Chapter Twenty-Seven
In the days following Brother Alexander’s departure, Davina continued to fret about the princess’ fragile state of mind. Her alarm increased when the princess suddenly decided to take an interest in her future daughter-in-law.
“Berthe,” the princess instructed her maid. “I desire to become better acquainted with Lady Sibylla. Pray tell her that I wish her to begin supping with me in my chambers, beginning this evening.”
“Aye, Highness,” Berthe replied, darting an uncertain look to Davina.
Berthe’s expression said she shared Davina’s fears. Would the princess truly make an attempt on Sibylla’s life? Did she dare act so boldly? Davina worried that she might.
Although Davina had already taken great risks, she could not stand by and allow Domnall’s sister to be harmed. She must warn Sibylla!
*
“Mademoiselle Sibylla,” Davina presented herself at Sibylla’s chamber with a deep curtsy. Hoping to avoid scrutiny, she made a point to speak in French. “I have brought the Book of Hours ye requested of me.”
Sibylla’s bows drew together as Davina offered the book. But she replied as if she understood the need for subterfuge. “Merci, Sister,” Sibylla replied, also in French.
“I have marked the passages ye inquired about,” Davina said.
“I will study them well,” Sibylla replied.
“I was on my way to prayer,” Davina continued. “Perhaps ye would like to accompany me?”
“I would, indeed, Sister,” Sibylla replied. She called to her maid. “If anyone inquires after me, tell them I have gone to the Queen’s Chapel.”
“I was surprised that ye would come to my chamber,” Sibylla said, reverting to Gaelic as soon as they were alone. “I thought ye were wary of anyone seeing us together.”
“I had nae choice,” Davina replied. “The princess doesna want ye to wed her son. Yer life might be in danger.”
“Danger?” Sibylla’s eyes widened. “But just this morn, she invited me to dine with her.”
“I dinna trust her,” Davina said. “She is nae herself anymore. Ye must offer up some excuse… and ye must leave this place.”
Sibylla shook her head with a wistful look. “Even if there was a way to escape, I couldna leave my uncle here to rot in prison.”
“I understand how ye feel, but there is naught ye can do for him,” Davina insisted. She had warned Sibylla, but the only way to truly protect her from the princess was to devise her escape from Dunfermline.
“But how could it even be done?” Sibylla asked. “The king’s men are everywhere.”
They had reached the princess’ garden located beside the Queen’s Chapel. Davina stared at the neat little rectangle of earth that she had tilled and fertilized for planting roses. She had planned on returning to Haddington in the early spring to dig up a few of the princess’ bushes because spring was the best time to avoid shocking the plants, but only an experienced gardener would know this. The cogs of Davina’s mind were quickly turning.
“I got ye into the guardhouse jail where there are many men-at-arms without rousing suspicion,” Davina said. “Perhaps ye could leave by the same devise.”
“What do ye mean?” Sibylla asked.
“I have been preparing this plot to plant a small rose garden for the princess,” Davina said. “Perhaps, I could ask permission to return to Haddington to dig up some of her roses. I dinna believe she would deny the request, given how much she misses her garden. Ye could wear my nun’s robes and depart disguised as me.”
“But what will happen when ’tis discovered ye helped me?” Sibylla asked. “Do ye fully understand what ye risk?”
Davina was well aware of the penalty. To be caught would mean certain death. But the thought of death no longer terrified her as it once had. What little contentment she had known in her life was now in the distant past. Everyone she had ever loved, aside from Domnall, was dead, as were her hopes of ever being with him. Davina wanted nothing more than to leave this place and this life behind, whatever the cost.
“Nae.” Sibylla shook her head, her expression adamant. “We need another plan. I willna go unless both ye and my uncle come with me.”
“’Tis impossible,” Davina said. “MacAedh is chained hand and foot and guarded day and night.”
“Ye are allowed to see him,” Sibylla said. “Is there aught ye could give him to break his chains?”
“Nothing I could carry could cut through iron,” Davina said.
He was well-guarded by two men, but the guards had become accustomed to her coming and going, and were growing complacent. The fact that they were wary of searching her body gave her an opportunity, but what could she possible give to MacAedh that would help his escape? Nothing could break the irons.
