Highland Destiny (17 page)

He was right. With one simple question he had exposed the truth she had fought so hard to ignore. As she sat in a Dubhlinn dungeon awaiting a hanging, she no longer had the strength or the will to ignore that truth. Her mother had raised her from the day of her birth to be the sword of vengeance she herself was too cowardly to wield. It would be kinder to think that Margaret Kirkcaldy had never thought of the consequences of that, of the danger she would be putting her only child in, but Maldie could no longer deceive herself even that much. Her mother had been so eaten up with her hatred of Beaton, that she simply had not cared what happened to her daughter so long as Beaton suffered some punishment. Whether her daughter failed and died or succeeded and blackened her soul forever with the sin of killing her own father, had not mattered to the woman.

“Aye,” she whispered, too hurt to even cry. “She raised me to kill the mon.”

“I am sorry,” Eric said softly, resting his long-fingered hand on her shoulder. “I did not mean to speak of things that hurt you.”

“Ye didnae hurt me, laddie. My mother did. All I suffer from at the moment is the fact that I am too weary and too close to death to keep lying to myself. In my heart I have kenned it all along. I was just verra good at ignoring it. And, aye, mayhap I ached to kill Beaton simply because he had left me with her, or because I wanted to blame him for what she was. Then, too,” she forced herself to smile at him, “he is a mon that sorely deserves killing.”

Eric grinned, then plucked at the torn back of her gown. “Ye fought hard, did ye?”

“Not hard enough.”

She knew the moment he saw the mark on her back, its shape and size visible beneath the torn back of her gown even in the dim light. He tensed, then shuddered. Maldie inwardly sighed, for there would be no hiding the truth now. From all she had heard, Eric was far too clever to miss the implications of sharing a birthmark with her.

“Ye have one of those too, dinnae ye?” she asked softly, her voice weighted with sympathy.

“Aye, I thought it was from my mother.”

She could tell from the unsteadiness of his voice that he was not going to take the truth well. What sane person would wish to discover that he was the son of a man like Beaton, and not one of the clan that had lovingly succored him his whole short life? Maldie took his hand in hers, knew he wanted to cry but fought the tears, and wished there was something she could say that would ease his pain.

“I am sorry.”

“I would prefer to be a Murray,” he whispered, his voice thick with the tears he refused to let fall.

“Ye still can be. They dinnae need to ken this. Only one person has seen my mark, and he didnae recall where he had seen it before, only that it looked a wee bit familiar. So, there is a chance that ye can keep this a secret. Especially if that person ne’er kens who I really am.”

“And would that person be my brother Nigel?”

“Nay, Balfour,” she muttered, then scowled when she felt his surprise. “Balfour isnae a bad-looking fellow, ye ken.”

“Oh, aye, I ken it. ’Tis just that the lasses dinnae often ken it.” He sighed and buried his face in his hands for a moment. “Of course, he isnae really my brother anymore.”

“Weel, nay. ’Tis probably nay the time to say this, ’tis too early for ye to gain any joy in the irony of it all, but Beaton thinks he has stolen his wife’s bastard and must hoist a lie upon the world when, in truth, he has taken back the only legitimate child he has ever sired.”

“Aye, ’tis too early for me to enjoy that sad jest. I dinnae want to be his son. The mon is a swine, a cruel, heartless boor. He wishes to twist me into the same sick mon he is.”

“Ye could ne’er become like him.”

“Who can tell? If he makes me watch the death of another mon the way he made me watch Malcolm suffer, I may lose my wits enough to be quite like him.”

Maldie put her arm around the boy, horrified by what Beaton had done. She had heard about the torturous death Balfour’s man Malcolm had suffered. To make a young boy watch such a thing was cruelty indeed. Eric might be right to think that Beaton meant to twist him into the same sick man he was. How many times could a boy be subjected to such horror before he did begin to change, to begin to gain that particular type of cold heartlessness that Beaton had perfected in himself?

“I must tell Balfour and Nigel the truth,” Eric said, sighing heavily and slumping against the damp stone wall of their cell.

“As I said, ye dinnae really have to,” she said, respecting his honesty but wondering if he understood how much pain it could bring him.

