Chapter Twenty-Eight

Climbing the slope when the plans were in place, Liam heard shouts and laughter from the direction of the village. Torch flames floated toward the castle, carried by men and women in strange costumes with odd beastly and comical shapes. Liam went back down the hill among the trees.

"Get ready," he said, then looked around. "Where is Tamsin?"

His brothers turned. In their disguises, he was not certain which was which; he had not noticed which one donned the green hooded cloak, mask, and antlers, and which dressed like a nun, masked in black robes and white veil.

"She went up the slope," one said. Even their voices were similar. "She probably came down a while ago."

Hearing a shout, Liam turned as one of the grooms tending the horses ran toward him. "They got her! They have her!"

"What is it?" Liam and James Lindsay ran toward him.

"The lady! They took her! A knight on a horse—she went up to look for the open gate just as the men rode through. One came like the very devil and grabbed her."

"I will meet you on the parapet," Liam growled. He did not wait to hear more, but strode through the woodland and up the hill closer to the back of the castle. Behind him came the green man and the brawny nun. He waved them on. He and his brothers knew every inch of Dalrinnie and could get inside faster than the others.

But he shook with fury now, and must collect his ire, let it fuel him. Now, damn the man, Malise had Tamsin as well as Agatha. The worst had happened, with worse to come if he did not get inside to snatch the women from danger—and make short work of the man who had plagued him, one way or another, for years.

Sir Malise Comyn had harbored rancor against the Setons for too long. But Liam knew that his own grudge, now, was far more justified. The time had come for recompense, retribution, and an end to this—Malise, the fate of Dalrinnie, all of it.

He cleared the hill, driven by urgency, fear, anger, his brothers behind him. In the shadows at the back of the castle, he found what he was searching for under heavy undergrowth and arching branches—the old stone that blocked the entrance to the tunnel he and his brothers had used as boys. With a heave and shove, and the help of the nun's strong hands—Gideon?—he pulled the stone aside to reveal the tunnel.

Crouching, he stepped inside, coughing from musty earth and timber. He had not been inside the tunnel for years; he and the twins, their sister, too, had used it in their games, but their father had forbidden it, fearing a collapse. Now it was shored up by old wood and overgrown roots. He tore at roots as he went, crouched and on his knees in places, half-standing in others. His brothers came behind him, doing the same.

"We have passed the postern gate above us," he said. "We are nearly to the walls of the keep. Where the way slopes up, we will step out into the space between the keep's double stone wall. The we can find the steps up to the parapet."

"We remember. Ow, watch those antlers, Green Man," said the nun.

She knew everybit of Dalrinnie in darkness and daylight, yet she stumbled repeatedly in the stairwell as Sir Malise pulled her up the stone steps. Missing her footing again, she fell, banged her knee, cried out. He hauled her to her feet, her heels teetering on the inner corner of the wedge-shaped step.

"Come up," Malise Comyn said. "I have no time for this!"

"Wait! You are pulling me so fast, I cannot get my balance. Let me climb by myself." She tried to shake him off but he kept a fierce grip on her arm. The stairs, each step narrowing to rotate around the central pillar, were steep and could be treacherous, though a thick rope ran along one side. But she could not grasp it as Malise, strong and sure on the steps, dragged her upward.

Below, he had ordered Sir David and Sir Patrick—who vehemently protested when Malise brought her inside—to go to the gate because revelers were fast approaching the castle. He promised to shut the lady in a room and deal with her later. Then he had pulled her up the steps so roughly that her cloak caught and her brooch tore away. She had lost a shoe as well.

"Where are we going?" She knew this way led to bedchambers on three floors, and to the battlement at the top level. Malise stopped on the stone platform, his grip so tight that she could feel bruises forming on her arm. His breath heaved.

"Here," he growled, and yanked her along as he opened a heavy wood door on the narrow landing. He all but tossed her inside and she fell to her knees with the push. Standing, she recognized one of the bedchambers, a small room kept for guests. Apparently, Malise used it now, for she saw things tossed about—boots, a draped black tunic, documents scattered on a table, a jug and goblets. It was surprisingly untidy, she thought, for such a demanding man. Lady Edith, taking care of the castle in Tamsin's place, must not be pleased, if she or a servant was even allowed inside now.

Where was Lady Edith, she thought suddenly, and a frisson of worry ran through her, a thread of guilt that she had left the woman here, albeit under Sir Davey's protection. Where was Oonagh? She felt sure Sir Davey would watch after both.

Malise kicked the door shut behind him. "You were to be my wife," he said. "We had an agreement."

"I never promised that." She turned to face him, backing away.

"The king ordered it. Yet you married Seton—I saw the banns. This is a legal matter now. The king will want to know that you disobeyed his order. You will have to annul. Our betrothal takes precedence."

"We had no agreement!" A marriage that was fully consummated could not be easily annulled, nor would she reveal that the union was a handfasting. "I have no intention, now or ever, of ending my marriage."

"You have been cajoled. Fooled. He does not want you," he said, taking a step forward. "He wants this Dalrinnie. But I have them by royal orders, and I was to be your husband. I want what was promised me by the king—and you."

