Chapter Eleven
Opening one eye, Triona found a grinning Nessa standing next to her bed. She did not know what the woman found so amusing but was too tired to ask. Nessa patted Triona’s cheek, chuckled, and then hurriedly put out heated water for washing and some clean clothes. It was not until a still-chuckling Nessa left, quietly shutting the door behind her, that Triona began to guess what had so amused her maid.
She looked down and saw a strong male arm draped around her waist. Then the memories of all that had happened last night washed over her, heating her blood. Triona groaned and pulled the sheet over her head as embarrassment overtook that lingering desire. Nessa had caught her in bed with Brett. Everyone at Banuilt would soon know about it. No wonder the woman had been chuckling so merrily. Nessa had never before had such news to spread, and Triona had no doubt that the woman would be spreading it far and wide and to anyone she met.
Fear over what she would soon face upon confronting her people crept into her heart and mind. She fought it, if only because she knew she needed to appear confident when she walked out of her bedchamber, needed to reveal not one tiny hint of guilt or shame. Searching her heart, she found that she actually felt none, and that troubled her a little, for she had bedded down with a man who was not her husband. That was a sin, and if the village priest had not died from the fever and never been replaced, reducing them to occasionally borrowing a priest from another village, she should be headed straight to him to make her confession and do a penance.
A little smile curled her lips when she realized she would not have felt any real inclination to do that, either. The old priest might have tried to shame her into doing so, but he would have been wasting his breath. After facing Father Mollison, a man so willing to force her into marriage just to keep himself safe and unharmed, she doubted she would be running to him, either. No matter how hard she tried, she could not bestir even the smallest spark of shame in her heart.
Triona did not believe that it was just the fullness of the passion she and Brett had shared that left her so untroubled. She was lying there, shamelessly happy, because what she had shared with Brett felt right to her, in both her heart and in her mind. It felt right because she had foolishly fallen in love with the man. That realization robbed her of all her good humor.
This was not going to end well, she mused as she watched his strong, long-fingered hand slide up her body and cover her breast. She was not plain, but she was no beauty. Sir Brett Murray was one of the finest-looking men she had ever seen, and the way the women of Banuilt looked at him told her that they thought so, too. She was a wren and he was a kingfisher. He was her lover, had never even hinted that he wanted to be any more than that, and he would leave once Banuilt’s troubles ended. It hurt to think on that, but she knew she would be a fool to ever forget it.
Warm lips touched the back of her neck and she shivered with pleasure. “We have been discovered,” she murmured, tilting her head a little so that he could warm the side of her neck with his kisses.
“I heard Nessa cackling to herself.” Brett shifted and tugged her onto her back. “Are ye upset?”
She decided it was somehow wrong for a man to look so good in the morning. His dark green eyes were still a little clouded with sleep, but it only made them look more seductive. His thick black hair was tousled, and he had a hearty crop of beard stubble. Even the crease mark from the bed linen, which ran over his left cheek, did not dim his beauty. Triona was sure she looked as if she had been dragged through a hedgerow backwards, yet the way he looked at her made her feel beautiful.
“Aye, Nessa was here and, aye, I was upset. For just a moment.” Unable to resist, she lightly stroked his strong chest, idly toying with the small patch of hair in the middle.
“Only for a moment?”
“Aye, only a moment. Then I thought of a few things. I am laird here. I am a widow, a mother, and five and twenty. For almost eight years I have been doing all I could to make life here good for these people, and ne’er veered from the path of virtue. So, nay, I decided I willnae act as if I have committed some great sin.” She grinned. “Of course, it helps immensely that we have nay priest here to remind me that I have done exactly that.”
Brett grinned back at her. She looked beautifully mischievous. It was not a part of her she revealed often, and he liked it. He realized he wanted to be the one to give her the freedom and ease to reveal that side of her nature much more often.
