At one time, Cristie might have worried about the reception she’d receive upon her return to Dunraven. Knowing Alastair’s temper, she might even have feared it. Her ruse, after all, had been exposed, and she’d failed to find any evidence of a Templar treasure. But at that moment, she neither cared nor feared what Alastair, or anyone else for that matter, might say or do.
All she wanted to do was seek out her chamber, curl up with her misery, and lick her wounds. Facing Alastair, however, was still a hurdle to be overcome, and the sooner the better. Given the hour, she suspected he’d be in the great hall, and headed that way, almost colliding with Elspeth and Brochan in the doorway.
“Well, well, will you look who’s here.” Elspeth folded her arms and regarded Cristie with disdain. “What brings you back so soon, Lady MacKellar? Did you decide the poor Templar laird wasnae to your liking? Or did he discover you were the cuckoo in the nest and tossed you out on your arse? The latter, I suspect, judging by your sorry appearance.”
“Keep your voice down, Elspeth.” Brochan glanced over his shoulder and then turned back and regarded Cristie, brows raised. “Did you find anything, Cristie?”
“Dinnae answer that.” Tasgall strode through the doorway and stepped between them, his sober gaze sweeping Cristie from head to toe. “You’ll come with me, lass.”
Elspeth huffed and glared at Cristie. “Our father would be ashamed of the way his daughter,” she switched her glare to Tasgall, “and his clan is behaving.”
Cristie’s cheeks warmed. “Aye, he would, true enough,” she said. “I should have listened to you, Elspeth. You were right. About everything.”
An expression of surprise flashed across Elspeth’s face. “How so? What hap—?”
“You’ll come with me, lass,” Tasgall repeated, a flush of colour also arising in his cheeks, “and wait in the solar while I fetch the laird.”
In silence, Tasgall led Cristie up the winding staircase and into the solar. The room failed to live up to its illuminating designation. Deerskins, shielding the windows against the winter winds, denied entry to daylight. The resulting gloom was challenged by a large candelabra that sat atop the table, its twelve flickering tapers casting shadows over the tapestried walls.
“Stay here.” Tasgall put his hand on the door latch. “I’ll be back in a wee while.”
“You should nae have left me there that night, Tasgall,” Cristie said. “You should have brought me back with you.”
“I couldnae, lass. I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Did Ewan MacKellar mistreat you? When he found out the truth, I mean?”
Cristie drew a shaky breath. “Nay. He wasnae well pleased, but I wasnae illtreated, nor even cast out without a care. He personally escorted me all the way back to Dunraven.”
A weak smile came and went. “That’s… that’s good,” he said. “Um, wait here.”
Cristie continued to stare at the door for a few moments after Tasgall left. She had the impression he’d wanted to say more and wondered at it. Then, with a weary huff, she sank onto a wooden bench, heart and mind united in misery. Every passing moment sent Ewan further and further away. She wondered how far he’d travelled already. Not that far yet. He’ll likely still be on MacAulay land. Maybe he’ll change his mind before he reaches the pass and come back for me.
She released a soft, bitter laugh and cursed her foolishness for the thousandth time. Ewan would not come back. Not that day. Not ever. Such imaginings were as false as their marriage.
Hopeless.
Funny, she thought, how a lack of something could weigh so heavily upon the soul, as if emptiness somehow had form and substance. Of course, Alastair must never know how she felt. He must never know that she’d fallen in love with Ewan MacKellar.
The door creaked open and Cristie rose to her feet, determined to meet Alastair’s gaze, but he didn’t even look at her. Instead, goblet in hand, he moved past her and went to stand before one of the tapestries, his interest in the textile obviously feigned.
The chill of his displeasure filled the room, and Cristie’s empty stomach lurched as the sour stench of his breath swirled in his wake. Movement behind drew her attention, and she glanced over to see Tasgall standing sentry by the door. He nodded and gave her the hint of a smile.
“So.” Alastair took a gulp from his goblet and continued to gaze at the tapestry. “You were found out.”
“Aye.” Cristie suppressed a sigh and hugged her bag tighter. “I was.”
“How?” Alastair belched and took another swig of his drink. Fear at last manifested, and lifted the hair on Cristie’s nape. The noon hour had barely passed, yet it seemed the man was already in his cups.