"I promised you nothing, and you know it!"

"The book!" he barked. "King Edward expects it. Give it to me. Or did you give that to Seton too, along with your body?" He moved forward again, looking down at her breasts, where her quickened breath rose and fell. "That body belongs to me. I have watched you since you were John Witton's bride, and hardly touched. That body will bear my sons. It will please me. And I you."

He reached out. She stepped back. "Get away from me. A widow has the right to decide who touches her."

"Until betrothal. Then the man has the right."

She angled to avoid his reach, but he grabbed her and pulled her hard to him.

"You seem more wench than widow to me," he said, grabbing her hips, pressing her against him, so that she gasped and pushed and thanked heaven for a good layer of chain mail between them. "I could claim my rights as your betrothed right now, and any magistrate would decide in my favor over the man who abducted you from me."

"Abducted!" She pushed, but could not free herself. "I left of my own accord."

"That is not what Lady Edith said. Not the girl's fault, she said. Must have been taken from us. Where is that damned book? Edward is sending a messenger to fetch it from me."

For a moment she breathed out in relief—Malise had not mentioned finding her copies of Thomas's prophecies at Dalrinnie, which she had locked away in a chest. Thanks all the saints for that. "The book is in a safe place. And it is not what you think it is. Ow," she gasped, as his hand bruised her arm and his chain mail bit into her abdomen.

"What! You lie about that book."

"I never lie." She shoved, breaking away when his grip shifted. "The Rhymer was a poet. He wrote songs, verses, tales."

"He made predictions about Scotland! Edward wants to know all of them."

"He did not write a book of predictions. The king is a fool to think so." Breathing hard, she circled away, edging toward the door, putting the heavy table between them. He rounded on her, came closer. "He was a harper and carper, a bard."

"Harper! I will kill your harper for taking my woman. He had no right."

"I gave him the right," she said fiercely.

"But I have the order. He does not."

Something occurred to her then. Both Liam and Malise had orders. "Show me the document. Is this it?" She grabbed up parchments, crumpling them. "Or this?"

With a snarl, he snatched a page and flapped it. "See for yourself. King's command."

She snapped open the page, held it up, but the room was dim. Three candlesticks were alight on the table. She lifted one.

"Do not!" he shouted, lunging for her, missing.

"I will not burn it! I cannot read it." She held it up to the light, turning away from his grabbing hand. Examining it quickly, she saw, as she had before, that changes had been made. Partial lines had been scraped away. But the original inked words had bled deeply into the vellum. Traces were visible when she held it to the candlelight. Only a practiced eye would see the difference. She caught her breath.

"This says—Sir William Seton is to marry Lady Thomasina Keith, widow of Dalrinnie." She looked up. "This was altered! The original order was for Sir William to marry me—not you!"

Malise set a hand on the hilt of the dagger at his belt. "That was the king's jest on Seton, thinking you were an old woman. It amused him. But I knew better. I promised to deliver the document to Seton and then paid a clerk to make a false copy for Seton and another version for me. Worth the coin," he muttered. "Worth getting you in my bed."

"But you will never." She could hear shouts outside through the window—and far below too, echoing in the stairwell. Someone was coming—she had to get to the door. She moved. He stepped with her, glaring, his handsome face distorted, beauty gone ugly with his vile hatred, his vanity, his cruelty.

She had to delay him, distract him. "So that was why you came after him at Lochmaben! Not because you were hunting an outlaw. Because you could not let him find out about the orders you changed!"

"He is an outlaw and does not deserve the chance Edward gave him. He does not deserve you—or Dalrinnie either. I have wanted you since the first day I met you here," he growled. "Witton's luscious young Scottish bride. He was an old man. He did not deserve the prize he got."

"Neither did you!" As she said it, he moved, grabbed her, yanked her so hard she fell across the table. One of the candles tumbled, catching the edge of a parchment.

"Fire!" she gasped as he dragged her across the tabletop. "Fire!"

"Damn it," he growled, shoving her aside and grabbing a jug of liquid, tossing it over the flame. But it only bloomed higher. He upended a goblet over it. "God's blood!"

Tamsin ran to the door and pulled hard, yanking it open. "Fire!" she screamed.

The shouts she had heard were men on the lower part of the steps. Now they pounded upward. "Fire! Fire! Lady Tamsin, is that you?" She heard Sir Davey.

"Here!" She ran out to the platform step. But Malise had smothered the fire and came after her, grabbing for her. "Sir Davey!" she screamed.

"The fire is out. Go back," Malise snarled as David Campbell came into view.

"No, sir—not here. The bonfire in the bailey! Fire in the yard!"

"What!" Malise would not let her go, even as she twisted against him.

"The guisers from the village—they came in. We saw no harm in it. But they went mad, that lot. Set a bonfire in the bailey, set fire to a hay wagon. It is pandemonium."

"Get rid of them! Kill them if you must. Where are the bowmen—"

"Sir Malise!" Footsteps again, armor chinking, and Patrick Siward came around the stair pillar. "The guisers—among them are men from Ettrick Forest. I recognize some of them."

