Chapter Twenty-Five
Robert refolded King William’s orders, handing them back to the Scottish captain who stood before a contingent more than one hundred strong, extending like a ribbon down the trail. From their vantage, they could see Castle Ayr below them, an impenetrable structure, perched atop a cliff within a firth creating a natural moat around it. Waves lapped beneath it and snow-capped hills surrounded it to the north. It was an impressive fortress with command over the water and land.
“So King William approves of my marriage to Harold Crawford’s daughter?” Robert asked.
“His Majesty believes it a good suit for one of Scotland’s noble daughters,” replied the man, draped in a thick tartan plaid pulled up and over his chainmail haubergeon spanning his chest. “He sends men to assist in the recovery of your wife, upon reading King Richard the Lionheart’s royal missive, and to secure the castle grounds under his command until a new sheriff can be appointed, for if His Lairdship Harold Crawford is indeed stripped of his title, ’twill be his hereditary claim no more.”
Robert furrowed his brow, his beard thick, his hair blowing free from the tie he had used to secure it at his nape. He glanced to Jonathan, then Will, then back at the commander.
“But Harold Crawford has another daughter. Castle Ayr is her home. Where will she go?”
The commander shrugged. “It remains to be seen if Lady Madeline will be appointed another residence, brought to court, or if she’ll be allowed to stay at Ayr with the new sheriff who would act in loco parentis.”
Robert rubbed his beard. Mariel would want her sister to come south with them, not languish as the ward of another man with no telling who that man might be. God, just thinking her name sent his pulse racing as it had the whole of the journey, fearful of what he might discover when he found her, and he took a deep breath. Mariel would be fine, he told himself for the millionth time. She would be well, and they would bring Madeline home to Huntington with them and that would be that.
They rode hard, coming down out of the hills, avoiding the thistles and nettles when possible, and continued on as the sun set. Approaching the natural stone promontory leading to the barbican, the harsh winter winds blew off the waters and ruffled his fur cloak. He took up his reins to join the commander at the front of the column of soldiers. Crawford’s men watched warily from the walls as the main portcullis was dropped to deny them entry to the castle yards.
“Open the gates, upon order of the king!” called the commander, holding out the royal seal for all to see. “Laird Harold Crawford, Sheriff of Ayrshire, has been incarcerated! King William resumes guardianship of the castle and grounds until further notice!”
The guards over the portcullis obliged, lifting the gate back up. Robert cantered beneath the gatehouse as the chains clanked. He was greeted by armed guards watching warily, their arms presented and ready to engage, if needed.
“We’re hereby given permission to search the castle for Lady Mariel, the daughter of Laird Crawford and wife to Laird Robert of Huntington in England!” the commander continued, and Robert nodded a curt greeting, though his face remained stern. These men might consider him an enemy, if they retained loyalty to Crawford.
Just then, a woman hastened down the steps of the keep. She looked like Mariel, but her hair was whiter blonde, her body slight and delicate, and her eyes more watery gray, less green.
“Are you Lady Madeline?” Robert addressed her.
“I am, sire,” she replied softly, giving a polite and practiced curtsy.
“Pray tell, where is your sister?” Robert beseeched, swinging down from his horse and striding to her.
Madeline’s voice remained delicate, her manner demure, but in her eyes, Robert saw distress and fear. “My faither ordered me away upon his arrival home. She was taken to the dungeons at first, but now, naybody knows where she is. I am assured she survives.”
She looked up into Robert’s eyes. Tears launched over her lids and cascaded down her cheeks. She folded her hands together, though Robert noticed her whitened knuckles.
“Please. My faither was in such a rage and I too much a coward to defy him. She is married to you?”
He nodded, reaching to take her hands. “Indeed, we eloped. She’s my wife of merely five sennights and was stolen from me. I must find her. Let’s look for her together.”
