Arsenic and Old Armor (39 page)

Fiona squirmed in her lap, breaking into the
woman’s reverie. Nanna picked up the brush and began to run it
through the silky softness of the little girl’s hair.

“
Nanna, is my hair really
the same color as papa’s?” she asked, turning her bright eyes on
the woman.

“
Aye, child. That it
is.”

“
And my eyes,
Nanna?”

“
Nay, child. You have your
mama’s hazel eyes. Your papa’s eyes are the color of a March
morning. Yours change with your mood and with the color of the
sky.”

“
But I do look like him,
don’t I, Nanna?” she asked hopefully. Her mother had always said
that Fiona resembled her father.

“
Aye, lass. You look like
him. And you have his wit. And his restlessness, and his high
spirits, as well. You are his very own child, Fiona.”

There had never been any question whose
child Margaret had borne. He had been here at Drummond Castle
beside her when Fiona had taken her first breaths in this world.
Nanna had seen the tears of joy washing his handsome face. And
then, later on, Nanna had seen the tears of sorrow on that face
when he had to go.

As the woman braided the little girl’s
locks, she thought of how often she had done this same simple task
for her mother as well. Margaret Drummond, eldest of three
daughters of John, Lord Drummond, had grown up to be one of the
most beautiful and sought-after maidens in all the realm. As a
young lady of the court, Margaret had been pursued by princes and
earls and lairds as well as by knights of every caliber. But she
had turned her face from matches that had promised security and
respectability. Instead, Margaret had accepted an impossible love.
She had been swept away by a man beyond her reach. A man whose life
and destiny were not his own to control. Nanna had watched her grow
from childhood, and had always known her charge would never accept
anything less than the union of two souls. For Margaret, impossible
as it was, this love was forever.

Margaret had known the consequences of the
relationship and had left the society at court when she had found
herself with child. She had withdrawn to Drummond Castle, away from
the prying eyes of the court gossips. She had secluded herself,
even from much of her own family, content to raise her child alone,
hoping all the while for his return.

And then he had followed her, to be with her
during the pain of her labor, to share with her the tears and later
the joy, to bask in a brief glow of happiness before the world had
pulled him away—as it would again and again—but always with the
departing promise that he’d come back as soon as he could.

But then one summer day he’d left, and he
hadn’t returned. This time had been different. His world had kept
him away. Two long years had come and gone before the news of this
impending visit had reached Drummond Castle. The skirmishes, the
politics...all had conspired to keep them apart until now.

Nanna knew that through these past two
years, Margaret had clung to the certain knowledge that she was
loved by the man who had fathered her child. Time had passed,
though, and the Nanna often wondered if he had changed.

But now...now he was about to make
Margaret’s dreams come true. Their dreams, Nanna thought. All of
their dreams.

The sound of the door’s latch startled the
old woman from her thoughts, and she sat bolt upright. The door
opened and Margaret rushed into the room, pushing the heavy oak
door closed behind her. Her eyes flickered across the room in
search of her child. Finding her on Nanna’s lap, Margaret’s face
visibly registered her relief. Fiona leaped up and ran into her
mother’s arms.

“
Mama, is it time?” the
little girl asked hesitantly, sensing something was
wrong.

“
Oh, my poor baby,” her
mother responded in anguish, hugging the child tightly to her. In
an instant she turned her troubled eyes toward the older woman.
“Nanna, we have no time. Take the back stairs down to the Great
Hall. Find Sir Allan and have him come up here immediately. Then go
out to the stables and have them ready three horses.”

“
What’s wrong, m’lady?”
the older woman asked, rushing to her mistress’s side. Margaret’s
bright eyes flashed toward her daughter; loose tendrils of blonde
hair fell around her perfect face, now filled with obvious
distress. “What I have feared for the past few weeks has finally
happened,” she answered quickly, struggling to fight back tears.
Her face was flushed with her effort to restrain a thousand
emotions. “You must take Fiona away from here. But first go and do
as I have said. I will send her down with Allan. And please
hurry.”

