Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3 (19 page)

28

The warmth and languidness Sorcha felt evaporated as Tomas approached the dais, where she and Malcolm broke their fast. “I demand to ken what ye will do with my sister, Maclean.”

A quiet fell over the hall. Nathair, seated next to Malcolm, stood up, his hand on the dirk that hung from his belt. “I suggest ye sit down and let the laird finish his meal, lad.”

“Nay,” Tomas said. “Stab me if ye must, brutish Highlander, but I would ken my sister’s fate. How long will she squat in the dungeons and what will be her fate?”

              “Tomas,” Sorcha began, “despite all that has happened, I ha’e beseeched Malcolm nae to…hang her for the crime of attempted murder.”

Tomas’ eyes swung to Sorcha. There was a world of hurt and bitterness in them. “How magnanimous of ye,” he said, practically snarling. “Ye had no qualms about asking her to lie for ye, to impersonate ye so ye didna ha’e to marry the Highlander. Ye’ve forgotten yer friend and all she has done for ye. What is it, Sorcha? Now that ye’ve had the Maclean’s mighty blade between yer legs and ‘tis nae as distasteful as ye imagined it would be, ye think only of yerself?
Whore
,” he spat.

              Malcolm stood now. “Be careful how ye speak to my wife, Tomas.”

“Tomas,” Sorcha said, “I ha’e no forgotten Nessa! I acted as a child and I shouldna ha’e lied to try to avoid marriage. Nessa and I thought of it as a game. I didna ken how her mind had turned since Lulach spurned her. No one did. She hid it vera well. The woman in the dungeon is a woman I no longer ken, a dangerous woman. She tried to kill me. It stopped being a game then. It’s a miracle I survived the fall from the cliff. I nearly drowned.”

              “Yer right. My sister isna in her right mind. She is unbalanced. She didna ken what she was about. She thought she could marry the Highlander and be the lady of the keep, and ye helped foster that illusion with yer
game
.”

              Malcolm addressed the entire hall now. “Nessa was clear-headed enough to lure Sorcha to the burn. She left a note which Martha found in Sorcha’s room, a note in which Nessa claimed she was going to end her life at the burn. She beseeched Sorcha nae to follow her but she kent full well that Sorcha would. She kent Sorcha would try to stop her from ending her life. She planned her death in advance with Lulach and they waited for Sorcha at the burn. And well ye ken, Tomas, crimes of violence must nae go unpunished.”

Malcolm’s face was so hard now, it was difficult for Sorcha to imagine she’d seen gentleness and pleasure in it the night before.

“There are no witnesses from that day to tell us if it happened the way Sorcha said it did,” Tomas said. “Look how easily and how many times she lied to ye, Malcolm Maclean.”

There was a brief flicker of uncertainty in Malcolm’s eyes and Sorcha was reminded, with a stab of guilt, it would not be easy to reestablish trust with the Highlander.

“There was someone else,” Malcolm said. “Lulach Kerr. He pushed Sorcha from the cliff as Nessa watched. When we find him, he will be punished as well.”

There was shouting in the corridor. All turned their attention as two Douglas men carried a bleeding guard into the room. “Call for the barber,” Gleann said. “Nessa had a dirk hidden in her boot. She stabbed Columb when he brought her food and she’s escaped. He is cut to the bone.”

The blood drained from Tomas’ face and he ran from the hall.

“I am here,” said a tall man with greying hair and an angular face who threaded his way through the crowd.

The bleeding man moaned as he was dragged across the floor and placed on a table. His blood stained the white tablecloth that covered the table. Columb was the nephew of Gleann, a young man who was well respected by all. The barber, Eallair, turned to Donald, his son of eleven summers. “Bring me rags and a poker,” he said. “I will need salve of Yarrow and something for Columb to bite down on.”

The lad quickly returned with the items and a stick was placed between Columb’s teeth. As Gleann heated the poker in the hearth, Eallair staunched the flow of blood with rags and applied the salve.

Sorcha had seen Eallair treat wounds before. She hoped he could save the lad. The barber preferred Yarrow over clay, moss, spider webs, or horse manure to pack deep, open wounds, and Sorcha knew it helped to stop bleeding and lessen pain. She knew what the plant looked like for she’d seen the leaves of it used to pack wounds on the battlefield. Ironically, the leaves of the plant looked like wee swords.

