Beneath a Dark Highland Sky: Book #3 (26 page)

41

Jehanne’s purple robe gave him a regal bearing, but his doe-brown eyes sparkled with a youthful mischievousness. His dark head of curly brown hair bobbed on his long, thin neck. “If the woman Maira will not recant her accusations, there is another way,” he said, his hands fluttering about as if he could not stand for them to be still.

“It is risky. It will require me to perform the greatest illusion of my life, outside these castles walls.”

              “Ye’d risk yer own life?” Leith asked. “Why?”

              “I met Malcolm here when I was a lad. He told the king his future and my father and I performed magic. But I had eagerly approached the king before he asked me to. I could have been beaten or worse. Malcolm intervened. He prophesied the king’s guards would be cursed if any one of them harmed me, and what good are royal guards that canna guard?” Jehanne smiled at the memory. “The bravery of his young heart was magnificent. He was much braver than I ever was. We both could have suffered grievous fates. But the king was pleased with Malcolm and with my father and I, and my father and I were invited to stay on as royal magicians.”

              “What do ye propose?” Isobel said.

“Tomorrow afternoon they will tie Malcolm to a stake. I won’t have much time. I will convince James to let me entertain the crowd to diffuse Malcolm’s dark magic. I will convince him also to let me burn magical herbs, creating a great smoke screen. I will go to James when I leave here and tell him I need privacy tonight to make the area where the stake is safe, to sprinkle the herbs and perform enchantments to protect all from Malcolm’s great witch magic on the morrow. No one will come near me while I do it because they will be afraid.

“Tonight I will rig and hide a system of ropes and pulleys and while there’s a great cloud of smoke on the morrow, I will release Malcolm from the stake and put clothes stuffed with straw in his place. I know the king will make Malcolm wear a hood for he will not wish to see Malcolm’s face. I will make sure the stuffed figure also has a hood over its head. When the body starts to burn, I will disappear, pulling the ropes and making the fake body jerk as if it’s in pain. Everyone will think it’s Malcolm, because people see what they want to see.

“I studied the elaborate machinery of Italian artists, architects and engineers and once designed a system of ropes and pulleys by which a whole chorus of angels was made to descend, singing, from a heaven of cotton clouds. James and the royal church-goers were quite impressed, a few of them nearly soiling their silken trousers!”

“But where is Malcolm to go once ye’ve untied him from the stake?” Sorcha asked. “And what if someone sees ye both?”

“The smoke will envelope us. No one will see us. And as far as where Malcolm will go, I have this.” With a flourish, Jehanne removed a crude map from his cape and a dagger. “There are secret tunnels beneath the castle. The king himself and his guards aren’t aware of the tunnels. Nobody knows of them but me. My father was the one who discovered them. Magicians are very good at keeping secrets.” He bent over and used his elbow to spread the wrinkled paper flat on the desk. Then he dipped his dagger point in candle grease and drew a line on the map. “After Malcolm is secretly removed from the stake and a fake body burned in his place, he will need to appear to the king in his private chambers, as if he had great magic and used it to escape being burned as a sorcerer. He will tell James to ne’er again ask a Maclean to tell his future and to ne’er again accuse one of witchcraft or sorcery or burn one at the stake. When the king is fearful and upset, he retreats to his apartments alone, stationing his guards outside the door. So Malcolm need not worry others will see him, only the king. When he leaves the king’s rooms, he will leave the castle this way.” He drew another line on the map with candle grease. “But I will need someone to help me, someone to lead Malcolm through the tunnels to James while I am removing the ropes and pulleys and all evidence of the illusion, and then to lead Malcolm out of the castle. You all need to be seen in the crowd, so it cannot be one of you. Is there anyone else here you trust?”

“Tomas,” Sorcha said.

“I am nae sure about Tomas,” Leith said.

“Tomas will do it. We can trust him,” she said. “He will help us. He wants to prove his loyalty to the clan after what happened to Nessa, for if he doesna, he will live the rest of his life with suspicious eyes following his e’ery move.” Leith considered her words and nodded. “So be it.”

“When we leave here, go to Tomas and tell him of our plan,” Jehanne said. “Then send him to me. I will show him where to stand tomorrow so he is hidden and I will bring him through the tunnels tonight so he is familiar with them. After the spectacle, wait in town in the herbalist’s shop in the alley. Ye ken it?”

“Aye,” Leith said.

“I trust the herbalist not to ask you questions. Malcolm will leave the castle in a horse-drawn wagon, hidden beneath straw. He will meet you there.”

“’Tis a bold plan,” Isobel said. “So many things ha’e to go right.”

“And if yer caught, Jehanne, ‘tis certain death,” Leith said. “For ye as well as Malcolm.”

“I know it. I am willing to risk my life. As I said, Malcolm didn’t think twice when he risked his for mine.”

Tears gathered in Isobel’s eyes. “Yer father would be vera proud, Jehanne.”

              “What’s life without a little magic? Now I must leave you and prepare. You must trust me tomorrow, when they bring Malcolm out and tie him to the stake. I will not fail ye and I will not fail him.”

              Leith nodded and Jehanne departed through the secret wall. It slid back into place.

“If Malcolm miraculously survives being burned at the stake, and the illusion is ne’er revealed, he will ha’e a great reputation as a sorcerer,” Isobel said. “That could be vera dangerous when we leave here and he attempts to resume his normal life. But we will deal with that when it comes, for his life must be spared by any means.”

              Sorcha knew she would not sleep this night, wondering if Jehanne would be successful in his attempt to convince the king to let him purify the grounds around the stake, if he would have everything in place on the morrow, all his hidden ropes and pulleys. “I brought my bow and arrow,” she said. “I can conceal it beneath my cape. I could simply let my arrow find the heart of the person who tries to light the fire beneath Malcolm’s feet. I dunna want to live without him!”