“Are you deaf?” Frowning, her brother turned and approached, his stride not quite orderly. “Answer me. How were you found out? Did you betray me somehow?”
“Nay, I didnae. It was a visiting priest,” she replied, keeping her voice steady while resisting an urge to back away. “His name was… is Father Joseph. He knew I wasnae Elspeth and forced me to confess everything.”
“Father Joseph.” Alastair grunted and scratched his jaw. “Aye, I ken the man. May his cock rot. So, what happened?”
Cristie gave him a sardonic look. “Do you need ask that question? I’m here, am I not? Obviously, they threw me out.”
Alastair’s lip curled as he drew closer. “Mind your mouth,” he said, glancing at her bundle. “What’s in the bag?”
Cristie knew the worst thing she could do was let him see how much she valued its contents, so she held it out. “A shawl and a comb. I didnae have time to pack anything else. Laird MacKellar wanted me gone as soon as possible.”
To Cristie’s relief, he grunted and shifted his gaze back to her. “So, tell me what, if anything, you found out about these Templars. They’re hiding something, I’m certain of it.”
Something deep inside Cristie snapped like a twig. The man had not spared one solitary thought for her, nor shown any concern for her well-being at all. His single-mindedness caused her simmering emotions to boil over in a heated wave of anger.
“Nay, Alastair, you’re wrong.” She curled her lip and regarded him with loathing. “I found naught, and I saw naught, because there’s naught to find and naught to see. And even if there was, what could you do about it? Declare a clan war? Launch an attack? Ewan MacKellar laughed at the idea of you laying siege to Castle Cathan. Aye, and he said to tell you the MacAulays are no longer welcome on his land as well. So, there goes your cursed alliance! I wish I’d never listened to you. I wish I’d never gone there. It was a foolish venture, and you’re daft if you think—”
The impact knocked Cristie off her feet. With no time to even cry out, she fell hard, teeth sinking into her tongue as her head struck the floor. Pain sliced through her skull and speared the depths of her right ear as she tasted blood. She gasped and then flinched as Alastair’s formed loomed over her.
“Nay!” Tasgall’s harsh cry sounded a heartbeat before Alastair’s booted foot slammed into Cristie’s stomach. The air burst from her lungs as she coiled into a tight ball. She felt, rather than saw, Tasgall approach. “That’s enough, Laird,” he said. “Stop, please. You’ll kill the lass.”
“Daft, am I?” Alastair sneered. “I told you to mind your mouth, y’insolent wee bastard. And speaking of bastards, you’d better no’ be carrying MacKellar’s. I swear I’ll drown it at birth.”
Cristie couldn’t respond. Winded, she tried, and failed, to inhale. Like an approaching stampede of cattle, the noise in her head grew louder, filling her ears. Alastair said something else, his voice harsh, the words unintelligible; an outburst followed by a muffled thud. The door slamming, Cristie realized, as she balanced on the edge of oblivion. Abruptly, the noise in her head ceased, as if another door had been slammed shut. Unable to speak, she formed the words in her mind—a futile, impossible, cry for help.
Ewan, can you hear me? Please come back. Please.
“’Tis all right, lass.” Tasgall’s voice sounded hollow. She felt his hands on her and winced as he sat her up. “Jesus Christ, I swear the man has lost his mind.”
Pain spiralled up into her head, prompting her to gasp and, at last, take in air. She leaned against Tasgall and saturated her lungs with great gulps as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Aye, there you go, that’s better. Och, he winded you proper.” Tasgall uttered a mild curse as he stroked the hair back from Cristie’s face. “You’ll have a bonny bruise on your cheek by tonight, too.”
Cristie tasted blood and grimaced. “I’m... I’m all right,” she said, feeling anything but. “Will… will you help me stand, please, Tasgall?”
“Are you sure you’re able? You should wait a wee while, perhaps.”
“I… I’ll be fine. If you’ll just help me, please.”
He made a sound of disapproval, but hoisted her to her feet and held her steady for a moment. “There you go. All right?”
She nodded and swallowed against an urge to vomit. “Thank you.”
“Might you be?” Tasgall cleared his throat and glanced down at her belly. “Carrying MacKellar’s child, that is?”
“Nay,” she answered, leaning against him. “’Tis certain I’m not.”