“Nothing is impossible,” Sibylla replied. “But we canna act alone. We need help. When Alexander returns, we will find a way.”
“Why do ye put so much faith in this monk?” Davina asked. “Is Brother Alexander a kinsman of yers?”
“My brother would call him that,” Sibylla replied. “But I prefer to call him husband.”
“Husband?” Davina was stunned. “He has forsaken his vows?”
“Nae exactly,” Sibylla said. “In truth, he ne’er took the vows. He was raised in the monastery since he was a wee lad, but Alexander has many secrets that I canna divulge. We were secretly married the night before he left here.”
“What of the betrothal between ye and Prince Malcolm?”
“’Tis invalid,” Sibylla said. “But the king must nae ken of this.”
“’Tis a verra dangerous game ye and Alexander play,” Davina said.
“I promise we are well aware,” Sibylla said. “Alexander was given nae choice in entering the king’s service, but he has been able to gain valuable information—and he saved Prince Malcolm’s life.”
“Yet he risks his own by acting as an intermediary,” Davina said. “Even now he is followed by Eachann’s men. They have instructions to retrieve the prince and to kill everyone else.”
Sibylla bit her lip. “Does Alexander ken of this?”
“Aye,” Davina said. “I sent word of the plot through Faither Gregor.”
“Then they will at least be prepared. Thanks be to God for that much.”
“Come, Sibylla,” Davina took her hand. “Let us go into the chapel and pray that God will also safeguard their lives.”
*
After two nights at Castle Kilmuir, Gillecolum was preparing to depart when Domnall’s youngest sister, Donata, came running breathlessly into the great hall. “Máthair! Domnall! There is a boat in the firth.”
“Mayhap ’tis Alexander come back with the king’s reply?” Domnall’s mother remarked.
“Was it just one boat?” Domnall asked his sister.
Donata scrunched her face. “I only saw the one sail. I dinna think ’tis more than one boat.”
“Let us hope ’tis Alexander,” Domnall replied darkly. “’Tis best everyone arm themselves, just in case. Ye women will remain here in the great hall with the door bolted. I’ll go and meet the boat.”
“I will come with ye,” Gillecolum said. “There may be news that alters our plan.”
They had strategized well into the wee hours of the morning, trying to come up with a workable plan to rescue Sibylla and MacAedh. But if this was Alexander, everything could change.
Domnall and Gillecolum strode up to the ramparts for a better view of the approaching vessel. Soon, they could make out two black-robed figures. “It must be Alexander!” Domnall declared and rapidly descended the stairs to meet the boat at the seagate. “Ye are well timed, Brother Alexander!” Domnall called out as they moored the vessel.
“Domnall! Praise be to God ye are returned!” Alexander exclaimed. “Ye remember Faither Gregor?”
“Aye. ’Tis good to see ye, Faither,” Domnall replied. “This is Gillecolum, the true son of Lord Somerled,” Domnall said. “He has become a great friend to me and offers his support.”
“I act independent of my faither,” Gillecolum clarified. “I have my own ships, and I am free to command them as I please.”
“How many ships and men?” Alexander asked.
“One galley, one birlinn, and a full crew on each.” Gillecolum rolled his eyes upward in thought. “Fully manned, I command about one hundred fifty men. ’Tis nae enough to make war,” he said, “but ’tis certainly enough to carry out a rescue.”
“Do ye have men here now?” Alexander asked, his expression urgent.
“Nae. I came alone,” Gillecolum replied.
“Then I’m afraid ye canna help us,” Alexander said.
His manner and question made Domnall instantly uneasy. “What is amiss, Alexander?”
“We were followed,” Alexander answered.
“By whom?” Domnall asked.
“I dinna ken how many, but they were sent by Eachann of Mearns who has assumed authority since the king’s seizure. He collapsed upon receiving news of the attack on Prince Malcolm.”
“Does he live?” Domnall asked.
“He has recovered somewhat, but he will ne’er be whole again,” Alex answered. “Eachann now acts to gain the regency for himself. Last eve, Faither Gregor was made aware of a plot. Eachann is sending men to take the prince and kill everyone at Kilmuir.”