“I have searched the whole of the castle through and through to no avail. But I’m nay allowed on the parapet, the curtains, or the various yards. There are many a storage chamber and guard tower.”
His brow furrowed with puzzlement. She bowed her head demurely and lowered her voice. “Please. My faither has eyes on me at all times, whether he is here or nay. If I break his command, I will surely be punished. I risk Mariel’s safety as well as my own just by smuggling her food.”
Anxiety threatened to break Robert’s resolve and he clenched his shaking fists, but he nodded once, turning to Crawford’s soldiers.
“If any of you know Mariel’s whereabouts, I bid you cooperate and lead me to her!” No one moved. “She could be in a serious state!” he urged, though it soon became obvious no man knew, or no man would talk.
Jonathan joined his side. “Crawford has either threatened them, too, or they truly don’t know.”
“Horse shite. Somebody knows,” Robert spat, folding his arms, then turned to King Richard’s contingent. “Disperse, men! We investigate!”
The soldiers, along with Will, John, Alan, and David, spread out to search the yard. King William’s men moved past Madeline into the great hall. Robert joined Mariel’s sister in searching the various storage sheds and corridors in the outer walls. His resolve finally threatened to crack, and he stopped, placed his palms and forehead against the door of the guard tower they had just exited. He closed his eyes. There was no sign of her. The darkness of his thoughts threatened to madden him. He took a deep, shaking breath, released it, and felt a hand on his arm. He looked down.
“My laird,” Madeline said, her eyes mournful as she dipped into a curtsy. “Wherever she is, she awaits you. You mustn’t stop searching. Might I suggest—” She cut herself short, fear capturing her brow.
“Suggest what?”
She crossed herself, visibly distressed, unable to push the words over her lips.
“Lady Madeline. If you know something more, you must tell me.” He took her hands in his, squeezing them for confidence. “Your sire is locked away. He can’t harm you anymore. This, I promise.”
“What if he is released?” she whispered. “It won’t just be me he punishes. I can nay bear for my sister to endure any more from him than she has.”
Robert saw it. Madeline was the opposite of her sister. She was afraid to err, for fear of what the repercussions might be for them all.
“You must take the chance, Lady. You must find the courage. Tell me.”
She swallowed, nodded, sweat glistening her brow, and allowed a string of words to leak from her lips. “Might I suggest, my faither’s head guardsman? He takes her the food I steal for her.”
He thought on her words.
“Teàrlach MacGregor?”
She nodded and dipped back into a curtsy. He squeezed her hands again. Madeline was quiet, most certainly agreeable, but beneath it, he sensed she was a steady rhythm with a resilient fortitude.
“You’ve done well, Lady.”
He hastened down the steps, leaving her to follow, and exited back into the dimness of early night and the threat of snow blowing in.
“Where are you?” he whispered, surveying the inner bailey for the dark guardsman. Men were still searching, and Harold Crawford’s guards and castle workers had all gathered in the bailey.
His eyes finally landed on Teàrlach MacGregor. He remembered him from the woods. He remembered that Teàrlach had lied to his lord about Mariel. The head guardsman was leaning against the wall beneath a torch, invisible to most, his arms folded and foot propped on the wall in an arrogant slouch. His dark hair and amber eyes surveyed Robert, almost beckoning him. Over his shoulder was his MacGregor plaid mantle, easing the chill.
Robert walked down the steps and across the yard, Madeline behind him. Teàrlach stiffened at her arrival, his eyes darting back and forth between them. He dropped his arms, pushing away from the wall.
“Why won’t anyone tell me where to find Mariel?” Robert demanded. “Is she dead? I know you know where she is hidden.”
The guardsman made a surreptitious glance around him. Satisfied he was out of earshot, he barely mouthed, “Nay dead.”
“But you know where she is,” Madeline said, her voice soft, gentle. “You’re the one my faither entrusted to guard her, taking her the food I send.”