The barber mumbled to himself. “Good thing this wound was nae slightly closer to his neck. ’Tis fortunate it’s in the area of the body governed by Taurus, and the right constellations are prominent in the skies over Scotland. Taurus will aid greatly in recuperation and Gemini approaches. For otherwise, it would be more dangerous to treat this wound.”

When he was finished packing the wound, Eallair applied the hot poker to seal it. Columb screamed and bit down on the stick and then passed out. “He will live,” Eallair said.

There were shouts for justice. “Find the bitch and hang her!” Another cried, “Burn Nessa alive!” Still others called for cutting out her tongue and cutting off her hands. “Trial by water! Throw her over the falls herself and let God decide if she’s guilty or innocent!”

Malcolm looked at Sorcha. “Stay here. We will go after her. She willna get far. No one is safe until we find Nessa and Lulach.”

Malcolm, Nathair, and Kendrew quickly organized the men, gathered their weapons, and left the hall. Most of the clan members followed them, eager for the hunt, eager for justice to be served. Feeling sick at her own part in all of it, Sorcha headed up the stairs to retrieve her bow and arrow. What had she wrought from a simple game? She would also search for Nessa. If she found her, she would bring her back to the keep herself. She wanted to know why Nessa had done what she’d done. And when had Sorcha ever taken orders from anybody?

29

In her bedchamber, Sorcha went to the window to watch the men ride away across the meadows. Their horses were dark, fast-moving shadows in the striated sunshine and wind.
Where are ye, Nessa?
She removed her boots and laid her dirk on the table, intending to change into her hunting clothing. It was then she felt the point of a blade pressed to her back.

“Leave the dirk on the table and dunna bother with yer boots.”

Sorcha could see Nessa’s distorted reflection in the base of the silver candlesticks. Her gown was soiled and splattered with Columb’s blood, her hair tangled, her blue eyes as wild as the skies over Scotland during a spring storm. ‘Twas clever of her to hide in the last place anyone would expect—the keep itself.

“Go with me now to the undercroft. To the room where ye found yer precious princess puppet.”

The halls were deserted, much to Sorcha’s dismay. She considered fighting Nessa off but could end up with a dirk in her back, as she was unarmed. For now, she would see where Nessa thought to take her and why.

The undercroft was dusty and dimly lit by the torch light in the corridor. Shadows loomed and flickered.

“Ye see that Viking tile on the wall?” Nessa asked. “There are other such tiles in the keep. I ha’e nae found them all yet. Each tile portrays a ship. Yet this is the only tile that seems to ha’e both a ship and sail. ‘Twas Gillis who started me thinking on it. Remember the tales we heard as wee lasses, of Viking ghosts and monks’ hidden treasures? Gillis loves Viking ships. He carves them from wood. Only a ship with a sail can move about the sea, ye ken? I think a Douglas ancestor put the tiles where they are a long time ago for a reason. I think he was hunting for treasure. I think these tiles are clues.”

“’Tis just a tile,” Sorcha said. “The tales of treasure are just tales.”

“Oh, nay. Open the cupboard. Ye’ll see. There’s a secret door.”

Sorcha opened the cupboard and was greeted with a cold, fetid blast of air.

“Now climb down.”

Sorcha peered into the darkness but could see nothing. It was a hollow chamber of sorts.

“The beauty of it is, only Lulach and I ken this passage is here. He is the one who stole yer princess puppet from yer room and placed it here, in the cradle. He is the one who slashed the strings and cut its face with his dirk. He came back and found it beneath the pile of clothes and took it. He wanted me to have it. He comes often through this tunnel and no one kens. He takes his pleasure with me in one of the bedchambers no one uses. He felt sorry I almost drowned that day in the burn. He doesna love Caterina. Who could? And the whole time ye thought I pined for a man who no longer loved me.”

“He ne’er loved ye, Nessa.”

Nessa brought the point of the dagger to Sorcha’s throat, nearly drawing blood. “What do ye wait for? Climb down.”

Sorcha made a decision. She wanted to see where the tunnel led and she had a better chance of fighting Nessa off at the end of it.

