The Thistle and the Rose Page 19

  Colin reached over, grasping her wrist and pulling her back toward the bed. “I want you, Celia.”

  “We cannot, Colin. Argyll!” she whispered, looking worriedly at the door.

  “The hell with Argyll!” he said, smiling at her concern.

  “But the door!” she insisted. “There's no bar on the door!”

  “I know, love,” he answered, caressing her cheek. “But our moment will come.”

  Turning to the door, Colin shouted roughly, “I'll be only a moment.” Celia listened as the voices subsided on the landing.

  Releasing her, Colin reached down for his sword belt. As he straightened up, he saw Celia's back as she stripped the shirt over her head. Her soft curves, the milky skin, the beautiful legs that seemed to go on forever. Colin paused momentarily in rapt admiration as Celia quickly dressed in the squire's clothes that she'd worn the day before.

  Colin threw on his clothes and buckled on his sheathed sword. Moving around the bed to her, he drew her to him as she was pulling on the oversized hat that covered so much of her beauty.

  “We'll be home tonight,” he said softly, drawing her lips to his. “But for today, you stay close to Emmet. I'll get you to the abbey when I've finished this business with Argyll.”

  Celia nodded, lifting her mouth to his again.

  In Argyll's Great Hall there was no sign of the previous night's revels. Celia had followed Emmet down the stone stairwell a few moments after Colin and was sitting among the Campbell fighters, finishing the morning meal. A middle-aged cleric, dressed in a brown woolen gown edged in fur, sat at the dais table with Colin, Alec, and Argyll, silently listening to the increasingly hostile discussion and nervously fingering the beads looped through the silk cord at his waste. Argyll must have sent for the Abbot himself, Celia thought. Watching the faces of the men, she could see Colin's cool, fiercely controlled look as he continued to make demands of the earl. Argyll himself was growing more and more agitated, until, abruptly, he stood angrily at his place, looking around at the large number of people watching the leaders attentively.

  Leaning over the table, Argyll said something in a low voice and turned on his heel, striding toward the stone stairwell on the opposite side of the hall. The Abbot followed immediately, but Colin spoke into Alec's ear before following. Alec walked directly to Celia and Emmet and leaned down between them.

  “We're going up to Argyll's chambers to write up and sign the documents,” Alec said seriously, gesturing toward the doorway through which Argyll had disappeared. “Keep an eye on things, Emmet.”

  Alec turned as if giving an order to the `squire' sitting beside Emmet. “You look mighty pretty today, Jack,” he whispered in a voice that was barely audible. “Without all that dirt on your face.”

  Celia barely held back the urge to put her hand to her face. She'd forgotten to cover her features with dirt, finishing the disguise. She lowered her gaze, and as Alec walked across the hall, Celia pulled her hat even lower over her eyes.

  “Argyll must be a bit miffed by the punitive conditions that Lord Colin wants written into this agreement,” Emmet said in a low voice.

  “Punitive?” Celia asked. I can think of some particularly appropriate punishments for the earl of Argyll right about now, she thought. Forcing me to marry him...I'll kill him first.

  “Payment that will be exacted if Argyll doesn't live up to his bargain,” Emmet answered.

  “What bargain is that, Emmet?” Celia asked, suddenly very curious about this deal between Colin and Argyll.

  “About backing the Stewart's crown prince, m'lady. I mean…Jack,” Emmet stumbled.

  A sense of relief rushed through Celia's body. She should have figured that by now. After seeing, hearing, experiencing what Colin Campbell was all about, she should have known that Colin didn't need a request from anyone to do what was right for Scotland. Colin, protecting, backing the Stewart prince, she thought happily. But Colin had said that Argyll was not to be trusted. What did he think Argyll's position would be?

  “Colin is trying to drum up Argyll's support?” Celia asked. “I thought Argyll was devoted to the Stewart cause. After all, he is related to the Crown.”

  “Was...he was related when his poor wife was alive,” Emmet said as his eyes surveyed the room. “You have a Lowlander's view of Argyll. He has them all fooled down there. We see him as he is out here.”