Teàrlach’s gaze moved to her, and it was obvious to Robert from the softening in the man’s eyes that he was fond of Crawford’s second daughter, almost longing. “We’ve orders to remain tight-lipped, lest we invite the laird’s wrath.”
“No wrath to invite, man,” Robert said. “He’s incarcerated in England and will remain so until Mariel is returned to me, upon which he will be transferred under guard to King William for sedition.”
“We must find her, sire,” Madeline beseeched, gazing back at the guardsman.
“She’s my wife,” Robert said, “and after watching Lord Crawford handle her, I know she needs help.”
Teàrlach looked at Robert directly, stepping nose to nose with him as if preparing for a confrontation. Madeline backed up, having probably witnessed too many an altercation in her young life. She had to be only six and ten, seven and ten at most, for Robert knew that Mariel was barely of age.
“I playact, man. If I appear to help ye, ’twill be my arse on the chopping block should Laird Crawford ever be released,” Teàrlach muttered, and Robert nodded his understanding, his heart leaping with anticipation.
Teàrlach’s next move was subtle. At first Robert didn’t understand, staring into Teàrlach’s eyes in the darkness around them. He did it again, his eyes shooting off to the side. Robert almost whipped his head around to follow the glance but caught himself.
“The storage tower?” Robert whispered. You dolt. He kicked himself. He had done the same thing at Huntington, converted an obsolete tower into a temporary chamber. “How is she?”
“Bad,” Teàrlach said. “Gather your men. Have them tackle me to the ground. Say you suspect something and take my keys upon my hip. ’Twill get you entry.”
Robert didn’t hesitate, but whirled around. “Men!” he hollered. “This one knows something but won’t talk!”
“What do you say we make him talk?” replied an English soldier, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles through his gauntlets.
Lovely. This tackling would indeed be more authentic than Teàrlach had bargained for. Teàrlach set a defensive stance, pulling Madeline behind him, and judging by her gasp, it was the first time any man other than her father had touched her. Robert lunged at him with more ferocity than Teàrlach expected, and he fought back equally ferociously. The others tackled Teàrlach and Robert fumbled over his taut body, his bulk of muscles rippling beneath their grips, until his hands landed on a key ring.
“What have we here, man?” Robert remarked.
Teàrlach almost spat at him, though a quick glance at the surrounding weapons seemed to stay the reaction. “Laird Crawford ordered us to stay silent,” Teàrlach said.
“Your lord is imprisoned by King Richard and will be transferred to your king in due course.” An English soldier laughed, standing back up to sweep the wrinkles from his surcoat. “It’s safe to say he is incapable of disciplining you.” The Englishman shook his head as he backed up. “Daft highlander.”
Genuine offense darkened Teàrlach’s brow. “And what if King William lets him walk free, Sassenach?” Teàrlach countered. “’Tis nay a guarantee. Ye can nay fault me for remaining loyal.”
“No, can’t fault you there. I’ll be checking every locked door before departing today,” Robert said, standing, and trying his best not to run directly across the bailey to the far tower.
He lost the battle and bolted, his legs traveling over the dirt with such speed he was certain they didn’t touch the ground. Dipping through a portico in the inner wall, he grabbed a torch from its sconce and continued to the far wall across an upper yard overlooking the water. The tower was remote. He barely registered his men on his heels.
The door was locked.
“Mariel!” he hollered. “Mari!”
No answer, and the tower had no windows looking upon the yard. There were several keys on Teàrlach’s ring, but he managed to find the right one after several tries. Upon entering, he could no longer contain himself and leaped up the winding stairs two at a time, coming to another door. It, too, was locked, a thick oaken door beside a torch ensconced upon the wall. It was as if this tower and all things in it were abandoned and forgotten.
“Mari!” he called again. “Answer me, love!” No answer. He tried a key in the lock, but it didn’t work. He tried another, his hands shaking. “Mari! Answer me!”
He found success on the third key. It clanked in the lock, drawing back the latch, and he pulled the door open. Nothing prepared him for the sight before him.