“How far behind are they?” Gillecolum asked.
“Mayhap an hour,” Alexander answered. “I caught sight of their sail several times in the night.”
Domnall’s mind raced. They were few in number and poorly armed, but the castle was strong. “We have but two choices,” Domnall said. “We could escape now with the prince or remain and defend.”
“If I left now, I could bring men to yer relief,” Gillecolum said. “But ’twill take a sennight to return. Do ye wish me to stay and fight or bring reinforcements?”
“The castle is strong,” Domnall said. “But our men are too few to defend for long. But the men who come now dinna ken that they have lost the element of surprise, which means we now hold the advantage. I say we fight.”
Gillecolum nodded. “I will remain to fight with ye.”
“As will I,” offered the priest. “Have ye a sword for me?”
Alexander regarded him with a surprised look. “Do ye ken how to wield one?”
“I was a Highlander long before I was a priest,” the old man replied.
“Kilmuir has a stockpile of hidden arms,” Alexander said.
“How would ye ken this?” Domnall asked.
Alexander answered with a soft scrape of steel as he reached upward over his shoulder and drew a long sword from a sheath hidden beneath his robe. “MacAedh showed me the trove when he gave me this.”
“And there are others?” Domnall asked.
“Aye, come quickly,” Alexander said. “We have little time to prepare.”
“Faither Gregor,” Domnall said. “Go ye to tell the others they must remain inside the keep until this is finished.”
Alexander led Domnall and Gillecolum to the family mausoleum. The entrance was aptly guarded by two imposing, stone-carved angels holding swords. Using his sword pommel, Alexander broke the lock to the tomb and beckoned the others into the dark, dank chamber that smelled of death and decay. “This one,” Alex said, pointing to a casket that Domnall had thought held the remains of a long dead ancestor.
“There are weapons hidden here?” Domnall asked.
“Aye,” Alexander replied.
Heaving with all their combined force, they moved the great slab of stone to reveal a treasure trove of ancient weaponry—swords, axes, shields, spears, knives and even battle horns of a kind Domnall had never seen before. The three men began arming themselves with everything they could carry.
Once more, Domnall felt the bitter bite of jealousy. Why is it that Alexander had knowledge of this but Domnall had been told nothing of it? “Why would MacAedh show ye this?”
“Please dinna think I came to Kilmuir in deceit, but I am nae who ye think I am,” Alexander said. “There is nae time to explain right now, but I promise I will verra soon.” Alexander laid a hand on Domnall’s shoulder. “As my brother-in-law, I owe ye that much.”
“Brother-in-law?” Domnall shook his head in confusion. “What are ye saying?”
“Sibylla is my wife. We secretly wed three days ago in the Queen’s Chapel at Dunfermline. Faither Gregor performed the marriage rites.”
Domnall’s initial reaction was fury. “Ye wed her and then ye left her there?”
“I had nae choice!” Alexander replied. “Yer entire family is in danger, but Sibylla is safe for the nonce. The king thinks to betroth her to Malcolm. ’Tis why we wed.”
“Does my uncle ken of this marriage?” Domnall asked.
“Nae,” Alexander said. “I had nae chance to tell him, but he kent well my feelings for Sibylla.”
Domnall’s mind reeled from Alexander’s revelations but there was no time for further conversation. It was supremely difficult for Domnall to give his trust to any man, let alone one who had deceived him. But now their lives all depended on that trust. He had little choice about putting his faith in Alexander, but he swore he would soon have answers from the mysterious monk.
*
Armed to the teeth, the four men climbed to the ramparts to watch for any sign of the ship.
“This is the best place to observe their movement,” Domnall said. “We must post at least two men here. Alexander, have ye any skill with a bow?”
“Nae,” Alexander shook his head. “I never learned because we dinna eat animal flesh at the monastery, only fish. But I see as well as a hawk. I can keep watch.”
“And ye?” Domnall asked Gillecolum. “How well do ye hunt Normans?”
