“I already knew that,” he said impatiently. “Is he back yet?”
“Aye, he is,” she answered. “But I have heard from his squire that he is preparing to leave for Arbane Abbey within the next few weeks. He was most unhappy about Lady Gabrielle’s coming marriage and was said to carry on something terrible. The squire told me he cried.”
It was the first bit of good news he’d heard since Coswold stepped off the miserable ship. He chuckled as he thought about Percy weeping like an old woman. “He truly did cry? Did anyone see him? Tell me more.”
Isla was about to tell him that she had heard that Percy had kicked and screamed and thrown things when he had heard that the lady was to wed Laird Monroe, but then she realized Coswold had just finished doing the very same thing. He might not take kindly to the comparison.
“He vowed that he would marry her with or without the king’s permission and with or without her father’s permission.”
Coswold snorted with laughter. “He has always had lofty dreams.”
She bowed her head. “I wish that he would lower his expectations of a wife.”
He paid no attention to her remark. Coswold gulped down the rest of the wine from his goblet, used his sleeve to wipe the drips from his chin, then poured himself more. “Did Percy tell anyone how he planned to accomplish such an amazing feat?”
“Do you mean how he plans to marry Lady Gabrielle without gaining permission?”
“Aye, that’s what I mean.”
Before he could chastise her for letting her mind wander and not paying attention, she blurted, “Nay, he didn’t explain to anyone. The same squire told me that if the king does not attend the ceremony, then Baron Percy will represent him.”
“So King John is planning to go to Arbane Abbey?”
She nodded. “But the baron doesn’t believe the king will make it there in time, for His Highness told him he has many other commitments he must see to first.”
“And Percy’s hoping John won’t attend, isn’t that right?” He scowled as he asked the question.
Once again Isla nodded. “Percy boasted that the king has given him full power to speak in his name and make decisions with his blessings as well.”
Coswold’s good mood was dampered by the news. “Baron Percy can make any decision he wishes?” he muttered. “This is true?”
“That is what I’ve been told.” Isla dropped her folded hands on the table and cried out, “You must marry Gabrielle, Uncle. For even though it is wrong, I have feelings for Baron Percy. You know this well. Do you not see how I suffer?”
Coswold rubbed his jaw. “He flatters you, Isla, because he sees how a kind word will turn your head and win your loyalty.”
Her hand flew to her heart. “I shall always be loyal to you. When my father died, you took me in and made certain that all my needs were met. I love you, and I would never ever be disloyal to you.” In a rush, she added, “But I know how much you want Lady Gabrielle, and if you were to marry her, then perhaps Baron Percy will look to me for a wife. I know that I’m not as pretty as most, but if you are married, then I will also be related to her, won’t I? And won’t that count for something with Percy?”
He hardly knew how to answer. He almost felt sorry for her, because she had such impossible dreams. Percy would never marry the likes of her. Coswold doubted that any man would give her the time of day, for she was most unattractive. Her skin was sallow and pockmarked, and her lips were but thin lines that seemed to disappear when she spoke. She had made Coswold a good servant and a companion now that she was grown, and he wouldn’t be averse to keeping her in his home until he or she died. But if Isla longed for marriage, who could Coswold find to marry her? She didn’t have much of a dowry unless he added to what her father had left her. He knew that if the dowry were large enough, she would have many suitors, but he was unwilling to give up any of what he had. Now that her parents were dead, Coswold was Isla’s only family. When she realized her uncle wouldn’t increase her dowry, she would get upset, of course, but it would pass, and she would eventually accept her lowly lot. She had nowhere else to go.
“One must always have hope,” he muttered for lack of anything better to say. “Remember, Percy and I are enemies. I don’t think he will forget our animosity, especially if I should marry Gabrielle. It seems, however, that Laird Monroe will be winning that prize.”
“You could change that,” Isla said. “You’re cunning and so clever. You could find a way to marry her. I’ve been told she doesn’t even know she’s to marry the laird yet.”