The older woman was torn between the desire
to know more of her lady’s distress and the need to comply with the
urgency of her command. But one look at the fear in Margaret’s eyes
catapulted her into action, and she bustled quickly out the small
door at the rear of the chamber.

As the door closed behind the retreating
woman, Margaret’s hand went to the leather purse in the pocket of
her dress. Wrapping her fingers around it, she could feel the dead
coldness of Andrew’s broach, and, beside it, the ring, its heat
burning her fingers through the leather. She had to hide them, and
she had to hide them now. Her eyes swept around the room.

Oh, God, she thought. Oh, God! But
where?

And then she remembered. With a sharp cry,
she ran across the room to the fireplace. Counting several stones
over from the opening, Margaret pulled one from the wall. Fiona
just stood there in the middle of the room, confused, but knowing
deep within her heart that something was wrong, terribly wrong. She
could see the small dark space behind the wall and watched her
mother yank a small leather purse from the pocket of her dress,
jamming it into the hiding place. Quickly, Margaret shoved the
stone back where it had been and whirled on her daughter.

“
Fiona, my love,” she
said, crossing the floor quickly. “Run and get your heavy cloak and
the leather purse I gave you.”

“
But Mama,” the girl
protested. “What is wrong?”

“
Go, child! Hurry!” the
mother said quietly, trying to control the panic in her voice. “I
will explain in a moment.”

Fiona ran to the pegs by the door and pulled
down her winter cloak. As she turned back, she could see her mother
writing furiously at the small study table. Tripping to the chest
by her bed, Fiona took out the purse. By the time the little girl
reached her side, she had folded her letter and tipped candle wax
onto the paper, which she then sealed, using her ring.

“
Give me the purse,
Fiona,” Margaret said, reaching for the bag. She stuffed the letter
in the purse and removed the ruby and emerald-encrusted cross that
was hanging from the gold chain around her neck. Drawing Fiona to
her, Margaret placed the chain around her neck and discreetly
tucked it inside her dress.

“
Mama!” Fiona looked
wildly at her mother. For as long as she could remember, her mother
had worn the cross close to her heart. “You said Papa gave you
this.”

“
Aye, my love,” Margaret
answered, tears now coursing freely down her cheeks. “But I’ll not
be needing it, and you shall.”

“
But Mama! I don’t
understand! Papa is coming!”

Margaret looked at the bewildered daughter.
She was hardly more than a bairn. How would she survive this?

“
Listen to me, child. We
have only a moment.” Margaret looked around furtively. Time was
running out, but where were Nanna and Allan? She continued. “An
evil man has come into our home. Not your papa. Do you understand
me? Your papa does not even know of the evils that surround him. He
is innocent of this.”

Fiona tried to understand her mother’s
words. What did she mean? The words swirled through her head. Papa
was not coming. Innocent. Of what? Why did her mother no longer
need her cross? Who was this evil man?

Fiona began to cry, hiccupping and sobbing
as her mother tucked the leather purse inside her clothes. Margaret
then wrapped the heavy cloak over Fiona’s shoulders and tied the
leather thongs at her neck.

“
Listen to me carefully,
Fiona,” Margaret continued. They were both weeping now, and she
wiped her daughter’s tears from her flushed face. She cupped the
innocent young child’s face with her shaking hands and looked
intensely into the worried eyes. “I need you to be very brave. You
have to go away...to a place where you will be safe. And you have
to stay away until your papa comes to get you.”

“
But why isn’t he here?”
Fiona cried. “Where is Papa now?”

“
I wish I knew, Fiona. But
the evil men are already here. These men will hurt us, my love. It
is too late. You must go. They...But, listen to me, this is most
important.” Margaret knelt beside her child and held her tightly
with one arm as she pointed to the wall where she had hidden the
packet. “When your papa brings you back here, show him what is
behind that stone. He will punish the evil ones who have come here
tonight! I promise you, he will!”