  “Please, Emmet, tell me.” She was deeply interested to hear what Runt's brother had to say. “What is it that you know about him out here?”

  “I know that nobody out here would spit on him if he were on fire. You talked about devotion. The earl of Argyll is only devoted to himself...nobody else. He has no loyalties, no honor. When he does anything at all, he only does it in a wolf pack. He has no guts of his own. When he was at Dunvegan Castle with the other clan chiefs, he sided with those against Lord Colin, but quietly, as I hear it. Last night, though, he didn't even give as much as an argument. I tell you he is not trusted in the Highlands, and with good reason. Even his own people dislike him.”

  “Then how could he count on his people? I mean in times of danger...for protection?”

  “He buys them,” he said, looking around at the filth in the hall. “Not all of them, but enough, I suppose. Still, it costs a lot of gold to buy that kind of loyalty. You knew he married rich once before. He had to...his crofters will not work the farms the way they should. Knowing him, he'll do it again. Marrying rich, I mean. I already feel sorry for the poor woman.”

  It will not be me, Celia thought. If he got his hands on her, he'd never believe anything she told him. She shuddered to think what would happen once Argyll found out her fortune was all tied up in the Tudor king's promise to marry her to that English murderer. She wondered how long she'd live under the thumb of a man like Argyll. And that murderous English devil, she thought. Where was he now? Would he ever leave off his pursuit of her and Kit? A concern to her, but not her most immediate worry. Argyll's loyalty was the question. Could he be so clever as to fool even Huntly?

  Suddenly Celia had the sense that eyes were upon her. Looking up from under her hat, she saw a man at a table across the room staring at her. Their gazes locked for a moment before he turned away, but not before Celia noticed a spark of recognition in the man’s eyes. Celia flushed with a momentary fear that her disguise had failed, but this emotion quickly gave way to the feeling that she too had a recollection of seeing that man somewhere before. His clothes were those of a Highlander, his face was bearded and ferret-like. There was nothing that she could see that would make him distinctive, but she still felt she'd seen him before.

  Celia snapped her head around at a commotion behind her. A large group of Argyll's men had converged around someone.

  “You'll come with us, priest,” rasped a harsh voice.

  “For what reason do you lay your hands on a man of God?” responded a voice that Celia recognized immediately.

  Her hand went to Emmet's elbow. “Emmet, you've got to stop them.”

  Emmet looked down at her questioningly.

  “That voice. It's my friend Father William,” she whispered urgently. “He's the one I came here to see.”

  Emmet stood and took a step toward the group. The benches beside Celia cleared of Campbell fighters.

  “What do you want with this priest?” Emmet demanded in a loud voice.

  The soldiers turned toward the Campbell warrior and his men.

  “It's no business of yours,” the raspy voice answered, separating himself from the group that was now moving toward the door. He was a large, burly, porcine man with a cropped head and a pox-scarred face.

  Emmet gestured with one hand toward the door, and a dozen of his men quickly cut off the group's path to the exit. Emmet had made sure that several groups of his fighters had been sitting at strategic positions throughout the hall. If push came to shove, they could take control of the room in moments.

  “I'm making it my business,” he said, his eyes surv
eying the potential opponents in the room. With the exception of the group in front of him, all the other Argyll men in the hall were still sitting and watching with some unconcerned amusement. It looked like they couldn't care less about what the outcome might be.

  “He's needed at the abbey,” the leader of Argyll's soldiers spat out. His specific orders were to take the priest before he reached the Campbell men. The nosy rat has been spying all along, he thought. It was too bad that they hadn't discovered this until today. They could have put a sword in his back and avoided this confrontation.

  “Aren't there enough priests at the abbey?” Emmet responded.

  In spite of the early hour, this man has exhausted his wit for the day, Celia thought, watching the leader search for some answer to the question.

  “I want to see this priest,” Emmet said, striding into the group.