Malise shook Tamsin. "Did you bring them here? Is Seton coming for you? Good!" He turned for the stairs that led upward, still gripping her arm. "Go deal with them," he yelled to the men over his shoulder, and pulled her fiercely up the steps.

She knew where he was taking her. To the parapet. To Agatha. To the cage.

High on thebattlement walkway, the wind struck her, blowing back her hair and her gown as Malise pushed open the door and dragged her out to the parapet level. Twilight had gone full dark, the moon floating above, riding in clouds, casting eerie shadows over the stone walls. The wide stone walkway was enclosed by the parapet wall on one side and was open on the other, looking down on the bailey. In the corners, the walkway widened to platforms. The cage sat in the nearest corner, under glowing torches in brackets. Malise pulled her that way.

Fumbling for a key at his belt, he tore open the door and shoved her in like bread pushed into an oven. She fell nearly on top of the woman who cowered inside the narrow space. Slamming the door, he spun and walked away without a word. He did not take the stone steps leading to the bailey—where shouts and commotion reigned—but instead headed for a door leading back into the tower.

Tamsin helped the other woman, knocked over by her entrance, to sit up. "Dame Agatha? I am sorry—are you hurt? I am Thomasina Keith."

The woman looked at her, torchlight glowing along her face, her hair, her body. Without a veil, her hair was dark, tousled, trimmed short; she wore a rumpled, formless black gown over a white shift showing here and there; her feet were bare. She held a tartan blanket in her lap and stared at Tamsin as if stunned to see her.

"Lady Tamsin?" She peered, then smiled. A deep tuck appeared at the corner of her mouth, part of the long ugly scar that ran from her chin upward along the side of her face, pulling at the corner of her eye, disappearing into the tousle of her dark hair.

"You know my name?" Tamsin asked.

Agatha nodded. That beautiful Seton face, Tamsin saw, was delicately expressed in the sister; the prominent scar made no difference after a moment. Her large, long-lidded eyes were dark in torchlight, her brows thick and dark, her smile charming. She was younger than Tamsin had expected.

"I know you. My reverend uncle sent a message to tell me the news—you and Liam." She extended a hand, long and graceful, two fingers short stubs at the knuckles. "I believe we are sisters now."

On impulse, Tamsin opened her arms to embrace Agatha. "We are sisters. I love your family." Hugging her, she felt Agatha's half-sob. "And I love your brother."

"I know." Agatha drew back, pushed her hair back. "It is good news in all this. But why did Malise bring you here?"

"He is... unhappy that Liam and I are married. And I have something he wants, and I will not give it to him."

"The book? I heard about that." Agatha huffed. "He is so angry that you refused to marry him. He shouted at me about it. I too refused to marry him years ago, so I laughed. I could not help it, and must confess and do penance, I suppose. Such a man is hurt and angry and deserves compassion."

"I do not have much sympathy for him. So I too must do penance. You laughed at him—he must have hated that."

"I laughed because I will never show him my fear. He did this, years ago." She gestured toward her cheek with her stubbed finger. Tamsin realized suddenly that the facial scar was very like Gideon's; she wondered if Malise gave the brother that wound too, perhaps when the brothers defended their sister. "Malise did not mean to do this, I think, but it happened. An awful day I wish I could forget," she added. "But when he took me here and complained about you, I told him he is a handsome knight many women might want to marry—until they learn what a beast he is."

Tamsin half-laughed. "True."

"Change that and ask God's forgiveness, I said. Give up your beastly temper and hatred and find your better nature in prayer. Then you might find a wife to tolerate you."

"Oh, that did not please him!" Tamsin kept her arm around Agatha, a slight woman, bony shoulders, thin hands clutching the tartan blanket.

"It did not." Agatha shrugged. "He ordered the soldiers to hang this cage from the parapet, but they did not have rope stout enough. I have been here five days, I think. But Lady Edith has been kind, bringing me blankets and food and sitting with me at times."

"Has she? I am glad. And I am glad she is here and safe. I left this place—I am sure Malise told you something about that. I do not know what he plans, but I can tell you," Tamsin continued, "that your brothers are on their way here. You may not recognize them though. It is Samhain night, you see. Listen. Do you hear the guisers in the bailey yard? They set the bonfire down there?"

From the angle of the cage, they could see only part of the bailey, though the light from the fire seemed contained now. Tamsin heard shouts, loud singing, and raucous laughter from the villagers, the forest men too, down in the central yard. Bellows and shouted orders came from guards trying to keep them at bay to no avail.

"I may be an abbess, but I enjoy any pagan ritual that will help just now. Are my brothers with the guisers?"

"They spoke of taking a tunnel rather than the gate."

"The tunnel! It goes to a hidden stair in the wall of the keep where it is hollow inside the double wall. The steps lead up to the battlement. I hope they got in safely and were not seen."

A moment later, a door at the far end of the parapet walk burst open. A giant beast, a horned green man, and a nun emerged, swords at the ready.

"Ah, here they are!" Agatha's face brightened in that serene and beautiful smile.