Margaret hugged Fiona fiercely, and the
little girl clung to her mother.

They both jumped at the sound of the gentle
knock at the small rear door.

Holding her sobbing child against her,
Margaret called for her knight to enter.

Sir Allan entered the room, his face dark
with concern.

“
M’lady...should you
not...should I not be down with Lord Andrew...” he began
courteously.

“
NO!” Margaret
interrupted. “You must take Fiona far away from him...away from
here. He...”

With a resounding bang, the heavy oak door
of the room burst open, and a half dozen soldiers rushed in, drawn
swords in their hands. Instinctively, Allan pulled his own sword
from its scabbard, stepping in front of his mistress.

Margaret gripped Fiona’s hand and started
backing toward the rear chamber door. As her heart slammed in her
chest, she knew that it was not her own life that she feared for,
but the life of her own precious child.

Holy Mother, Fiona is an innocent, she found
herself praying. Please help her. Please save her.

“
What is the meaning of
this outrage?” the knight bellowed.

Instead of answering, four soldiers charged
at him.

Gallantly, Allan parried the first blows of
the onslaught, managing to shove one of the assailants clear across
the room. Slashing at the soldiers, Allan managed to plunge his
brand into one of the men where the shoulder meets the neck, but
before he could pull his sword out of the dying man, two of the
other soldiers found their chance; their swords pierced his chest
and his back, the blades crossing somewhere between his ribs.

The valiant knight was dead before he hit
the floor.

The assailants then turned on Fiona and
Margaret, who watched in horror as the killers approached them.

Quickly recovering, Margaret drew Fiona
behind her as she pulled a small dagger from her belt. Slowly, they
continued backing toward the door.

“
Stay behind me,” Margaret
commanded in a voice that shook with emotion. “These animals will
not dare to harm—”

Suddenly, Fiona felt herself being lifted
high into the air. Twisting her body, she tried desperately to dive
toward her mother. But a huge man, bigger than Sir Allan, held her
with a viselike grip that sent shockwaves of pain shooting down her
arms. Turning her head, she glimpsed the ugly, scarred face and the
wild, unkempt beard of the grinning madman who held her.

From the corner of her eye, she saw that
another man had taken hold of her mother’s arms and wrenched the
knife from her hand.

Reacting to her mother’s cries, Fiona felt
her body stiffen with anger. Suddenly something snapped within her,
and all her fear vanished. She was a whirlwind of motion, arms and
legs flying in all directions at once. Wildly, Fiona kicked hard at
the man’s stomach, sinking her teeth into his massive paw at the
same time. Her attacker snapped his hand away, and Fiona swung
loose for a moment. Twisting her arm, she kicked again hard at his
midsection, this time causing the man to throw her away from
him.

“
The devil…”

Fiona landed on her hands and knees, but
quickly scampered to her feet, eyeing the ugly man defiantly.

“
Are you going to let this
wee thing best you, m’lord?” one of the soldiers
sneered.

“
She is a demon,” the
Goliath roared, taking a step toward the girl.

Fiona looked around her wildly. She could
see that both doors were blocked. There was no way out. Running to
the window, she picked up the stool and rushed toward the men who
were holding her struggling mother. Throwing the stool at one, she
bit down on the hand of the other before being grabbed by the hair
from behind.

The man yanked her head back roughly and
jerked her around to face him. His fist hung in the air, his eyes
clouded with fury.

“
I’m going to teach you
how we deal with demon bairns where I come from.”

Fiona’s eyes shot darts of defiance into the
Highlander’s face.

“
If you hurt me,” she
hissed. “My papa will kill you.”

A look of shock flickered into the man’s
face as his fist opened. Then his black eyes narrowed into a
hardness that froze Fiona’s blood.

“
Where you are going, your
almighty papa will never find you,” he growled
menacingly.

Dragging her toward the rear door, past
Margaret, who had been gagged, the leader flung the little girl at
one of his men.