she lived, pounding in her chest so hard that bruises would surely mar the inner wall.

John sucked in a breath through his large nose. "Daingead," he muttered.

"What?" Simon asked, opening his one eye larger. He lowered his voice. "What is it?"

Sara could try to deny they were all staring at the remnants of her maidenhead, say that it was her monthly flux having taken her by surprise. She might die from mortification but 'twas better than admitting she'd given herself to Rory only days after she'd wed his brother. But the blood looked different, lighter, brighter, a beacon of her lost innocence. Would men know such things?

She couldn't bring herself to look at Rory. He'd said he'd broken a vow for her. Did his brother know of this vow? Did the others in the room?

Jamie turned slowly on his heel, his hard gaze passing first to Rory and then to Sara. He opened his thinned lips, but Sara found her voice first.

"I fell running away from Phoenix, the heron that surprised me inside the tower, bumping my head and cutting it. The wound must have bled."

"Show me this cut," Jamie said, his words a mix of subdued anger and triumph as he stared at her.

"The back of my head under my hair." Sara's leaden arm moved under the heavy stare, her fingers touching the back of her head. "'Tis mostly healed already." She swallowed past a lump of dryness in her throat. If one was to place the sheet back onto the bed, the smear would be too low to have come from her head, but the sheet had been balled in a corner, so there was no way for Brodrick to know which side had been toward the headboard.

Sara probed the back of her head. "I didn't…use a pillow." Could she scratch herself with her fingernail now to cause a wound?

"Ye'll wake with a crick in yer neck if ye don't prop it on a pillow," Simon said, rubbing his own neck. He looked at John. "I use two, filled to popping with goose down."

John shook his head. "Too high will also put knots in yer neck."

Rory kept himself between Sara and Jamie as if daring his older brother to try to get past him, like some childhood game and not a provocation of civil war. Brodrick and Jok also moved in closer.

Margaret dropped Eleri's hand and traipsed over with a brusque stride as if she wore impenetrable armor walking through a battle. "I will check that the wound isn't tainted," she said, her fingers brushing Sara's aside. Sara held her breath as the woman parted her thick hair, looking for a crusty wound.

For several seconds, Sara stood as if balanced in a tree. Jamie like a wolf underneath, waiting for her to fall, and Rory as the most powerful beast ready to tear his clan apart, and all of Skye with it. For that's what would happen if the MacLeod Clan broke between brothers. The other clans would take sides, and old rivalries would turn into all-out war.

"An abrasion, which has almost healed," Margaret said with a perfunctory nod. "Scalp wounds can bleed quite a bit, even if the cut is superficial." She stepped back. "I will send up an ointment for it to make certain it doesn't become tainted."

"Do ye remember when that careless lad pushed me at Samhain years ago and I hit me head on the corner of the barn?" John said. "My head bled like I'd been brained with a battle axe."

"Ye were drunk and ran into the barn," Simon said.

"Bloody hell, no," John protested. "That lad…" He moved his hand around as if grasping for a name. "Martha's boy. He was running after kittens or some such and clipped me."

"Well, ye were also too drunk to stand up by yerself," Simon said.

"But I bled like I was brained." John looked at Jamie. "So, aye, scalp wounds do bleed a great deal."

Margaret placed her arm through Sara's and led her away from the middle of the great hall. "Come along with Lady Eleri and me, and we will let the brothers calm themselves down until they are once again civilized men. Then they can devise a plan to find the flag." It was obvious Margaret was more than a mere servant because no one moved to stop them.

Reid leaped forward to follow, his slender build and rapid movement making him look like a hare pushing off through tall grasses to escape a predator. "I can be of assistance, Mistress Margaret."

"Master Reid," Margaret said, "go to the kitchens and have hot water brought up to both towers. Ladies Eleri and Sara will want to wash. And fetch my ointment against taint. Cook Fiona will know where I keep it."

"Aye." Reid nodded and veered off down a hallway as the ladies began to climb the stairs.

They rounded two turns of the spiral staircase when Margaret broke the silence. "I do not hear a battle below." She let out an exhale and shooed Eleri forward when the girl stopped above them to look behind her down the stairs. As Eleri disappeared around a turn, Margaret glanced back at Sara. "Either Jamie has never seen virgin blood on a sheet or he's smart enough not to challenge the Lion of Skye."

Sara felt heat prickle into her cheeks. But Margaret turned back around and continued to climb without waiting for a response.

…

Rory watched his brother carefully as they stared at one another across the short distance. Perspiration dotted Jamie's upper lip along the edges of his mustache, and his hands balled into fists.

"The Flame of Dunscaith is mine," Jamie said, his voice rough. "She's my bride." Each word was emphasized. Everyone, including the two old advisors who rarely held their tongues, remained silent.

"The union was annulled within minutes of the vows," Rory said. "By Father Lockerby so her family would have no claim to Dunvegan if ye died."

"And ye took her," Jamie continued as if Rory hadn't spoken. "Ye lay with my woman."

"Mo chreach." Simon leaned into John's ear.

"She is not yer woman," Rory said. "Sara is her own woman, married to none and able to choose—"

"Ye foking bastard!" Jamie yelled, lunging at him with a frontal assault.

Rory sidestepped easily and caught Jamie around the chest, hauling him before him, his arms pinned to his sides like he did when they were children and Jamie lost his temper. "Calm yerself and see reason. Sara won't marry ye. Ye attacked her when ye woke, blaming her for her father's murderous plan. And ye have no kind feelings for her. Ye didn't even look at her when she walked up to the chapel."