“I really have to. I couldnae look them in the eye if I held this secret in my heart. I wish I could get word to them now ere they risk Murray lives to try and rescue me. ’Tis nay right that any Murray should die trying to save me, a Beaton, from my own father.”

“They would still save ye from Beaton,” she said, but his quick, crooked smile told her that he had heard the doubt in her voice. “I feel that they willnae be able to hold this
against ye, but then I recall how long the feud has gone on, how deep the hatred goes, and that confidence wavers. I am sorry.”

“Why? ’Tis the truth. One should ne’er be sorry to tell the truth.”

“Aye, one should if ’tis a truth that hurts someone. Your honesty is most admirable, but ye will soon learn that not everyone wants to hear the truth either. Some people will be made quite angry by it, some will be quite hurt. One shouldnae lie, but then sometimes one shouldnae be so quick to tell the whole truth, either. Weel, it may not seem of much value to ye at the moment, but, if the Murrays cannae look beyond the blood that runs in your veins, ye will still have me. We are brother and sister.”

He laughed shortly and shook his head. “Oh, aye, that might help except that ye are about to die.” Eric gasped and clutched at her hand. “Oh, sweet Jesu, I am so sorry. I allowed my own hurt to kill all my wits. I should ne’er have said such a cruel thing.”

“Dinnae fret so.” She took a deep shaky breath to calm the sudden attack of fear his words had infected her with. “I dinnae plan to die on Beaton’s scaffold.”

“Do ye have a plan of escape?”

“Nay. I did until I was tossed in here, but now I must think of a new plan.”

“I dinnae intend to sound boastful, but if there was a way out of here, I think I would have found it by now.”

“Mayhap. Howbeit, I got myself out of a locked, guarded room at Donncoill. I walked out, walked through the keep, and straight out of the gates with nary a soul stopping me. I may yet think of a way to get us out of here. The hardest part will be thinking of a way to get this door unlocked.”

“The large number of weel-armed Beatons between us and freedom being but a small concern, of course.”

“Of course.”

“Might I ask why my brother had put ye in a locked room and set a guard there?”

“Ye might.”

He grinned briefly. “But ye might not answer, either, eh? How about a simpler question then—who are ye?”

“She is Maldie Kirkcaldy,” said a hoarse voice that sent shivers down Maldie’s spine and she wrapped her arms around Eric, not sure if she were trying to protect him or comfort herself as they both looked at Beaton. “How touching,” Beaton said as he leaned against the bars. “It seems my wife’s bastard and my own have bonded together against me. Weel, ’twill be a short friendship.”

“Ye cannae hang her,” Eric said, pushing Maldie back so that his body was between hers and the bars Beaton peered through.

“Oh, aye, laddie, I can.”

“She is but a wee lass.”

“Who wields a verra sharp dagger. She tried to kill me, laddie, tried to kill her verra own father. Why, e’en the church would approve of her hanging.”

Maldie wriggled free of Eric’s light, protective hold. “As if ye care what the church thinks. Ye should have been excommunicated years ago. Ye must be verra generous to the church for them to continue to grant ye absolution.”

“Dinnae fear for my soul, daughter. I have done my penances and confessed all my sins.”

“I pray that isnae enough, for ye are surely one who has earned the tortures of
hell.”

“Ye shall be tasting them before me. Did ye forget that ye should have absolution ere ye die?” He smiled when she paled. “For one who nearly committed such a grave sin as killing one’s own father, absolution may be all that saves ye from hell’s fires. ’Tis a pity that I havenae been able to find ye a priest.”

“Then ye had best hope that all your confessing and false piety wins ye the favor ye seek, for I will be waiting for ye in hell, Beaton. Aye, waiting and eager to make ye suffer for all of your crimes.”

“Beaton, ye have to get her a priest,” said Eric. “She is your own flesh and blood.”

“Aye, and much like her father, though methinks she would be loath to admit it. Howbeit, she would need more time than she has to be as good as I. I didnae fail when I went after my father,” he said, smiling coldly at their shock, then turning and walking back up the stairs.

“He killed his own father,” Eric said after Beaton left, shock stealing all the strength from his voice.

“I had wondered on that, for he showed no real disgust or shock that I had tried to do so,” said Maldie as she slumped against the wall.