“Having spent far more of my life on the sea than on land, I’m afraid I am a far better sailor than a huntsman,” Gillecolum replied. “But I am nae unskilled with sword and ax.”
“Then I will wield the long bow,” Domnall said, thankful for all of his years of hunting for game while in the Borderlands. “If we are blessed with moonlight, I will pick them off before they e’er reach the castle. Faither Gregor, pray tell the women we need all the torches lit by nightfall. We must have light if we are to see them. The prince must stay where he is with the door locked. Say naught to him of this attack.”
“Aye,” the old priest replied and departed to carry out Domnall’s orders.
“When the ship comes within our sight they will lower their sail to become less visible,” Gillecolum said. “Then they will reveal to us the strength of their numbers.”
“How so?” Domnall asked.
“If they are many,” Gillecolum answered, “they will act with boldness and come straight in to attack. But if they are few, they will wait until nightfall and move with stealth.”
When the boat finally came into sight, it remained at a distance, as if hoping to disguise itself as a fishing vessel.
“They have revealed their plan,” Gillecolum declared with a smile. “They are few in number and will come at night.”
Thankfully, nightfall was still hours away, which gave them more time to strategize. The next hours were a flurry of activity in making ready for the assault.
The castle was as bright as a banefire with every torch burning. The children were armed and locked safely behind bolted doors, and some of the women were helping to prepare for the anticipated assault.
Father Gregor soon rejoined them. “I will man the gatehouse murder holes. The women have built up the kitchen fires and filled the cooking pots with lard. There will be a few surprises for any intruders. ’Twill surely be a long night. Refreshment anyone?”
“Aye,” Gillecolum accepted the skin with a grin.
Domnall stood on the parapets, his eyes locked on the horizon. The sun had begun to sink, painting the sky in shades of pink, purple, orange and gold that reflected on the shimmering waters. The day had been fair and the seas were quiet, sending waves softly lapping the shoreline, but a storm was brewing in the firth and would soon come ashore in the form of Eachann’s murdering mercenaries.
“What now?” Alexander softly asked.
“We wait,” Domnall replied grimly.
*
It wasn’t long after sunset that Alexander detected movement. “There,” he pointed. “See the ship? They have moored and are coming ashore.”
Domnall followed the direction of Alexander’s finger. The ship was a black shadow against the lighter background of moonlit sky. As Domnall had hoped, they were indeed blessed with a nearly full moon and clear skies that robbed the would-be attackers of another advantage.
Without access to the seagate, the men were forced to wade ashore in small groups. Had Domnall had a greater force of men, he would surely have met them on the beach, sword in hand. But as it was, he would make a strong defense.
Domnall squinted, struggling still to adjust to the descending darkness. There appeared to be four clusters of men, maybe fifteen or twenty in total. They quickly split into groups.
“It appears they are going to try to surround us. They will either attempt to break through the gate, or scale the walls. Perhaps both. But they will nae succeed,” Domnall said. “We are ready for them.”
*
Although Castle Kilmuir had always served as a residence, its basic structure was highly defensive. The tower rose five stories high which allowed a miles long view of the ocean and the surrounding countryside. A seagate was the only access to it from the firth, and a gatehouse, built into the thick curtain wall in the front, was the only other entrance.
Eachann’s men had no siege machines. They would have to construct battering rams if they had any hope of breaking through one of the portcullis entrances, but even if the attackers managed to breech one of them, there was but one now heavily-barricaded entrance into the keep itself.
For hours, Domnall and Alexander vigilantly patrolled the ramparts. All of their senses were on the alert for any sign of the intruders—a shifting shadow, the rustle of leaves, or the sudden snap of a twig, but nothing stirred beyond the briny breeze.
They had taken every conceivable precaution to defend the keep. Even Domnall’s blind grandmother stood at the ready above the gatehouse murder holes armed with a spear. Had the attackers realized they’d been discovered? Had they aborted the mission?
Or was this delay part of the plan? Did they hope the defenders of the castle would eventually grow weary and complacent? He feared exactly that until he heard a soft grunt and then the clank of metal hitting stone. A grappling hook? They had chosen to attack by stealth.
