The Betrayal

CHAPTER Seventeen

With Wee Lad safely locked in her chambers, Kylia made her way down the narrow stone steps beneath the chapel. As she held her candle aloft she could see rodents scurrying across the dirt floor below. Above her head were rough-hewn timbers resting on columns of boulders that supported the structure.

She’d already begun to regret her decision to come here. It would be far wiser to wait until the morrow, when she could confront Hazlet in the sunny garden. Or perhaps she could persuade Ardis to take her to Hazlet’s chambers, where the two women could converse in private. It would be much more civilized.

If she continued on this course of action, she would have to deal with not only her suspicion, but the gloom and darkness of a catacomb. It was too daunting to contemplate. She was by nature a sunny person. She would prefer to deal with Hazlet in the light of day.

As she turned to retrace her steps, she heard a sound that had her stopping in her tracks. A woman’s voice, moaning.

Had Hazlet fallen? If so, she would be lying hurt and alone in this horrid place. Despite her reluctance, Kylia’s tender heart wouldn’t permit her to flee. Turning back, she descended the last of the steps and followed the sound along a dark, narrow passageway. As she rounded a curve, she paused to stare at the scene before her.

Massive stone doors had been thrown wide, the timber used to secure them tossed to one side. Kylia stepped into a room that served as a family burial vault with perhaps a dozen crypts hewn of stone, resting above ground on stone pedestals. An ornately carved angel, arms aloft in welcome, stood guard in the center of the room. The flickering light of several torches thrust into niches in the walls sent eerie shadows dancing across the ceiling.

“My lady. Where are you? Are you hurt?” Kylia crossed the room, searching for the source of the cry.

She spotted Hazlet, who had flung herself across one of the crypts and lay, arms splayed as though trying to embrace the one buried within. Great choking sobs were torn from her throat.

Not hurt. Awash in grief.

Stunned by the depth of Hazlet’s grief, Kylia turned away, ashamed of herself for intruding on such an intimate scene.

Before she could withdraw, Hazlet lifted her head and fixed Kylia with a look of fury. In a flash she was on her feet, charging across the room like some wild creature.

“By what right did you come here to my family home, thinking to offer me the comfort of my lover’s last words? You had no such right, witch.” She shoved Kylia hard enough to send her falling against the stone angel, where the candle slipped from her hand and dropped, sputtering in the dirt. As Kylia hit her head against the stone base, she saw a shower of stars dancing before her eyes.

It took a moment to catch her breath over the pain that was crashing through her. A thin line of blood trickled from her temple, staining her neckline and shoulder of her gown.

Thunderstruck at the violence of her actions, Hazlet stood over her, her hand to her mouth, her chest rising and falling with each labored breath. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to…” She sounded thoroughly confused. “I only meant to convey my anger. I never meant to…” She stooped down. “You’re bleeding.”

Kylia gave a hiss of pain and sat up slowly, waiting for the room to stop spinning. She sucked in a breath and struggled to put her thoughts into words. “This makes no sense. Why wouldn’t it comfort you to know that Ranald’s last coherent thought before giving up his life was of you, Lady Hazlet?”

“I had no need of reassurance.” Hazlet backed away and began to pace, as though debating whether to run or remain. “I’d already had proof that he loved me.”

Confused, still reeling, Kylia pulled herself up and staggered, falling against the crypt Hazlet had been embracing. In the flickering light of a torch, she caught sight of the name carved on the crypt.

It bore the name of Stirling MacCallum.

As the letters danced in front of Kylia’s eyes, she shook her head and struggled to focus. Why Stirling? Why not Ranald?

“I don’t understand. I thought your grief was for Ranald, the great love of your life. Why do you weep over your brother?”

Suddenly defiant, Hazlet lifted her chin. “This is none of your affair. Perhaps I weep for lost lives. Lost dreams. Whatever the reasons, they are mine, and mine alone. I need no witch to look into my soul.”

“True enough. But what of the one who will judge you upon your death? Will you lie to heaven as well?”

“You would dare speak to me of heaven, when wicked souls like yours are condemned to hell for eternity?”

“Is that what you truly believe, Hazlet? Or is it merely what you want to tell yourself, for comfort?”

“I need no comfort. Not from the likes of you, nor from the things of this world.”

Kylia looked around wildly for a chance to escape, for she was convinced this woman was mad. Seeing that Hazlet was blocking her way, she realized that she needed a weapon with which to defend herself. With a flash of insight, it came to her. Though this was neither the time nor the place, she needed to uncover Hazlet’s secrets. They were the only weapons she needed.

Without warning, Kylia reached out and snatched the veil from Hazlet’s face. Quick as a flash she dropped to the floor.

“How dare you…?”

Rolling aside, Kylia pulled herself up along the rough stone wall and closed her hand around one of the torches that had been thrust into a niche. Holding it aloft, she stared into Hazlet’s icy eyes.