She climbed down the rock but it was slippery and she fell, scraping her knees. It was completely dark. She stood up, the stone cold beneath her bare feet. Nessa was soon next to her in the tunnel; she could feel her harsh breath on the back of her neck.

“I ken the tunnel well and dunna need a torch. I dunna want to give ye light so ye can see me. Ye may think to try to fight me. It would be a mistake. Lulach waits at the end of this tunnel. If he hears me scream, he will come running, and he willna hesitate to stab ye in yer wretched heart.”

The point of the dagger was once again at Sorcha’s back. “Walk forward,” Nessa commanded.

The stone passage was small and cramped and they had to bend over to walk through it. Sorcha placed her hands against the damp rock wall, feeling her way.

“Where does this tunnel lead?” Sorcha asked.

“Ye might as well ken,” Nessa said. “To the burn. We go there so I can finish what I started. Ye should’ve died the first time.”

“What will ye gain from my death now, Nessa?”

“Satisfaction,” she said.

“Nessa, we ha’e been friends since we were wee lasses. Ye dunna ha’e to do this.”

“Ye were ne’er my
friend
,” Nessa said, her voice rising with emotion. “I think I always hated ye. Ye always had e’erything and I had nothing.” She laughed and the sound was eerie, echoing through the stone passage. There was another sound too, a scratching sound.

“What is that noise?” Sorcha asked.

“Rats. Vera big rats. Are ye afraid of rats, Sorcha?” She giggled.

Sorcha willed herself to remain calm. If Lulach waited at the end of this tunnel, it would be harder to fight off the two of them. Yet if she tried to fight Nessa in the dark, she thought again she might end up with a dirk in her back.

“If Lulach and I are caught,” Nessa said, “the Highlander will hang us both without a second thought. But at least ye’ll be dead, too.”

“He willna hang ye, Nessa. I ha’e beseeched him nae to. I will lobby for a more merciful punishment, I promise.”

“Ye lie. Highlanders dunna show mercy. And e’en if ye convince him nae to hang me, he will burn me or try me by the water trial and I canna swim.”

Sorcha thought about how Nessa was sometimes very child-like. She tried to appeal to the child within her. “Yer vera clever to ha’e found the tunnel on yer own. When did ye find it?”

“Oh aye, ‘twas clever of me. I found it a few months ago but kept it a secret. I do love secrets!”

They moved slowly through the dark.

“There are rumors about the Black Douglas wealth,” Sorcha said. “Long before the fall at Arkinholm. Rumors about pirates and smuggling. Maybe they used this secret tunnel to move goods about. There are also rumors about monks hiding their treasures so Vikings wouldna find them. This tunnel may predate the current castle. And ye found it, Nessa. Such a clever lass!”
Keep her distracted,
Sorcha thought. “Do ye remember the ghost story about the Vikings? Maybe the fearful monks hid their gold somewhere in this vera tunnel.”

“Oh I do, such a wonderful tale! I havena found the gold yet but there are some lose rocks in the tunnel. Lulach and I ha’e been chipping away at them. There’s a certain spot, if ye tap it. A hollow sound. Ye’ll be gone when we find it, and Lulach and I will go off to Italy and live vera richly. I’ll ha’e more gowns than I can count and the finest wines and sugared almonds every night. I
hate
Scotland.”

Sorcha saw a dim light at the end of the tunnel and now she could hear the great rushing sound of Devil’s Waterfall crashing to the rocks below.

The tunnel ended in the cave behind the crashing wall of water, and she saw the silhouette of a man waiting there.
Lulach
.

“Here she is,” Nessa said proudly. “I brought her just like ye told me too, lover.”

“That’s a good lass,” he said. “E’en ye, Sorcha, canna survive a drop from Devil’s Waterfall. Yer bones will break and smash on the black boulders at the bubbling bottom, leaving ye as ragged and limp as yer princess puppet. We chose the wrong spot the first time we pushed ye o’er.”

  Lulach held a gleaming dirk in his hairy hands. His dark hair was unkempt about his shoulders and his black beard was thick and uncombed. His smile was cruel and ice-like. Being sure to keep Sorcha in front of her, Nessa ventured to one side of the waterfall so they could both peer out through the mist. “’Tis a vera far drop, Sorcha. Vera far indeed.”