“I think perhaps you have false hope, but I won’t discourage you.”
“And if I should win Percy’s heart, you would give him permission to wed me?” she asked eagerly.
“I would.”
“Thank you, Uncle,” she whispered. Content now that she had gained his promise, she remembered her manners. “How was your journey? Did it go well?”
Coswold loosened the belt around his waist and, stretching his feet out in front of him, slouched back in his chair. “St. Biel is a miserable place. It’s cold when it should be warm and burning hot when it should be cold.”
“Did you find the treasure for the king?”
“I did not.”
“Does it exist?”
His answer was immediate. “No.”
There was no point in telling her what he really thought. As besotted as she was with Percy, Isla could very well let anything he said slip out at the wrong moment. Love made women foolish.
Coswold wasn’t telling anyone that he believed the treasure existed. He planned to find it and keep it all for himself. He certainly wasn’t going to share a single gold coin with King John, who had lied to him for the last time. With such a vast fortune at his fingertips, Coswold could build an army and take whatever he wanted when he wanted it. Ah, the thought of such freedom made his head spin.
To achieve his dreams, he had to be practical. Gabrielle held the key to the whereabouts of the gold. He was certain the secret of the hidden treasure had been passed down from one generation to the next. If he couldn’t have her, in order to glean the information from her, then he would make certain Gabrielle was given to someone he could manipulate. And he had the perfect man in mind.
“In a few days I must go on another long journey,” Coswold remarked.
“Must you go far?”
He nodded. “All the way to the Highlands.”
She gasped. “You’re going to Arbane Abbey?”
“I must first meet with King John to answer his questions about St. Biel. Fortunately, he’s in the north now, and when we are finished with our meeting, I’ll continue on to the Highlands.”
“To the abbey.” She nodded as she made the statement.
“I have another destination in mind, but when I’m finished there, I will head to the abbey. I should arrive in plenty of time for the wedding.”
Isla took a deep breath to summon her courage. “I know it’s wrong for me to ask for anything more, but is there a chance I might go with you? I would love to see the princess marry. I’m certain it will be a grand ceremony.”
Now she was lying to him. She wasn’t interested in seeing Lady Gabrielle wed. Percy would be there, and she wanted to see him. Coswold was about to refuse her request, then changed his mind. His niece might be of help to him.
She lowered her head in dejection, accepting his refusal before he had even given it.
“Aye, you may come.”
Her head snapped up. Overjoyed, tears immediately welled in her eyes. Soon she would see the love of her life, and perhaps she would find a way to make him love her. Anything was possible. And Isla would do anything to marry Baron Percy.
Anything.
THEY WERE GOING TO BURY THE MACHUGH’S BROTHER IN the center of the battlefield, and to amuse themselves, they decided to bury him alive.
The field chosen for his execution was called Finney’s Flat, hallowed ground for the MacKennas. The clan was now calli
ng the valley Glen MacKenna, for so many of their own fine soldiers had been slaughtered there. When the last battle had ended, the ground was stained black with MacKenna blood.
Laird Colm MacHugh had been responsible for the carnage. The mighty chieftain and his fierce warriors had poured down the mountain like a cauldron of oil boiling over, their scalding fury destroying everything in their path. Their gleaming swords raised, their united battle cry vibrated the jagged rocks. To the MacKenna soldiers waiting below to do battle, it had been a terrifying sight.
MacHugh was the most spine-chilling sight of all. Until that day some of the MacKenna soldiers had refused to believe the laird actually existed, for the tales of his ruthlessness in battle and his feats of Herculean strength couldn’t possibly be accurate…unless, as some of the whispered rumors alleged, the MacHugh was in fact more beast than man.
Some who had gotten a glimpse of him swore he was half lion, half man: his chiseled face, his golden hair similar in color to a lion’s mane, and his ferocity in battle like that of an animal. Invisible one second, he pounced the next, methodically ripping his prey apart limb by limb.
Or so it was told.