He squinted into the darkness, looking for the glint of steel that would tell him where to aim his bow. Alexander came to his side and pointed to the place he sought. But just as Domnall nocked his arrow, there was a second similar sound on another section of the curtain wall. A two-pronged invasion had begun. Alexander moved quickly to determine the second location. Would there be a third?
Domnall raised his bow and drew back the bowstring… and waited with his pulse beating in his ears. There was no room for error. His aim would have to be true. The top of a head appeared. Domnall took in a deep breath and slowly blew it out as the intruder’s chest came into sight. The arrow shot forth with a swish. The invader’s body twitched. A hit! Domnall didn’t wait to watch him fall, but grabbed his quiver and darted to the location of the second wall scaler. He was almost too late. He took aim once more and his second arrow flew as straight as the first. The man slowly swayed on his feet and then toppled back over the wall.
“That’s two,” Domnall murmured in satisfaction.
Several more grappling hook attempts ensued, but he was able to thwart them as well. Would they continue this incursion? A dull thud in the direction of the gatehouse told him they would. It also revealed they had not been idle in the preceding hours. A second louder thump confirmed that it was, indeed, a battering ram striking the portcullis.
Gillecolum had taken command of the gatehouse defense. He was ready with his sword to face anyone who broke through, if they managed to get by the murder holes.
Domnall debated joining Gillecolum on the ground but his vantage point was far superior from where he stood. As long as they didn’t cross the bailey, he could inflict the most damage with his bow.
The thuds grew louder and closer, sounding more like thunderclaps. How long would the gate hold? A few minutes later a crash and shouts of victory answered his question. Bollocks! They’d breached the portcullis!
Now, there was only a thick oak door keeping them from entering the bailey. But that same door had them trapped in the gatehouse, where the priest and Domnall’s blind grandmother awaited above them with spears and boiling lard.
“The battering ram could be naught but a diversion,” Domnall said. “We must remain where we can watch their movement.”
Another attempt with the grappling hook confirmed that his instincts were right. But this time, his arrow missed its mark. “Damn!” Domnall cursed and nocked another but his target had made it over and was headed for cover.
Domnall’s gut compelled him to join Gillecolum, but doing so would leave the walls vulnerable. “Gillecolum! There’s one in the bailey,” Domnall shouted at the top of his lungs as screams of agony sounded from within the gatehouse. The intruder would try to get past Gillecolum and open the gatehouse door to his men on the other side.
With sword at the ready, Gillecolum spun to face his attacker. Domnall nocked another arrow, hoping for a clear shot while the two men below him parried strikes.
The gatehouse had gone silent. The only sound was the clash of steel in the bailey. Domnall watched and waited but he had no clean opening. Both men were highly skilled but, suddenly, Gillecolum feinted and then sliced horizontally, striking just above his opponent’s shoulder. The man dropped to his knees with a grunt. The second blow from Gillecolum’s blade finished him off.
But there was no rest for the weary warrior. The battering ram had recommenced, thundering repeatedly until the oak shook. There were more shouts and screams until the clamor reached a deafening crescendo that climaxed with the loud crack of splintering wood.
They had breached the bailey! Gillecolum could not fight them alone. Domnall threw down his bow and raced for the stairs. Alexander stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Gillecolum, Kingslayer in hand. Alexander was willing to fight but he was no match for these men.
“Go ye to guard the keep!” Domnall shouted as the door fell from it hinges.
Alexander responded with a nod and a look of relief.
Domnall lost all sense of time and place as he threw himself into a frenzy of fighting. Standing, back to back, he and Gillecolum confronted and foiled every man who attempted to pass into the bailey. Though their swords dripped with blood, he had no idea how many they’d killed, or how many still remained.
Some of them might even be his own. He’d been hit, a blow to his shoulder that he’d managed to ignore thus far which told him it wasn’t a very serious wound.
“There’s another on the wall!” Alexander called out. Domnall broke from Gillecolum to confront the new threat. The intruder raced toward Alexander, sword raised as if to cleave him in twain, but Alexander’s sword remained sheathed.