That could be a problem, he thought. He was not sure he could stay with her. The fact that Brenda’s ghost had not appeared last night to chill the heated passion he was sharing with Triona was as close to miraculous as he suspected he would ever see. It told him he could be Triona’s lover, but his heart refused to offer more than that. Brenda’s ghost might not have appeared, but her specter obviously still had a tight grasp on him. Brett preferred to call his reluctance to allow himself to care deeply for any woman again merely a wise man’s caution, not fear.
Deciding his thoughts were growing too deep for the morning hour, especially a morning when he woke in the bed of a woman he desired, he kissed her. That her kiss aroused him as strongly as it had before, despite how thoroughly he had satisfied his lust last night, pleased him even as it disturbed him. It could be part of the reason he had not been haunted last night.
“’Tis morning, Brett,” Triona protested halfheartedly as he kissed his way down her body until he began to lavish attention on her breasts. “We shouldnae do this now.” His kiss had already stirred her desire for him strongly enough that she hoped he had a good argument as to why they should indulge their passion again, no matter what time of the day it was.
Brett was pleased with the challenge of proving her wrong. His desire for her was running hot, but his own thoughts were scattered. Now he could set those thoughts on one very clear path, showing a faintly blushing Triona that they could and would make love in the morning. Soon her gasps of pleasure, the movement of her soft skin against his, and the way the heat of her desire wrapped itself around him, drove every thought from his head.
Triona was still panting when her mind finally cleared of passion’s haze. She could feel the faintly damp heat of Brett’s breath against her neck and knew he was also recovering, his breathing slowing back to normal. The fact that she, little Triona McKee, could make such a man weak enough to collapse in her arms, unable to do more than struggle to breathe for several minutes, was enough to make her heart swell with pride.
With the fading of her desire, however, came the realization that she had a very large man sprawled on top of her. They were also both a little sweaty. Then her stomach rumbled in an embarrassingly loud reminder that she had not yet broken her fast. She blushed when he laughed, pushed himself up on his forearms, and grinned at her.
“Aye, ’tis time to eat.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss and then got up and began to tug on his clothes. “I will try to nay march boldly from your bedchamber like some conquering hero,” he assured her and then left, still lacing up his shirt.
Triona stared at the door for a moment before sitting up. “Conquering hero?” she muttered as she got up and went to wash off with the now tepid water Nessie had brought to her earlier.
By the time she reached the great hall to break her fast, only Arianna remained. Triona frowned as she sat down and chose food from the sadly depleted platters and bowls. The men were often gone, leaving early to hunt for Sir John and returning late and empty-handed. Yet in the last few days, the long absences had only gotten worse, and she even wondered if Sir John was really what they were now hunting for. She also sensed that there was something they were not telling her.
“Ye are looking a bit irritated for a woman who spent such a wonderful night,” drawled Arianna.
Triona cursed. “Nessa.”
“Aye, she was most talkative.”
It was impossible not to blush, but Triona knew it was not shame that heated her cheeks, for she still felt none, only embarrassment over someone knowing something so deeply personal about her. “I am sorry if I have disappointed you, Cousin.”
Arianna waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “I am nay disappointed. Ye are a widow and nay some young virgin. Ye have earned the right to do as ye please.” She bit her lip and then sighed. “I but hope ye—weel, that ye are nay thinking ye have just found a husband. Nay that he might ne’er decide to be just that for you, but—”
“I ken it,” Triona said, interrupting her cousin’s stumbling words. “That is nay what I seek, and I willnae allow myself to hope for it. I but wanted, just once, to choose for myself who climbed into my bed.”
“Och, aye, I can understand that. I had some choice with my first husband, in that my family truly desired the match and I was fooled by Claud’s charms. Yet I didnae really choose, did I? I acquiesced. I chose Brian and, to be honest, I also chose him, in heart and mind, as a lover before there was talk of his being a husband. Nay only that, but then I had to make him see sense, or he would have sent me away because of some fool’s idea of nay being good enough for me. His pride, too, in a way.”
“And how fares the trouble between the two of ye?”