"She was part of her father's plan!" Jamie said, seething and struggling to break Rory's hold. Brodrick took a step forward, but Jok put his arm out to stop him. Jamie's faithful man was strong and cunning in battle and had always remained Jamie's closest friend.

"Nay," Rory said near Jamie's ear. "Her father keeps her and his eldest son, Kenan, ignorant of his treachery."

"She's a liar," Jamie said, spitting with the force of his words, "and a whore."

Anger welled up inside Rory, and he jerked Jamie around to stare him in the face, holding him by the shoulders, his fingers curling to bite into him. "Watch that tongue of yers, brother. 'Twill lead ye to pain." Tension rolled through Rory's muscles, preparing him. For what? War with his own brother? Hadn't Jamie already started it when he left Rory to die in that hellhole down in England?

"She's fooled ye," Jamie said, his words full of venom. "A Macdonald who has infiltrated Dunvegan and stolen the Fairy Flag, exactly like Madeline. When she died, ye made a vow not to trust a woman again, especially not a Macdonald woman."

"I didn't vow not to tup them," Rory said and was thankful Sara was no longer below to hear the callous declaration. When they'd come together, there had been a trust between them. She'd trusted him not to harm her despite his strength, and he'd…he'd trusted she wasn't a Macdonald spy distracting him and seducing him to be an ally.

The smallest trickle of unease slithered inside Rory, but he stomped it back with determination. "Sara led us out of the burning church. She saved ye and me and all of us trapped in there. She risked her life and has ruined any chance of returning to Dunscaith."

Jamie stared hard into his eyes, convinced of his opinion. "She led ye out of the church so ye would trust her. And now, fool brother, ye lust for her, too." He shook his head, stepping back from Rory's reach as if he'd regained his composure and command. "Ye are so easily led by yer cock."

Jamie looked at Brodrick. "Put her in the dungeon pit."

The dungeon of Dunvegan was a pit that dropped down thirteen feet, the last six being nothing but hard stone. It sat on the other side of the kitchen, so the smells of roasting meat could reach the prisoners while they starved to death. Icy water leaked in at the bottom with the tide, giving the occupant three to twelve inches of water to stand in.

"Nay," Rory said. "Keep her in the tower."

Jamie's lips hitched in one corner like he was laughing at Rory's foolishness. "Let the Macdonald chit choose. My bed or the pit."

John and Simon both stood up. Simon's mouth hung open, and John shook his head. The guards who'd come in with Brodrick stood behind him with Jok facing all three.

Rory's voice remained even despite the hardness of his jaw. "The dungeon is for murderers and traitors, not women who have taken charge of who they lie with."

The words turned Jamie's grin into a glare. "She's a whore, and ye're a traitor to yer clan for foking her. Ye deserved to be left with the English!"

Crack! Rory's fist connected with Jamie's foul mouth with all the power of an exploding cannon. The impact lifted Jamie off his feet, throwing him backward to flop flat on his back. If it was war Jamie wanted between brothers, 'twas war he would get.

"Ror!" Jok yelled out his name, and Rory spun in time to see Brodrick lunge toward him. The guttural yell that came from Rory as he met the warrior filled the vaulted room like the roar of the lion. For a moment the battle was only between Brodrick and Rory. Jamie's personal guard was as large as Rory and had fought well beside him while Jamie remained behind a line of defense whenever they engaged in battles or raids.

"Traitor to yer clan!" Brodrick yelled, throwing a fist toward Rory's middle, but Rory jumped back, avoiding the punch.

Jok blocked two other guards, saying something that made them halt and watch. Brodrick swung again, but Rory ducked and caught him in the gut. Who would be the first to draw a blade? It wouldn't be Rory, not in his own hall against his own clansmen.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rory saw Reid hustle back into the hall, yelp, and run back out. Margaret's husband, Theodore, stood against the wall, holding an iron fire poker before him as if to fend off anyone who might come his way. Rory delivered another punch to Brodrick's middle. The man jumped back before Rory's fist could swing upward into his jaw.

Brodrick threw his meaty arms around Rory, wrapping him in a brutal hold, but Rory had an elbow free and thrust it into Brodrick's face. "Bloody hell!" Brodrick yelled as blood gushed from his nose, and he dropped Rory. With a shove, Rory sent the man backward where he tripped over a stool and fell next to Jamie, who had pulled himself up.

Jamie glared at Rory and yanked his sword from its sheath. "Well, brother," he called, "'tis come to this."

"Stop!" The voice cut through the cursing and sound of swords sliding free of their sheaths. "Stop, right now!"

Rory turned, his hands still empty of steel, to see Sara Macdonald, still in her wrinkled, water-stained clothes, standing inside the archway, Reid hopping from one foot to the next behind her. Her red-gold hair draped her straight shoulders, and her graceful arms were held out to her sides as if she was encompassing the room like a queen.

Her gaze moved from Rory to Jamie, a mix of horror and anger tightening her lovely features, truly giving her the look of a vengeful queen or a fire goddess. "I won't be the spark to burn through this clan."

Rory still slid his sword free as Jamie took a step closer.

"No!" Sara called again. "Do not battle each other."

Jamie snorted and resheathed his sword. He raked his hand through his hair as if he'd just jousted in the lists instead of battling his own brother. "She'll be locked in the pit."

"Her tower room," Rory demanded. Disgust at his pompous, scheming brother twisted tightly in Rory's stomach.

"She can be locked in my bedchamber," Jamie said.

"Are ye trying to die today, brother?" Rory stared hard into Jamie's narrowed brown eyes. They were dark like their father's and looked beady as a rat's.

Jamie words were harsh. "Very well, she'll be locked in the tower while ye, brother, find that bloody flag."