“God, how I loathe that mon, more so now that I ken he is my blood father. ’Tis odd. I dinnae feel any different. I still feel like a Murray, nay a Beaton.”

“And I feel like a Kirkcaldy, nay a Beaton. Dinnae fret on it, lad. Just be grateful that ye werenae raised by that mon. The Murrays did weel by ye, and mayhap ye can soon do weel by the clan Beaton has ground beneath his boot for so long.”

“Maldie, I am nay sure I will be made laird here after Beaton dies. Aye, I am his son, but all ken me as a bastard of his wife, e’en him. I dinnae think I have any proof that I am his son, either.” He sighed and shook his head. “And now I am not e’en a Murray. I am without kin, and mayhap without friends.”

“Cease this bemoaning of a fate that hasnae e’en happened to ye yet,” she scolded gently as she put her arm around his slim shoulders and briefly hugged him. “And, ne’er forget, ye have me. As I said, I have no intention of gracing Beaton’s gibbet, so I shall be here for you for many a year. And dinnae forget that ye had a mother, too. There is all of her kin. E’en if they dinnae believe that ye are Beaton’s true heir, no one has e’er denied that ye are your mother’s son.”

“I shall try. It willnae be easy, for my head is filled to overflowing with thoughts of how I was a Murray, how I have always been a Murray, and how do I stop being a Murray now?”

“Is it such a bad thing to always be a bit of a Murray?”

“Nay, not a bad thing at all, not e’en if they cannae accept me as a Beaton. Of course, all of this worry may be for naught, as we are still stuck here. For Balfour and Nigel to ken the truth, I must speak to them, and I dinnae see that I will be doing so verra soon.”

“Have faith in your new sister, Eric,” she murmured as she watched the guard take his seat outside of their cell. “I have nay been raised as gently as you, and I have a few sly tricks up my ragged sleeve.”

“Can I help?”

“Aye, ye can pray verra hard that I think of a clever and successful plan, or that your brothers decide that now would be a verra good time to come to your rescue.”

“Market day at Dubhlinn draws a comfortingly large crowd,” Balfour said, cautiously adjusting his sword beneath the cloak he wore as he looked around the crowded streets of the town.

They had left Donncoill before the sun had risen and reached Dubhlinn before the heavy mists of the morning had been completely burned away by the sun. Balfour had been concerned that the hard, swift journey would leave his men too exhausted for battle, but they were still as eager as he was to repay Beaton for the humiliation they had suffered at his hands the last time they had marched to Dubhlinn. Nigel and a large group of his men waited in the hills just beyond Dubhlinn and would slowly inch forward, waiting for the signal to attack. Another group wandered about dressed in ways that disguised their clan association as well as their purpose. That had been the slowest part of his plan to implement, for they had all had to arrive a few at a time and blend with the villagers and travelers in small enough numbers not to raise any suspicions. They would all slowly make their way into the bailey until enough of them had gathered to hold the gates. Once they held the gates of Dubhlinn, the rest of his men would rush in and Beaton’s reign would be brought to a swift bloody end. So far, all had gone as they had planned, and Balfour prayed that their good fortune would continue.

“Aye, ’tis a busy and profitable marketplace,” agreed Douglas as he stepped up on Balfour’s left. “Dubhlinn’s fields and pastures produce weel.”

“Yet his people dinnae look plump and happy.”

“Weel, I didnae say the bastard shared it, did I,” drawled Douglas, then he frowned and pointed at an old woman walking through the market stalls with a younger woman and small boy at her side. “That is the old widow Maldie stayed with. I dinnae think she will grieve her laird’s death too long, for ’twas his blood-hungry dogs who killed her poor old cripple of a husband.”

“Mayhap we shouldnae speak of Beaton’s impending death too freely,” murmured James from Balfour’s right, as he warily watched the crowd milling around between them and the road to the keep.

“Nay, we should just continue to slip up the road to the keep,” agreed Balfour. “Can ye see if our men are drawing any closer to those open gates?”

“Nay,” replied James and he smiled faintly. “And that is a good thing, laddie, for if I could see them then, mayhap, so could one of Beaton’s men.”

“Of course.” Balfour laughed softly and shook his head. “I am as nervous as a page following his laird to his first battle.”