  The group parted almost involuntarily, and Emmet came face-to-face with a wiry little priest, whose hands were being held by two soldiers. The fierce spark in the cleric’s eyes was defiant and unbridled. He was dressed as a priest, but Emmet judged that the energy radiating from the small frame was that of a fighter.

  As Emmet looked at the men holding him, he recognized one of them immediately.“I never thought I'd see you again,” Emmet began grimly, looking fiercely into the face of the man he had followed after the attack on their guests and his brother.

  “I dunno know what you are talking about,” the man said. “I never seen you in my life.”

  “Well, I'm happy to tell you that there is not much left of that life,” the warrior responded threateningly. “And when we're through with you, you're going to wish you were as dead as the three friends you left at Kildalton.”

  As the man backed away from Emmet, the tall warrior reached in and grabbed the priest by his cloak, pulling him from the circle of soldiers before they could react.

  Dunbar and Emmet were backing toward Celia and the other Campbell men now. From the corner of her eye, she saw a servant slip out through a door at the rear of the hall. This could turn into a fatal trap for all of us, Celia thought. Eyeing the doorway through which Colin and Alec had gone, she knew the time would be short to warn them.

  Celia backed quickly across the room, ignored by Argyll's people, who were now watching the confrontation with keen interest. She could hear Emmet's voice responding to the pox-faced leader's harsh shouts as she ducked into the stairwell that led up to Argyll's chambers.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Emmet saw Celia slip around the table and head across the room. Guessing her intention, he immediately motioned one of his fighters after her. Colin didn't want her left unattended for even a moment.

  Dunbar, as well, saw Celia disappear through the doorway leading to Argyll's tower chambers. She doesn't know how dangerous it is for her here, he thought, as he bolted after her.

  The hammering on the door jolted the three lairds, but only the Abbot and his clerk leapt from the table where they all sat. Argyll gestured, and the clerk opened the door.

  “F-Father William,” the young cleric stammered before being pushed aside by the wiry Dunbar. Colin's fighter followed him through the door with his sword drawn.

  “Where's Celia?” Dunbar shouted at the lairds. His eyes scanned the plush, wood-paneled chamber. Celia was nowhere in sight.

  Colin and Alec bolted from their benches. It took only one look at the priest's face for Colin to know something was very wrong.

  “What makes you think she would be here?” Colin replied, his heart skipping beats. He looked at his fighter for some explanation.

  “What's the meaning of this intrusion?” Argyll bellowed before Colin's man had a chance to explain.

  “What have you done with her?” the priest snapped at the earl, drawing a short sword from beneath his robe.

  “Nay, William,” shouted the abbot, backing away from the table.

  This is Father William, Colin thought in a flash, and Celia is in danger.

  “She was in the hall,” Colin shouted, pushing past the priest.

  “We followed her up here, m'lord, and there was no other door for her to go into,” Colin's fighter exclaimed, running out onto the landing after Colin. Dunbar and Alec followed on their heels.

  Colin could see that a door closed off the stairs leading to the top of the tower, and that it was barred on the inside. He yanked the bar from the door, and Alec pulled it open.

  “I'll check the tower,” Alec said, his sword in hand, disappearing up the dark steps with the fighter behind him.

  At that moment Emmet charged up to the landing, and Colin turned to face him.

  “Did Celia come back down?” Colin shouted at his man, a hint of fear in his voice.

  “Nobody's come down, m'lord,” Emmet returned. “She came up after you!”

  Colin's eyes swept around the landing, fearing what he couldn't see. Alec returned from the upper portion of the tower, shaking his head.

  Oh, my God, Colin thought wildly. They've got her.

  Chapter 10

  The word is going around the camp that we have allies to the north. They say it is a powerful chieftain. I don’t know. I only know that these wild hills loom up around us, and hellish weather breaks over us out of nowhere.

  If we have friends to the north, it is only because they do not know us. And what kind of people can they be?

  The winding stone stairwell was dark.