As their gazes locked, Kylia felt a jolt through her system. It was as though a dagger had been driven through her heart, sending her staggering backward until she came up against the cold stone of the crypt.

Seeing her pallor, Hazlet drew back and lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the light. “Nay. You’ll not work your witchcraft on me.”

“It’s too late.” Kylia’s tone was without inflection as she lowered the torch and allowed it to be snuffed in the dirt.

There was no joy in the knowledge she’d gained. In the space of a heartbeat she’d seen it all. The love. The hate. The reason for the shame. And the desperation of a woman in conflict with all she believed.

Alarmed at Kylia’s quiet resignation, Hazlet realized the worst. Could it be that this young woman was truly able to see into her soul?

She caught Kylia’s arm, her voice a desperate plea. “You cannot tell. You must not. Don’t you see? It will destroy us all.”

“Aye.” Kylia sank to her knees, too weak to stand.

Seeing it, Hazlet dropped to her knees beside her. “You’ll keep my secret?”

Kylia looked up and once again found herself sinking into the woman’s soul. She closed her eyes, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could erase all that she’d learned.

“I will not offer the truth. But if asked, I cannot lie. It is forbidden. For to do so, I would forfeit my gifts.”

“Your gifts? Is this all you can think of? What about the lives of all those who will be destroyed by the truth?”

“The choice was yours, Hazlet. All those years ago, you chose a lie. And that lie has been eating at your soul ever since.”

“What of it? It’s my soul. My life. You have no right to it.”

“That’s so, my lady. And I wish to heaven I’d never heard of you or learned your lie. But I’m here at the request of your nephew, who loves you like a mother.” The words had her covering her eyes with her hands to blot out the hideous irony. “And I’ll not add to your lie with one of my own.”

“You’ll destroy us all.” Hazlet snatched up a heavy golden candlestick and scrambled to her feet. “You think yourself better than mortals, do you, witch? A lot of good your honesty will do you now. You’ve just sealed your own fate.”

“Would you add murder to your sins, Hazlet?”

At Kylia’s words the older woman stared at her for long, silent moments before tossing the candlestick aside.

“If I can’t kill you, I’ll at least make you suffer, as I’ve suffered.”

Like a madwoman, Hazlet raced about the room, snatching torches and candles, snuffing them into the dirt.

Holding the last remaining candle aloft, she made her way to the door and turned with a look of triumph.

“I can’t think of a more perfect place for an other worldly creature than this room filled with the dead. Let’s just see what powers you hold over them, witch.”

Kylia watched as the doors slowly closed behind Hazlet, leaving the room in inky blackness. From beyond the doors, she could hear the sound of the timber being thrown into place to secure them.

Then there was an eerie silence broken only by the sound of her own shallow breathing, as Kylia struggled not to give in to the fear that threatened to engulf her. But as the silence deepened, she could hear the rustle of rodents slithering across the sand, and she stifled a scream as something brushed the hem of her gown.

“My lady?” Grant stepped into Kylia’s chambers and was pounced upon by Wee Lad. With a laugh he cradled the little wolf in his arms and scratched behind his ear. “I can see that you’re no longer the weak, wounded pup we found in the forest.”

Grant looked over at the serving wench. “Ardis, would you fetch the lady from her sleeping chambers?”

“The lady Kylia isn’t here, my lord.”

He handed her the pup before turning away. “I’ll find her below stairs.”

After walking the length of the gardens and back, he went in search of the housekeeper. He found her in the great hall, preparing a tray of ale for their dinner.

When she looked up, he said, “I thought I’d find the lady Kylia here with you.”

“Nay, my lord. I haven’t seen the lady since early this afternoon.” Seeing Dougal just entering the hall with Hazlet, she smiled. “Shall I serve your evening meal now, my lord?”

“Not until I find the lady Kylia.”

Hearing him, Dougal laughed. “Is she lost, or merely hiding?”

Grant shrugged. “Her servant hasn’t seen her, nor has Mistress Gunn, since this afternoon.”

“Perhaps she went to the village.”

Grant shook his head. “We would have passed her along the way.” He started out. “I’ll inquire of the servants. Someone must have seen her.”

Dougal turned to follow. “I’ll walk to the stable. Perhaps she decided to ride.”

Distracted, Grant merely nodded. “If so, Gresham would know.”

When they were gone, Hazlet walked to the fire to warm herself. She looked every inch the proper mistress of Duncrune Castle. She had changed into a fresh gown and headdress, her hair tucked out of sight, her veil in place to screen her face. But she was so cold. Not even the logs blazing on the hearth could chase the chill from her soul. It was as though her blood had turned to ice.

Or perhaps, she thought with a shudder, it was her heart that had frozen.

For so long now she had gone through the motions of living. But her life had ended that day on the field of battle, when her brother, and then her lover, had given up their lives.

And now she felt as though it were all happening again. The pain, the shock, the fear and shame.

All because of the witch.