“Aye, well, ’tis perhaps no’ a bad thing,” he said, his expression grim. “You should have known better than to challenge the laird, lass, though he shouldnae have hit you. I fear the man’s drinking is corrupting his mind. ’Tis an affliction of sorts.”
Cristie didn’t care to hear about Alastair’s affliction. She just wanted solitude. “I… I just need to go and rest for a wee while, Tasgall. Thank you for your concern.”
“I’ll escort you.”
“’Tis nae necessary.” She stood upright and placed a hand over her ear, trying to quell the throbbing pain. “I’ll manage.”
Tasgall looked unconvinced. “Are you sure?”
“Aye, I’m sure.” Cristie hobbled to the door and reached for the latch.
“Cristie, lass.” The man cleared his throat again. “There’s something I think you should know.”
She turned. “What?”
He grunted and scratched his head. “Och, ’tis naught, really. Just… just stay out of the laird’s way for now.”
As if she needed to be told. “I will.”
Sore, weary, and desperate for her bed, Cristie kept her head lowered and made her way downstairs to her chamber, unchallenged by anyone until she reached her door. The sight of Elspeth standing outside made her groan inwardly.
“At last,” Elspeth said, wrinkling her nose. “By God, ’tis a dismal corner, this. I cannae think how you manage to sleep down here. I was beginning to think Alastair had… oh, sweet Mother of Heaven, what happened? Did he hit you?”
Cristie frowned and pushed her door open. “I’m tired, Elspeth.”
“Och, Cristie, nay! He shouldnae have done that.”
“It doesnae hurt,” she lied. “Please go away. I need to rest.”
“I dinnae doubt it.” Elspeth followed Cristie over the threshold. “Lord save us, do you have a taper? ’Tis darker than the Devil’s arsehole in here. Tell me what happened with Ewan MacKellar.”
Cristie tossed her bag onto her narrow bed and opened the single shutter a crack, giving entry to some daylight. “I told Alastair what happened,” she said, unhooking her cloak and tossing it onto her clothing chest. “So, you can ask him.”
Clucking her tongue, Elspeth peered at Cristie’s face. “Dear God above, I cannae believe he hit you. You must have said something to set him off.”
Cristie kicked off her shoes and fumbled with the laces on her robe, an exercise that would always remind her of Ewan. “Will you please leave, Elspeth? I dinnae wish to talk anymore. I just want to lie down.”
“Here, let me do that. You’re all thumbs.” Elspeth pushed Cristie’s hands aside and loosened the laces with deft fingers. “There you go. Now tell me what happened. I’m curious about what you said earlier. About me being right. What did you mean by that, exactly?”
“Why should you care?”
She shrugged. “Maybe because I was supposed to be the one marrying into the MacKellar clan. Just tell me what you meant.”
Cristie stepped out of her robe and lay it atop her discarded cloak. “Simply that the whole idea was foolish, and that I regret being a part of it,” she replied. “Just as you said I would.”
“But how were you found out?” Head cocked, Elspeth regarded her with a frown. “Did you confess?”
“Not voluntarily.” Cristie didn’t mention she’d intended to tell Ewan the truth. Instead, she explained about the priest. “He said he knew you, and I couldnae deny it, so I had no choice but to own up. Ewan brought me back here and said to tell Alastair he’s no longer welcome on MacKellar land. And that’s it.”
“So much for his precious alliance,” Elspeth said. Then her mouth twitched. “Tell me, did you find a pile of hidden treasure?”
Cristie threw her a withering glance. “I’ve answered your questions, so you can go now.”
Elspeth waved the remark aside. “Was Ewan MacKellar unkind to you?”
“Nay.” Wincing at the soreness in her belly, Cristie sat on the edge of her bed. “I’ve naught else to say. I just want to rest a while.”
“But I have more questions.”
“And I dinnae care to answer them.”
Elspeth grunted. “What’s in the bag?”
“Some personal things, and I’ll thank you to leave them be.”
Elspeth shrugged, picked up the bag, and shook the contents onto the bed, her eyes widening. “Oh, what a bonny shawl!” She held it up to the meagre light. “The colours are glorious, and it feels so soft. I never saw such a fine weave. Is it silk? A comb, too. How pretty.” She frowned. “A seashell? Why would you bring a dirty old seashell back with you?”
Cristie let out a cry and snatched the shawl from Elspeth’s hands. “Are you deaf? I said to leave them be. I’d really like you to go now.”