The more enlightened warriors scoffed at such a fanciful notion. The MacHugh was but a shadow with supernatural power, they argued. He disappeared at will, but when his shadow approached, a poor soul could ward off death only by dropping to his knees and praying for mercy. The MacHugh was invincible, impossible to grasp or capture. The only warning that he was about to strike was the music that came before. Shadow music. His battle cry blended in perfect harmony with the whistle of his blade as his sword sliced through the air. When a soldier heard that sound, he was already dead.
Laird Owen MacKenna knew all too well that Colm MacHugh was flesh and bone. Twice in the past year MacKenna had stood in the same great hall with him and twenty other lairds. They had gathered for meetings at the request of Scotland’s king. The mighty MacHugh hadn’t directly spoken to him either time, but MacKenna felt the sting of his words just the same. When matters affecting their adjoining lands were brought forth, the king and the other lairds turned to MacHugh for direction, as though his land and his strength held more importance than MacKenna’s. And always in contention was Finney’s Flat. The valley ran adjacent to both the MacHugh and the MacKenna holdings. The land was fertile with nary a rock in sight, perfect for their sheep to graze and perhaps a bit of barley planting, but neither clan could claim it. It belonged to John, king of England, granted to him years earlier by the king of Scotland as a conciliatory gesture. Each time MacKenna tried to take a piece of the land for himself, MacHugh saw to it that he was pushed back.
Oh, MacKenna despised this man. With every breath he took, his hatred grew until it threatened to consume him. Not one day passed without at least one dark thought about the laird, and what was most galling for Owen was the knowledge that MacHugh wasted not one minute thinking about any of the MacKennas. They weren’t even important enough to hate.
Owen recognized this sin of jealousy. Envy was eating him alive, and he felt powerless to do anything about it. He dreamed of destroying MacHugh, and though he wouldn’t dare admit his sin to his confessor, he would gladly sell his soul to the devil to get what he wanted.
His list of wants was long. He wanted MacHugh’s power. He wanted his allies: the Buchanans, the Maitlands, and the Sinclairs. He wanted his strength and his discipline. He wanted the fear the laird instilled in his enemies; he wanted the loyalty he commanded from his friends. He wanted his lands and everything else MacHugh controlled. Most of all, Owen craved revenge.
Today was the day he would finally rid himself of his jealousy. Today was the day he would get justice.
And what a glorious day it was for an execution…or many executions if all went well and a large number of MacHughs were killed. Pity he couldn’t watch, but he had to separate himself from the executioners so that when he was accused of the crime, he could protest his innocence and have holy witnesses at Arbane Abbey to vouch for his presence.
Owen had carefully thought out the plan and had handpicked the soldier who would oversee the burial.
“Timing,” he had explained, “is most important. You must wait until you see Laird MacHugh up on the ridge overlooking the flat before you bury his brother. He’ll know who it is, but he won’t be able to stop it. Have no worries. His arrows cannot travel such a distance, and his steed cannot fly. By the time he reaches his fallen brother’s side, it will be too late, and you and your good men, will have gone into hiding.
“A contingent of soldiers will be waiting to the west behind the line of trees. As soon as MacHugh gets close enough, they’ll circle and attack.”
He rubbed his hands with malicious glee as he added, “If all goes well, Laird Colm MacHugh and his brother Liam will both be in the ground before nightfall.”
The soldier Owen had placed in charge of the burial was a thick-shouldered, thick-headed man named Gordon. Owen had made him repeat his orders to make certain he fully appreciated the importance of timing the burial just right.
The warriors had little trouble capturing Liam MacHugh. They ambushed him just as he passed through a thick grove of trees. They beat him severely and removed his boots, tied a thick rope around his ankles, and dragged him behind his horse to the deep narrow hole they’d dug in preparation.
While they nervously waited for MacHugh to reach the ridge and also waited for Liam to regain consciousness so he would know what was going to happen, six of the seven soldiers got into a discussion regarding the burial.