At first he saw only darkness and ducked through the door, holding out the torch to give him sight. Mariel lay beneath an arrow slit blackened by the stormy, moonless night, curled in a ball, her eyes closed tight, her body dirty, a dead rat not but three feet from her.
“Jesu…” he cursed, thrusting the torch into a set of hands and crossing to her in two long strides. He knelt. “Mariel,” he said, feeling his throat choke with rage. She was ill. Her skin was clammy.
He brushed back her matted hair, noting the gown Charlotte had given her now ruined and filthy. Her eyes finally opened. At first they remained glazed over, as if she didn’t really see him. He scooped his arms beneath her head and into the bend of her knees, pulling her against him.
Then her eyes cleared. “It really is you…” she whispered. “You’re alive!” She threw her arms around him with such strength it knocked him off balance, and he landed on his rear, his wife cradled in his arms.
Clenching her head, his fingers gripped her hair, and he felt her chest convulse with unabashed sobs. He held her face to his scruffy neck, nuzzling her and feeling his eyes well with tears. Dammit! He chastised himself once more. If he ever saw her whoreson of a father again, he would slice his neck and relish every moment.
“My God, woman. I finally found you.” He gripped her face, tipping it up to him, and furrowed his brow with such intensity to stave off the watering in his eyes that most would consider him livid. “I love you, Mari. Bloody hell, I love you. I’m sorry I failed you,” he whispered. “I’ll never fail you again. This I swear,” he said, feeling her arms start to slacken. She needed nourishment and a healer, he realized, as she curled against him, falling asleep as if she had been waiting for his embrace to finally do so. “I wanted to marry you. Do you hear me? I did it because I never wanted to let you go.”
“I love you, too, husband,” she murmured.
Husband.
His chest nearly exploded with pride. He lifted her in his arms. Turning around to see John holding the torch and watching, he nodded at him, and John nodded in return, the rift between them bridged.
“She’s one of us,” John said as Robert carried Mariel to her prison door. “I swear to always protect her, Robert, even when she thinks she’s tough enough to protect herself. She’s part of our band.”
Robert strode out, placing a kiss to the top of her head nestled against his heart.
…
End of December, Anno Domini 1190…
Mariel walked down the stairs into the great hall of Castle Ayr and looked around, continuing to the door. It was Christmastide and yet, one would never know in the hall decorated with one heraldic coat of arms and hereditary banners. King William’s men and Ayr’s guards milled about, and servants scurried on their business. This would be the last time she laid eyes on the home of her upbringing. The only part about it she would miss was her sister. The rest, she hoped to burn from her mind with time, for it held only bad memories.
“Your husband is going to think you beautiful, Mariel,” her quiet sister spoke from the shadows beside her. “You look lovely. Your hair is so pure and golden, and that green gown makes your eyes glow. Now fasten your cloak tightly. ’Twill be cold.”
Mariel wanted to roll her eyes at her sister’s twittering, but she refrained. She might never see her sister again and the thought threatened to moisten her eyes.
“I’ll be saddened to see you go, but I’m pleased you found such a man,” Madeline said. “Indeed he is so very handsome. Like a sculpture.” She giggled. “I can tell he loves you deeply. He did nay leave your side whilst you were ill. He fetched anything the healer asked him to. He would have jumped on hot coals if she’d told him it would cure you. If I could find such a love someday my life would be complete.” She continued talking as Teàrlach held open the door for them, gazing at her.
Mariel smiled, seeing her husband now shaven and clean, standing outside the main doors to the keep beside their saddled horses. “I still bid you travel south with us and remain in residence at Huntington. I can’t bear to leave you again. With our faither arrested, your future is uncertain here.”
“I’ll endure, as I always have.” Madeline smiled. “Truly, I insist on remaining behind. I’m a simple lass, sister. I would feel out of place in the grand halls of Huntington.”