Elspeth raised her brows. “Are they gifts from him? From Ewan MacKellar?”
“What does it matter?”
“Are they?”
Cristie sniffed as she put the things back in the bag. “Aye.”
“He was good to you, then.”
“Aye, he was.” Cristie’s throat tightened. “They all were.”
Elspeth fell silent. Unsettled by her sister’s obvious scrutiny, Cristie kept her eyes lowered and her hands folded in her lap. In truth, she longed to speak of her heartache, to lay bare the raw pain of her emotions. To unburden her soul, even a little. But did she dare trust Elspeth?
“Ah, shite,” Elspeth murmured, “you’ve gone and fallen in love with him. You’ve fallen in love with Ewan MacKellar. Am I right?”
Cristie released a shaky sigh and closed her eyes. “Please, Elspeth. I… I just need to rest.”
“Oh, Cristie, pet, I’m so sorry.” Elspeth sat beside her and took her hand. “I never thought for a moment that you might fall in love with the man.”
The unexpected display of compassion brought Cristie’s fragile emotions to the surface. She swallowed a sob and met Elspeth’s gaze. “Well, it doesnae really matter anymore, does it? Ewan MacKellar can no longer bear the sight of me.”
“Was he very angry?”
“Or course he was. And hurt. I betrayed him. I betrayed everyone.” Cristie sniffed. “But before that, I… I felt certain he was falling in love with me too. The way he looked at me, the way he spoke to me. He’s a stubborn man, mind. But, oh, Elspeth, no one has ever treated me as kindly, or with as much respect. I hated deceiving him. I meant to tell him the truth the day the priest arrived, but I never got the chance.” She bit down on her lip. “Not that it would have made any difference. The result would have been the same. So, aye, you were right, and I wish I’d listened to you. Please dinnae tell Alastair any of this, I beg you. He’ll only torment me with it.”
“I’ll say naught to anyone, I promise.” Tears in her eyes, Elspeth heaved a sigh. “I suppose the marriage will be annulled.”
“I dinnae believe it was ever legitimate.” Cristie’s lip trembled. “Ewan said… he said it was worthless.”
“Did you have to use… I mean, you’re not, um… is there any chance you might be carrying?”
For some reason, Cristie couldn’t bring herself to admit that she was still an innocent. She shook her head. “Nay, I dinnae carry his child. I tossed the wee packet into the privy before I left.”
“Well, that’s a blessing for sure, all things considered.” Then, to Cristie’s great surprise, Elspeth leaned in and kissed her bruised cheek. “Get some rest, pet. We’ll talk again later.”
*
Cristie opened her eyes to darkness and confusion, the latter dissipating as her sluggish mind became aware of her surroundings. With consciousness came the familiar sense of despair, pressing on her heart like a stone. She wondered at the hour. Obviously late, she thought, judging by the absence of light and the silence beyond her door.
Her parched throat resisted an attempt to swallow. Wincing, she sat up, feeling rather like she’d been flung against a stone wall. But, driven by thirst, she slid from her bed, dressed as hurriedly as her pain would allow, and stumbled out into the unlit passageway.
Spurred on by a tell-tale scuffle and squeak from a dark corner, Cristie felt her way up the stairs and into the kitchen. A faint gleam from the banked fires cast a feeble, but welcoming glow into the room. She glared at the tabby cat who was stretched out by the hearth, licking its paws.
“You lazy wee beastie,” she whispered. “There are things down those stairs needing your attention.”
The cat responded with a brief, disdainful glance and continued with its ablutions. Cristie lifted an ewer from the table and filled a goblet. She downed the contents in several greedy gulps, her sore tongue making her wince.
Still craving, she wiped the drips from her chin and went to lift the ewer again, but froze, the hair on her neck rising. From the hallway beyond came the sound of men’s voices. Although hushed, one of them was quite distinctive.
Alastair.
Panic knotted beneath her ribs. Holding her breath, she set her goblet down and scurried back to the stairwell, pausing at the top. The thick darkness below did not lend itself to a swift, or safe, descent. With no time to spare, she shrank into the shadows at the top of the stairs. Then, heart rattling, she waited.
And listened.
“The man is close to death anyway,” Alastair said, in gruff tones. “You’ll be doing him a kindness.”