“’Tis settled. I am still puzzled o’er how he could forget a wife, but he has explained himself and I finally calmed enough to try to see it all through his eyes.” She grinned. “Through the eyes of a MacFingal male. Instead, I actually feel bad for poor Mavis. She died young and left so little mark. But Brian and I are fully reconciled now, and we will be staying here until the troubles plaguing ye are done.”
“That is verra kind of ye.”
“’Tis nay just because ye are kin, either. What is happening here is wrong. Verra wrong. If that liege laird of yours would just come and look at Banuilt, come and talk with ye and your people, he would see that ye need no mon if ye choose to have none. And, as Brian says, the fact that it is the verra ones who swore to be your allies, hurting ye and your people, makes it all the more wrong.”
“I ken it could help if my liege laird came here just once, but I would prefer he just forget about me. He is of the ilk that believes no woman can fare weel without a mon at her side.” Triona began to cut up an apple. “So Brian is off hunting with the others?”
“He is, but I am wondering if it is really Sir John they search for at the moment.”
“I was just wondering the same thing.” Triona tensed and looked at Arianna. “Do ye think they may have found some hint of what has happened to my garrison?”
“Mayhap. If they have, we best pray it is good news.”
Triona sighed and nodded.
As the day wore on and she suffered no trouble or unkindness from her people, only the occasional laughter-filled teasing from some of the women, she realized she would not lose their respect for having a lover, and relaxed. The only thing that continued to trouble her was that Brett might not be telling her exactly what he and the others were now looking for. When he returned that evening, she briefly considered confronting him and demanding to know what was going on, but discarded the idea as they tumbled into bed. She would do her best to just leave him to the search, certain he would tell her anything she had to know if necessary, and also keep praying that it all turned out well.
“Are ye certain about this, Harcourt?” asked Brett as he stared through the trees at the ruin of a peel tower where a few rough-looking men stood guard. “How could Sir John keep near thirty men in there?” This was the third place they had come to in as many days, this one chosen by Harcourt and Callum, and even though he had the greatest confidence in their abilities, he feared they were about to be disappointed again.
“Note the bars and the heavy doors. They are new. I spoke with the mon who put them there. The only openings are ones to put food in and to take waste out. There are also chains, shackles, and rings set in the wall to hold a mon with rope or chains. He said he guessed it must be a prison the laird wanted, something far from his own keep so that he didnae have to worry about kinsmen trying to free someone.”
“Jesu,” Brian whispered. “Near two years held in there? If ye are right, how many could still be alive?”
“I couldnae get close enough to have a look,” said Callum. “Nay sure I would have seen much if I had, as there is no way to look inside of the place, every opening covered in bars and heavy iron-banded doors. Couldnae get any idea from the people in the village of how many prisoners might be held there, either. They take food there from time to time, but it didnae sound like much. I also watched the guards help themselves to a lot that came to this place, picking o’er what was in the carts and setting it aside. A few people in the village are suddenly living verra weel.”
“The guards are from the village?”
“Aye. I was told they are rough men, too, nay weel liked or trusted.”
“Hired swords,” said Brett. “So, since we cannae be certain the Banuilt men are being held in there, I am nay sure what to do next. My doubt is stirred mostly by how close this is to Gormfeurach. Sir John has to ken that, if we found the men here, it would implicate him.”
“I feel certain it is the Banuilt men in there,” said Harcourt. “I had the old mon who cares for the stable at Banuilt describe some of the horses that the men rode when they left to go to France. I have seen horses matching his descriptions in the village, at the homes of the men guarding this place. Nay all of the horses—some I suspect may be found at Gormfeurach—but a few.”
“I think that proof enough to go down there and demand a look,” said Brian.
Brett studied the place, counting only six guards. There were twelve in their own group, so the odds were definitely in their favor. It would also mean that they could subdue the guards without bloodshed, which would be wise if it turned out that the prisoners being held were not the garrison of Banuilt.
“We shall just ride down there,” Brett decided. “Eight of us shall ride up and four of us shall slip up behind the guards once their attention is fully on us. That way any one of them who takes it into his head to fight can be quickly subdued.”