The discussion turned into an argument. Three soldiers wanted MacHugh’s brother buried headfirst with only his feet above the ground. When his toes stopped wiggling, they would know for a certainty that he was dead. Three other soldiers were in favor of dropping him into the hole feetfirst. They wanted to hear him scream and beg for mercy until the last shovel of dirt was thrown across the top of his head.
“He might not wake up,” a soldier argued. “I’m in favor of stuffing his head in first.”
“He didn’t even give up a whimper while we were beating him. Why do you think he’d start in screaming now?” another asked.
“Look at the mist coming on. It’s already covering the ground and creeping up my boots. You won’t be able to see his head anyway if this muck gets any thicker.”
“Pull that hood off and toss some water on his face and he’ll wake up,” yet another suggested.
“He’s going in headfirst.”
“Feetfirst,” a soldier shouted, shoving one of the men who had disagreed with him.
Gordon knew the argument would soon turn physical. He kept his eye on the top of the ridge and announced that he would be the deciding vote.
Liam MacHugh would go to his grave feetfirst.
IT WASN’T UNUSUAL FOR A BRIDE TO MEET HER GROOM FOR the first time at their wedding ceremony, but Gabrielle hoped to at least get a glimpse of the man before then. The only piece of information she had about Laird Monroe was that he was an older man. No one had told her how much older, though, and she was filled with trepidation. What if he turned out to be an ogre? Or so old he couldn’t stand straight? Or had no teeth and could only eat mush? She knew that his age and appearance shouldn’t be important to her, but what if his manners were atrocious? Or worse, what if he was cruel to those around him? Could she live with someone who mistreated the men and women who depended on him?
Her mother had often told her that she worried too much, but wasn’t the unknown always a worry? To Gabrielle it was. Oh, how she wished her mother were here to offer advice now. She would calm Gabrielle’s fears. But her mother had died in the winter two years ago. While Gabrielle knew that she had been blessed to have her in her life for so many years, there were times when she physically ached to talk to her. Today was one of those times, for Gabrielle was on her way to her wedding.
Twenty soldiers along with staff and servants accompanied Gabrielle and her father to the Highlands
of Scotland. Their destination was Arbane Abbey, where her wedding ceremony would take place in one week. Rooms would be provided at the abbey for the travel-weary group.
The procession up the mountain was slow and arduous. The closer they came to their destination, the more withdrawn Gabrielle became.
The trail was narrow and broken, but her father was able to ride by her side once they had rounded a sharp turn. Baron Geoffrey tried to think of a way to lighten her concerns about the future.
He motioned to the lush valley below. “Do you notice how green everything is here, Gabrielle?”
“Yes, Father, I do,” she replied without enthusiasm.
“And do you notice how invigorating the brisk air is in the Highlands?”
“I do,” she said.
The good baron was determined to raise his daughter’s spirits. “There are those Highlanders who believe that we are high enough to touch heaven. What do you think?”
It wasn’t like Gabrielle’s father to be so fanciful. Her mother had been the fanciful one, full of dreams that she had passed on to her daughter. But her father wasn’t a dreamer. He was a leader of men, a protector, and a terribly practical man.
“I would think they were mistaken,” she answered. “We aren’t high enough to touch heaven here. Only in St. Biel would that be possible.”
“And how would you know this?”
“Mother,” she answered.
“Ah,” Baron Geoffrey said with a melancholy smile. “And what exactly did she tell you?”
“She always said the same thing, that when she stood next to the statue of St. Biel that overlooks the harbor, she was as close to heaven as she could be on earth.”
Gabrielle’s fingers brushed across the gold medallion she wore on a chain around her neck. It had been fashioned from a coin and bore the likeness of St. Biel. She’d had it for as long as she could remember. Her mother had been buried with one just like it.
He noticed the gesture. “I miss her, too,” he said. “But she will always be in our hearts.” Then with a sigh he said, “Do you notice how blue the sky is? As blue as your mother’s eyes.”