Mariel took her hands. “’Twould nay be forever, silly lass. Only until a proper suit is found for you.”
“I have a home here,” Madeline persisted, squeezing her sister’s hands in return, as her eyes slipped toward Teàrlach, if only for a moment.
“But our sire is stripped of his title and imprisoned. He could very well be executed for sedition. You might be evicted to make way for the new sheriff, whoever he may be.”
“I understand. Truly I do. But King William promises to see me financed. Even if it’s a meager disbursement, ’twill be enough for one lass. Being a pauper and free from our faither is far better a future than anything else I could imagine.”
Mariel rolled her eyes, and Madeline giggled, with a happy smile Mariel had rarely seen on her face. It made her pale skin glow and her gray-green eyes swirl like the watery firth below them.
“Ye still roll your eyes heavenward overmuch.”
“At moments like these, aye,” Mariel huffed. “When did you get so stubborn, wee one?”
Madeline smiled. “Mayhap I’ve always been thus, Mariel, and you simply did nay see it.”
Mariel shook her head. “I love thee, sister.” She relented, throwing her arms around Madeline again, kissing her cheeks as a tear cascaded down to her chin to soak into the shoulder of her sister’s gown.
Madeline returned the embrace, squeezing her older sister more tightly than Mariel had ever felt. “I’ll miss you, as I did before, though now, I will nay worry.”
Mariel noticed that she gazed past her, and turned her head to see Teàrlach MacGregor still standing ready and seemingly unable to remove himself to attend other tasks. The dark highland guardsman of few words had done what he could to protect her. He flashed a look at her younger sister, looking away at nothing in particular when he noticed Madeline returning the gaze.
“Does he gaze at you often?” Mariel inquired.
Madeline blushed and looked away. Mariel smiled. The man was a hired sword, hardly worthy of a noblewoman, and yet, what a fine suit he could make if he ever worked up the nerve to speak to her. Mayhap with time…
“Come, my wife,” Robert called, securing a final strap to his saddle packs and holding his arm out to beckon her, though he paused as his eyes settled on her woven plait draped over her shoulder and her soft green gown.
“Ye see?” Madeline whispered to her. “He has eyes only for his woman.”
Mariel laughed and let go, walking down the steps as the wind whipping up the cliff dragged rebellious wisps of her hair free.
He took her about the waist, pulling her to him, and offered her an unsolicited kiss that she readily accepted.
“My beauty. I do believe you look lovelier each day,” he whispered, earning a blush she couldn’t control. He held her tightly. “I won’t be letting you out of my reach again until you demand I quit hovering and threaten to lodge an arrow into my chest.”
Normally, she would have rolled her eyes, but in the moment, she refrained. His doting was a welcome gesture of which she would never weary.
He lifted her onto Goliath, settling her cloak around her tightly. Turning to Madeline, Robert took up both her hands and kissed the backs of them in quick succession, squeezing them.
“My dear sister of marriage.” He smiled. “’Tis safe to say my woman will miss you terribly. You have a ready home with us should you but say the word. I thank thee for everything. God be with you.”
Madeline smiled. “My thanks, my laird. I’ll remember your hospitality. And God go with you, too. Please take care of my sister. She’s strong of will but is more fragile than anyone thinks.”
“Sister,” Mariel chastised, rolling her eyes.
“Mariel? Fragile?” Robert laughed. “Bollocks.”
His men nearby chuckled at the jest as Mariel rolled her eyes heartily this time and he swung up into the saddle behind her.
“To Huntington, men!” he announced, drawing her against him and nudging Goliath into a lope with a tap of his heels.
“To home,” Mariel replied, placing her cheek against his chest.
He squeezed her close. She gazed up at him to see him looking down into her eyes, a gentle smile meant only for her on his lips. She burrowed against him, feeling his arm around her tighten further still.
“To us,” he whispered, and she closed her eyes and smiled.
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