“Verra cautious,” murmured Brian.
“It may be that the men in there are nay the ones we search for, and I dinnae wish to be killing guards if it can be avoided, at least nay until I see who is being held there.”
Brian nodded and directed four of his men to start slipping up behind the guards. Brett approved the choice, for he knew well just how skilled MacFingals were in such matters. He then signaled the rest of the men to remount and they headed down the hillside to the peel tower. Instinct told him they had found Triona’s men, but he wanted to be sure before any punishment of the guards was dealt out.
All the guards turned to them as they rode up, and Brett inwardly shook his head at their stupidity. They had now left their backs—and even, to some extent, their flank—wide-open to attack. Sir John did not choose his hirelings for skill, he decided. Either that, or after almost two years of no trouble coming their way, the guards had grown lax.
“What do ye want?” the biggest of the six demanded, drawing his sword as he stepped closer and glared up at Brett. “This is nay some inn. Best ye ride on to the village.”
“What do ye have locked up in there?” Brett asked.
“’Tis none of your concern. ’Tis just where a laird keeps those deserving of some punishment.”
Since most lairds delivered punishment by their own hand or with a rope, Brett just stared at the man. “I believe I should like to see what ye hold in there.”
“Weel, ye can just—”
Brett smiled when the man’s words were cut off by the sharp point of a sword in his back. Three of the other guards were on the ground, and the other two also had swords at their backs. Brett decided he was very glad that the MacFingals were his allies, and after the big guard had tossed aside his sword, he dismounted and held out his hand.
“Keys,” he ordered.
The moment he had them in hand, Brett walked to the door, Harcourt, Uven, Callum, and Tamhas right behind him, along with a scowling Brian. When he opened the door, the stench was so overpowering he took a step back. Once the fresh air from the outside lessened the power of the smell a little, he cautiously stepped inside, but it was too dark to see clearly. He could hear movement and the rattle of chains, but could see only shadows.
Light flared and he glanced back to see Harcourt with a torch, and nodded his thanks. Then he looked around and began to curse. Men were crowded into the room, and he could glimpse a few peering down at him from the upper level. They were filthy, dressed in rags, and looked as if they had not had a meal for far too long. The smell of the place told him that they had been left to rot in their own filth as well.
Before Brett could ask who they were, one tall, bone-thin man stood up, although he had to lean against the damp stone to stay upright. He was shackled hand and foot to the wall, and Brett could see the sores the shackles had caused. If these were the men of Banuilt, it was going to be difficult getting them all back home, he thought.
“Who are ye?” asked the man. “New guards?”
“Nay, we have come searching for some men who went missing nearly two years ago,” replied Brett. “We search for the garrison of Banuilt.”
“We are the garrison of Banuilt. I am Aiden McKee and was the leader of that garrison.”
“Then we have come to take ye home.”
To Brett’s astonishment, the man looked down at himself and then gave Brett a crooked smile. “That may nay be so easy to do.”
It was not easy just getting the men unchained and out into the fresh air. The way every one of them winced at the light of the sun was all the indication Brett needed to know that they had been caged in the dark for too long. He and Callum were just bringing out the sickest of the men when three of the guards attempted to escape. Before he could move to stop them, Brian and his men struck them down, and the other three guards, watching how quickly their fellow hirelings had died, made no move to try an escape themselves.
They did not have enough water or clothing to clean away all the filth the men of Banuilt carried, but they did what they could. Brett was just handing Aiden some water and an oatcake, suspecting the men would need to eat with caution for a while, when Callum walked up and crouched in front of Aidan. The last he had seen of Callum, he had been talking to one of the guards.
“Ye have been here for almost two years,” Callum said. “Do ye have any idea who caused ye to be imprisoned?”
“It was Sir John Grant,” said Aiden.
“Ye saw him?”