“’Tis murder, nonetheless,” came the sombre reply, the identity of the second man now clear to Cristie. Tasgall. “I’d kill to defend you, laird, you know it. But to kill an innocent man in cold-blood? You demand much of me.”
“I demanded it once before and you persuaded me to wait. I shouldnae have listened then, and I’ll no’ listen now. This time you’ll obey me, Tasgall, with no argument. ’Twill be a swift end, and you dinnae even have to spill his blood to do it. A wee dram in a wineskin of ale is all.” There came the sound of a lock turning. “Fergus used some of it on wolf bait last week. I hope he didnae use it all. Ah, here it is. Good. There’s more than enough left.”
Tasgall let out an audible sigh. “Are you sure about this, Laird? You could always try negotiating for something.”
Alastair huffed. “Such as? I only wanted Morag. Ewan MacKellar’s untimely return wrecked that wee plan. And sending Cristie in Elspeth’s place was a risk that didnae pay off, thanks to the damn priest.” He huffed again. “I still refuse to believe the Templars left France empty-handed, mind, but I cannae prove otherwise. So, nay, there’ll be no more negotiating. ’Tis unfortunate, but Ruaidri MacKellar’s life no longer has any value. You’ll ride out at dawn and finish it. With any luck, he may have succumbed already, and you’ll have only to bury him.”
Cristie clamped a hand over her mouth, halting the involuntary gasp that wanted to emerge. Ruaidri MacKellar? Shock deadened her brain, suffocating all coherent thoughts. Except one.
Ruaidri MacKellar is still alive? How can that be?
She shivered as the answer came at her in a sickening rush. Alastair’s deceit went beyond treacherous. It was heinous. A cruel deception, worthy of the Devil himself.
The MacKellar’s had mourned the death of a beloved brother. Their clan had mourned the loss of a beloved laird. And Alastair had feigned sympathy, pretended to search for a man who, he knew, would never be found.
What of the horse’s remains and the bloodied clothes? How far had Alastair gone in this journey of deception? Hate, like Cristie had never felt, welled up inside. She tried to calm herself, for she needed to think. And she needed to act. She also needed to be careful.
Where is he being held? Not at Dunraven, for sure. Alastair could never have kept such a terrible secret quiet. So, where then?
Still shivering, Cristie cocked an ear, all at once aware of the silence. Have they left? Hand still clamped over her mouth, she dared to peek around the corner. The kitchen was empty, and her gaze flicked to the small cupboard by the rear door. The one Alastair had evidently opened. She knew it was kept padlocked for a reason, its contents being of a perilous nature. Deadly tinctures like belladonna, foxglove, and…
‘Fergus used some of it on wolf bait last week…’
Wolf’s bane?
Her hand dropped, freeing her voice. “Oh, Alastair,” she murmured, her throat constricting. “How could you? How could you be so… evil?”
She willed herself to stop trembling and tried to clear her befuddled brain. She had to stop Tasgall somehow. But how? He’d sounded reluctant to kill Ruaidri. Unwilling. Perhaps she should she seek him out right away and plead with him. Nay. Too risky. His loyalty had always been to Alastair.
‘You’ll ride out at dawn…’
“To where?” she murmured, closing her eyes. “Where would Alastair hold a man prisoner, if not at Dunraven?”
In her mind, she gave herself imaginary wings and soared aloft, searching the glen for a likely place. Like a mirror, the loch stretched out below her, reflecting the surrounding hills. At one end, Dunraven stood watch as it had for over a century. But other than the farms and cottages belonging to the tenants, there were no other buildings. Certainly, none of a defensive sort.
Cristie held her breath. As it had for over a century.
Of course! There had been another fortress before Dunraven. One built and occupied by the Norsemen. In her mind, Cristie looked to the far north-western shore of the loch, where a stand of silver birch clustered around the ruins of an earlier and much older castle, one that had burned in a skirmish long ago.
She couldn’t remember its name. She only knew that little of it remained above ground. But what about below? It likely had a cellar or dungeon. Is it still intact? Could a man be kept prisoner there? She cursed her uncertainty, yet it seemed like the only feasible location.
‘The man is close to death anyway’...
“God, please, help me,” she whispered, opening her eyes. “I dinnae ken what to do.”
There was only one other person she could turn to. Did she dare? Aye, she had to. What other choice did she have?