              “Nay, lass,” Leith said. “Malcolm wouldna wish for ye to die saving him. For surely a guard would put an arrow in yer heart, too. We must trust in Jehanne’s way. It is his best chance.”

              Isobel embraced her, crying now. “We must believe Jehanne will succeed. We must. We will hope and pray for a little magic on the morrow.”

42

James did return to the dungeons in the very early hours of morning.

              He stood opposite the barred cell that held Malcolm and peered into the inky shadows. “Darach tells me ye still havena confessed.”

              “Darach’s a feckless, half-witted brute. I will ne’er confess, yer
Grace
, for I dunna practice the dark arts.”

              “Yer a sorcerer. How else would ye see these things in yer dreams?”

              “I am nae a sorcerer. I cast no spells. I’ve ne’er plucked gizzards from pigeons or howled at moon or turned into stone or raised storms with my thoughts. I dunna have a third teat. I dunna read the future in rotten eggs or scrying bowls or the stars. I ne’er summon evil. But I ha’e prayed, yer Grace. I ha’e prayed.”

              “To God?”

              “To God.”

              The king was silent.

              “The evil in this world lies in people, in their pride and greed and jealousy,” Malcolm said.

              Still James did not speak.

Malcolm emerged from the shadows and James gasped, shocked at the Highlander’s  appearance—the dried blood on his face, his swollen eyes, the welts and bruises that covered his warrior’s body, for he’d been stripped of his clothes and wore only his trews.

“I prayed for guidance and I had a vision, yer Grace, while I was sitting in this grim, dark place. I believe it is yer true future, nae the one Maira spoke of.” Malcolm faded back into the shadows, hoping the king would be curious. He waited.

              “Ye lie to save yer life.”

              “I ha’e visions and dreams. I dunna ken why or when they come.”

              “Words spoken wrongly or to the wrong man can kill a person, Malcolm. There are always eyes and ears in the dark.”

              “According to yer Grace, I am already a dead man.”

              Finally, James said, “Indulge me then.”

In the hollow darkness, Malcolm spun the threads of bright dreams with his words. “I dreamt of beautiful churches with architecture such as Scotland has ne’er seen. I saw masons brought together from afar, some from Italy, planting their huts beside their work. I saw sculptors and wood carvers, painters and glass workers. All in the service to God and their king, raising ten churches, their grand walls rising into the blue skies. People spoke yer name with reverence and praised ye for building these churches. I saw beeswax candles glowing on altars. People of all walks kneeling in prayer. I heard bells ringing. And people said, ‘James the Third is a great and merciful king.’ Ye must build these ten churches. I saw no country priest bent o’er ye with a sharp dagger dripping with royal blood.”

              “I dunna believe ye.”

              “Think, yer Grace, of how many men die in the name of their king. Men fight and kill or are killed for their king. There is a chance for ye to be remembered for something other than fighting and death. When ye are gone from this earth, what do ye want people to remember ye for? Running from battle and being stabbed to death in a lowly cottage or for building beautiful churches that will stand in the service of God for hundreds of years to come?”

              Malcolm approached the bars once more. “Maira lies. She wanted to marry me but I was bound to another by a decree issued from yer own father, James the Second! Maira is a jealous woman, thoughtless and careless. I ha’e always been fair and truthful. I dunna deserve a fiery death because a vain woman accused me falsely of sorcery. Do ye want that on yer royal conscience, yer Grace?” The King stared at him for a moment and Malcolm held his breath.

“It stinks to high heaven in here,” James said.

“The garderobe the guards use to relieve themselves is next door. Ha’e ye ne’er been to yer own dungeons?”

              “I dunna make it a habit.”

              “If ye dunna build the churches, years hence ye will be imprisoned here, in yer own castle. Ye will become vera familiar with these surroundings.”

James popped something into his mouth. “Candied violets,” he said. “They go mad for them in Spain.” He sucked on the candy and Malcolm caught the incongruent sweet scent of violets in the air. All night Malcolm had heard the pitiful moans of those locked away in the dungeons. He thought about the festivities taking place on the upper floors, the rich foods gobbled down by the guests and the expensive wines that were poured into goblet after goblet while poor, miserable retches suffered in the bowels of the castle. He was reminded of how youthful James was, how inexperienced, and how fearful.

              “I ask ye again, yer Grace, do ye wish to be remembered as the king of gutted castles and scorched, bloodied moorlands or as the ging who built churches of unmatched beauty? Ye must build ten churches. I saw it in my vision.”

James popped another violet candy into his mouth. “Ye willna confess then, Malcolm Maclean?”

              Malcolm exhaled in frustration and once more retreated into the darkest part of the cell.

              “Yer gift must be vera powerful, Malcolm. I wish ye would confess, for then yer death would nae ha’e to be by fire. E’en now my court magician prepares the ground where ye’ll be burned. He will make sure those who watch are protected from yer black magic. He sprinkles powerful herbs and chants. So in a few hours, when I ha’e an ill feeling, like there’s a cold hand creeping upon my neck and evil all around, I ken I will be safe from yer sorcery.”

             
Jehanne?
Malcolm thought. What James said didn’t make sense. He had helped Jehanne all those years ago. And Jehanne certainly didn’t seem to fear Malcolm or his “magic.” Did Jehanne ha’e a way to help him? Malcolm smiled in the darkness. He was deliriously tired, his body aching, and yet he still hoped for a little magic, a miracle. He closed his eyes and thought of Sorcha, imagining he held her in his arms one last time.

Malcolm said nothing and James departed. He listened as the king stomped away, the sound of his boot falls echoing with a grim finality on the cold, slimy stone.