Sorcha felt hope as shouts were heard in the woods below.
Malcolm and other men. They were searching for Nessa and Lulach. But they didn’t know she was here! They didn’t know about the secret tunnel.
“Lulach, ye look and smell like the feral animal ye are,” Sorcha said. “A little lavender water wouldna hurt ye.”

The smile disappeared from Lulach’s face and his eyes, so dark they were nearly black, narrowed.

“Ye think yer a strong man but yer a coward, a coward who beats women and rapes them.” 

Lulach picked at his fingernails with his dirk. “I am like a feral animal. A cat. I seem to ha’e nine lives. Yet ye ha’e only one, Sorcha, and it shall end this day.”

It was now or never.

“Malcolm!” Sorcha cried so the men in the woods would know she was there and not back at the castle.

The next moments were a blur, a haze in which time seemed to slow and drift. Nessa lunged at Sorcha, wanting to be the one to push her over the ledge this time, but something burst from the tunnel behind her. A lean figure shoved Nessa forward as Sorcha stepped back. Nessa’s arms cartwheeled in the air, shock in her eyes as she went over the falls.

Gillis.
Gillis had quietly followed her through the tunnel and Caterina stood there too, her eyes wide.

But now Lulach had his arm tightly across Sorcha’s waist and his dagger at her throat as he drug her to the ledge, where they were now visible to the men in the woods. Sorcha and Lulach could both see Nessa’s broken body on the black rocks below, where the waters hurtled white-topped and streaked with peat stain into a deep, dark basin.

Lulach showed no emotion as the current tugged the body of his childish lover away, but an anguished cry rose from the brush. ‘Twas Tomas who emerged from a place where the moss and rushes carpeted the over-hanging rocks and elm, ash, rowan and alder leaned over the water. He sank to his knees, his hands on his head.

From behind the curtain of roaring water, Gillis and Caterina watched Lulach and Sorcha, uncertain what to do.

“We’ll go over the falls together, Sorcha,” he said. “Yer clan watching. Gillis and Catering watching. The Maclean watching. What do ye think of that?”

“I dunna think much of it, coward.”

His grip on her tightened and the tip of his dagger pricked her skin and drew blood, which trickled down her neck.

Sorcha thought of how much loss there had been, so much loss and sorrow. She had walked among death all her life and now it was up close. So many painful, needless deaths. Battles over words thoughtlessly spoken, battles over cattle stolen in the middle of the night. Battles over women and land and riches. A single stolen horse or the possession of a grandfather’s revered sword. Battles to see who could own the vast skies and stretching heather-clad glens of Scotland, this great land of storms and stars and mad beauty, as if anyone could own these things.

She thought about how Lulach took pleasure in beating and raping women and men who did not fight back. “I am nae afraid,” she said.

Her words angered him, as she had intended
. He wanted her fear. She would not give it to him.
“I am nae like the others ye beat and torture,” Sorcha said. “I am nae afraid of pain and I am nae afraid to die, ye gormless bastard.”

He took a step closer to the ledge and peered over, his arm still gripping her close.

Sorcha caught the slightest movement in the woods below, off to the left, away from the other men. She felt sure Lulach hadn’t seen it. She knew the movement because her eye was trained for it.
It was the movement of an archer pulling a bowstring back.

She had to keep Lulach still. She had to keep absolutely still herself. “Are ye afraid to die, Lulach?”

“It will be worth if it I take ye with me.”

“But ye havena found the gold yet. Nessa tells me there may be monks’ treasure hidden in the tunnel.”

He hesitated, lifting his foot slightly as if he would jump. There was a high hissing sound as an arrow thudded into his skull, jerking his head back and crunching flesh and bone. It had gone through his eye, killing him instantly. Lulach’s arm tightened about her in reflex as he began to fall over the ledge and Sorcha frantically unlocked herself from his grip.

Then there was the horrid thump of his body slamming against the rocks below Devil’s Waterfall as Malcolm emerged from the trees, his eyes never leaving her, his hand clutching his black war bow—the one she’d given back to him. The bow that had never truly belonged to her.