“Only once, a wee sighting, as he didnae come close, but ’twas enough. They must have thought every one of us asleep, or too dull witted to see him. He and some men collected our horses and weapons as we were chained up for the journey here. I didnae recognize any of the men with him, though. I dinnae think they were from Gormfeurach.”
“Probably not.” Callum looked at Brett. “It appears that Sir John has been planning on taking hold of Banuilt for a verra long time, as this takes work and careful scheming. So does convincing an entire garrison to ride off so that ye can get your hands on that land.”
“Ye didnae fight?” asked Brett.
“Nay, for we were asleep, or near to,” Aiden replied. “Something was in the ale, I think, and we were thinking we were amongst compatriots who would soon be fighting with us in France.” He frowned at Brett. “What made ye come looking for us? All who kenned us believed us to have sailed for France.”
“It began to trouble Lady Triona that there had been no word from any of ye, nor bodies returned to be buried at home, nor even wounded come home to be cared for. Nothing. When she mentioned how that puzzled her, made her increasingly uneasy, we got to thinking on how, with all her trained fighting men gone, it made it all so much easier for Sir John to cause her trouble.”
“Aye.” Aiden shook his head. “All we saw was glory and riches. ’Twas nay a good thing to do, and mayhap we deserved some punishment for it.” He looked at the peel tower. “But, I think, nay this.”
“Nay, this was undeserved. But, in a way, ye will be serving your lady weel. This is something she can use against Sir John. This is something that e’en her liege laird cannae accept and excuse.”
“How many have ye lost?” asked Callum.
“Four men. They just couldnae abide it anymore, I am thinking. Hunger and thirst also make it hard to fight disease. They are buried close to here—they would take a few of us out to do the burying when one died.” He glanced toward several of the Banuilt men who were carefully being set on hastily made litters. “We may yet lose a few more.” He looked back at Brett. “Ye say it has been nearly two years?” When Brett nodded, Aiden cursed. “Then I am surprised we have lost so few. There is nay a curse strong enough to fling at Sir John Grant for this.”
“Nay, I agree, but this may nay have been his plan. I think the guards began to enrich themselves with what was meant to keep ye and the others alive. I dinnae excuse the mon, nay at all, but it would make no sense to let ye all rot, when he plans to wed Lady Triona and rule over Banuilt. Trained men are nay so easy to come by.”
“Aye, but he didnae pay heed to what was happening with us, either, or the guards couldnae have stolen anything. He set us in this hole and then forgot about us, or near to.”
“Verra true. But now we must think of how to get ye all back to Banuilt.”
“I could walk if it came to it, although I would need to rest many a time along the way.”
“There will be nay walking. A few carts are all that is needed.” He looked at Callum. “I have the feeling ye would ken where to find some.”
“Aye, and the horses to pull them,” Callum replied as he stood up and, briefly grinning at Aiden, hurried off to get what was needed to take the garrison home.
“Do ye ken a woman named Joan at Banuilt?” asked Aiden.
“Aye, I have met her. She is weel,” replied Brett.
“And still weaves the finest cloth in Scotland?”
“So Lady Triona claims.”
Aiden looked down at his bone-thin, weakened body. “Well, I willnae be coming home to her in the best of looks, but ’twill be good to be back with her.”
“She will be pleased that ye are alive and home. The rest can be mended.”
“I pray ye are right, Sir Brett.”
Brett prayed he was right, as well. The men were badly weakened, and the ones being put on the litters the MacFingals had hastily made looked too close to death for his liking. It was a sad end for men who had ridden off thinking they could sell their skill for coin to help their families. It was also difficult to understand how any man could do such a thing to so many men innocent of any crime save that they protected something he wanted. About all he could say in Sir John’s favor was that the man had not simply slaughtered them all, but his neglect and disinterest in how they fared had nearly done the deed anyway.
The only good thing about this whole tragedy was that it provided the rope to hang Sir John with. Brett was certain that when Triona and Sir John’s liege laird heard about this, he would end all protection for Sir John Grant. Triona finally had the hard proof she had been seeking to condemn the man.