“Alexander!” he cried, realizing he would never get there in time. “For God’s sake, defend yerself!” Even as he spoke, Alexander responded with a flick of his wrist that sent a flash of steel spiraling through the air. His assailant froze in his tracks with Alexander’s sgian-dubh imbedded in his throat. Blood gurgled from his mouth as the life force drained from his body. Seconds later, he dropped to the ground. The monk might have no skill with a sword, but he was unsurpassed with a sgian-dubh.
When Domnall turned back to aid Gillecolum, he found his friend standing over another lifeless body. He wiped his blade on his sleeve with a grin. “It seems they dinna like our hospitality. The rest of them have fled.”
“How many?” Domnall asked.
“I dinna ken. Ye want to go after them?”
“I would ken who they are,” Domnall said. “The dead ones are unlikely to tell us verra much. We’ll use the seagate to intercept them.”
Alexander remained behind while Domnall and Gillecolum pursued those who’d fled. By the time they reached the shore, however, the men were already swimming toward their boat.
“I’m a good swimmer,” Gillecolum said. “But I canna catch them before they reach the boat… at least not without attracting sharks,” he added dryly.
It was only then that Domnall noticed the blood gushing from his friend’s midsection. “Ye are wounded! How bad?”
“I dinna think it’s deep. I only now noticed it myself.”
“I couldna have prevailed without ye my friend. I am much indebted to ye,” Domnall said.
“Aye?” Gillecolum grinned. “Then let the women treat our wounds while we drink to victory.”
*
Alexander and Father Gregor had begun stacking the dead bodies to be burned when they arrived back at the keep.
“Domnall!” Alexander exclaimed. He was kneeling by the man he’d struck down with his knife. “Come! Ye must see this.”
As Domnall approached, Alexander asked, “Do ye recognize him? Is this man who I think he is?”
The lower part of his face was covered in blood and his expression was frozen in a grisly grimace, but Domnall, indeed, recognized him as the imposter who had come to Kilmuir weeks before bearing Somerled’s name. “’Tis Ranald,” Domnall declared. “I am certain of it. Or at least ’tis the man who called himself Ranald.”
“’Tis his name all right,” Gillecolum said. “But what the de’il is Ranald Olaffsson doing here?”
“Olaffsson?” Alexander and Domnall repeated in unison.
“Aye, he is… or was… my stepmáthair’s half-brother. He and my faither had a falling out some time ago and he left Kintyre.”
“I thought I saw him at Dunfermline,” Alexander said. “But only the once. I suspected then that he might have come to Kilmuir as a spy for David.”
“’Tis curious, indeed,” Gillecolum said.
“Do ye think it possible that ’twas he who led the attack against the prince?” Alexander asked. “Mayhap that was why he was at Dunfermline?”
“I was wondering the same,” Domnall said. “I wish we could have interrogated him. Not that I’m sorry he’s dead. I’m glad of it and I wish I had been the one who killed him. I would have enjoyed it.”
“I take no joy in killing,” Alexander said, staring at the dead body. “But at least I shall suffer no remorse for it, now that I ken who he is.”
“Let us put him with the others and dispose of them. I will nae allow them to stink up the keep.”
*
After burning the bodies and bandaging their wounds, the weary warriors sought the comfort of the hearth in the great hall where Father Gregor produced a skin of uisge-beatha. They passed it around in silence, each taking a long draught.
Although Domnall’s body felt battered beyond exhaustion, his spirits soared. They had prevailed against overwhelming odds this night. But he knew his victory would be short-lived. Two of the men had escaped. Soon, an entire army would be on the march to Kilmuir. Perhaps they were already on the move.
Gillecolum caught his eye. “Ye think they will be back with more men?”
“Aye. They will be back with a force to annihilate us.”
“What will ye do?” Gillecolum asked.
“We must leave here, but we canna travel and expect to keep Prince Malcolm a secret,” Domnall said. “I have a mind to give him back.”
“But the king has refused to release MacAedh and Sibylla,” Alexander protested.
Domnall took another burning swallow of the fiery liquid. His limbs had relaxed but his mind had never felt more lucid. “Which is why we must convince the prince of Eachann’s guilt and our innocence.”