  Entering from the hall, Celia's eyes took a moment to adjust in the dimness, but she vaulted the steps without pausing. If Argyll's servant raised the alarm with his fighters, they could be cut off in the hall, and Celia knew that Colin should know that. Who knew what Argyll would do if he were given the opportunity, especially considering the fact that one of the men who attacked Kit and Ellen had been discovered in his own hall.

  The stairwell had a musty, damp, dead smell that made Celia think that this tower must be older than the one where she and Colin had slept. Something is not right, she thought as she reached the landing. Why wouldn't Argyll put his chambers in the newer tower? What was special about this one?

  The small landing leading from the stairwell was dark, with a torch on a wall near the door ahead. There were large, ugly, matching tapestries hanging on the walls to either side of Celia as she started for the door.

  The blow from the butt of the sword came from behind, and she never saw it coming.

  Celia staggered, dazed from the shock, and the man's arm encircled her neck, dragging her roughly toward the wall.

  Struggling to clear the brilliant fog in her head, Celia felt the tapestry being swept aside and brushing her face as she was pulled behind it. Vaguely aware of the sound of a door opening, Celia found herself dumped in a pile on a dusty wood floor.

  The room was spinning, but Celia forced herself up and at the figure who was quickly trying to bar the door. She lurched into her assailant and spun off, landing hard against the stone wall a few feet away, causing him to drop the bar and turn fiercely toward her. The ferret-faced man whom she'd seen in the hall grabbed her by the throat with an iron grip, pinning her to the wall, ripping her hat from her head.

  “If it weren't for the fact that Lord Danvers is quite anxious for his bride, Lady Muir,” the rough voice hissed into her ear, his English accent distinct and unpleasant. “I'd cut your pretty throat right here.”

  In a horrifying moment Celia realized where she'd seen this animal. And she knew he was Danvers's man.

  Ferret Face jerked her roughly away from the wall and back again, slamming her head against the stone. The bright flashes of light in Celia's head blinded her for a few seconds, searing pain shooting through her brain.

  “But you'll do as I say, you slut,” he whispered fiercely in her ear. “Because when Lord Danvers is done using you...you'll be mine!”

  The man's disgusting closeness was suffocating Celia. Turning her roughly, he dragged her across the small room, his viselike hand still squeezing her windpipe closed. Celia was
aware of her knees buckling as she tried to get her legs under her.

  If only she had reached Colin. He doesn't even know that Argyll is harboring the enemy here. Are there more of them? she thought. Hiding in the darkened corners? Waiting? She thought desperately of Colin, only next door, the people down in the Great Hall, and Dunbar. How long would it take them to realize that she was missing? She knew they would never leave without her. And Colin would turn this place inside out and find her. She just had to hold up.

  Ferret Face's grip loosened slightly as they reached the far wall, and air rushed into Celia's lungs. Then the sound of a wooden panel being opened wrought in her the horrifying realization that Argyll had stayed in this old tower because it had its own secret passageway.

  Fear swept over her with the certainty that if this animal got her through this opening, Colin would never find her. This would be the end.

  But she couldn't let it happen. No, not now. Not without a fight. Not now that she had come so close to the possibility of freedom from Danvers's malicious plans. She had to fight back. A surge of adrenaline pumped through her, and Celia slammed her head backward into the face of her captor. His hand released her neck involuntarily, and Celia dropped to the floor and rolled away, feeling desperately for her sword. Her head was pounding with the reverberation of the head butt she had delivered, and she felt as though she were watching herself from somewhere far away. As if in a bad dream, she saw herself trying to control the arms and hands that seemed to lack all coordination, that resisted her will to draw her weapon against the attacker.

  Through the haze before her, Celia saw Ferret Face lunge toward her, his sword raised, and his mouth and nose gushing blood. She felt herself pushing backward away from the oncoming assailant when the dark room burst open at the seams.

  Colin's sword tore through Ferret Face's neck and collarbone before he could even react to the sight of the onrushing warrior. The force of the blow drove the Englishman back to the far wall where he sat heavily against the panel, convulsing in his final moments of life.