Before James could say anything, Balfour stopped dead in his tracks. There, set upon a small rise at the far end of the village, was the scaffold. There, if he was not successful, Maldie would soon hang. Balfour had to take a deep breath to quell the urge to go and tear the thing down.

The thought of the danger Maldie was in had tormented him since Douglas had first told him of her fate. He could not stop himself from wondering if he was somehow at fault for her being there, for her attempt upon Beaton’s life, and, ultimately, for the death sentence she had been given. Nothing James or Nigel had said had eased that fear. Neither of them had been able to explain her actions to his satisfaction, in a way that made him certain he was not to blame in any way. There seemed to be no other reason for her to have done what she did than to prove her innocence. Balfour knew he was doing
all he could to get her out of Beaton’s grasp, but that was not really enough to ease the guilt he felt. Only Maldie’s forgiveness could do that.

“Come, laddie,” James said quietly, taking Balfour by the arm and tugging him in the direction of the keep. “The lass willnae suffer that fate if we all keep our heads.”

“I ken it. ’Twould be folly indeed to expose us all by tearing that down, and it wouldnae save Maldie for more than a day or so, only for as long as it took them to build a new one.”

“Nay,” murmured Douglas, “not even that long. ’Twould only save her for as long as it took them to find a tall tree.” He shrugged, but took a cautious step away when Balfour glared at him. “Beaton wants her dead, and when that mon wants someone dead he isnae in the humor to let a broken scaffold deter him.”

“Ye are a true comfort to a mon, arenae ye, Douglas,” said James, unable to fully suppress a chuckle.

“I dinnae think Maldie’s impending execution is a matter for laughter,” said Balfour, scowling up toward the keep.

“Cease your fretting, Balfour. The lass will come through this day hale and saucy.”

“How can ye be so sure of that, James? Have ye suddenly been gifted with the sight?” Balfour inwardly winced, knowing James did not deserve his sarcasm, but even his confidence in his plan did not ease the worry that knotted his stomach. That fear of failure and of how dearly it could cost him made his temper short.

James ignored Balfour’s ill humor. “Nay, I just ken the lass. She has wit and, though she be of gentle blood, she is as crafty as any city wench. She will keep herself safe. If she is with the lad, she will keep him safe as weel. And this is a sweet plan, one that probably couldnae fail e’en if we were all drunk and stumbling. So, rest easy and keep your mind on getting inside those gates ere the alarum can be sounded.”

“That old woman is watching us,” hissed Douglas, glancing furtively behind them.

“What old woman?” asked Balfour, more interested in trying to see which of the many figures on the road were his men, but they were all so well disguised he could not tell them from the villagers and people of the keep.

“That Eleanor woman the young lass abided with for a while. She watches us.”

“Do ye think Maldie told her something?”

“Mayhap. If the lass suspected ye would attack, she might have told the old woman to watch and hie for safety if she guessed that something was afoot. Maldie would ken that the woman couldnae look to her laird for protection. In truth, most of Beaton’s people already ken that.”

“Curse it, do ye think she will sound an alarum?” Balfour risked a glance behind him and saw the old woman, her gaze fixed firmly upon him and his companions even as she wended her way through the many people trying to sell their wares.

“Not to warn Beaton and his men,” Douglas said. “I told ye, they murdered her husband and Beaton has done little to win the love of his people. The ones who fight for him are mostly hired swords. Nay, the only thing that could cause us some difficulty is if she has told too many others. Beaton could get a wee bit suspicious if the whole village suddenly took to the trees.”

“Oh, aye, just a wee bit.”

Balfour inwardly cursed. He could understand if Maldie had wished to warn her friend of approaching danger, but he prayed she had chosen well in giving her warning. If
Eleanor had the wit to tell only a few people and to slip away quietly, they could still be successful. If the old woman had indeed told the whole village, they could easily find the gates slammed in their faces, for even Beaton’s hired dogs, who were obviously heartily enjoying the drink and whores that accompanied market day, would guess that something was wrong if all the villagers disappeared.

He tensed as they drew near to the gates, increasingly afraid that they would be discovered and he would have to watch all chance of victory slip from his grasp. There was no cry from behind as they stepped through the gates and no guard confronted them. Beaton’s men had obviously failed to notice that the whores they gathered round were strangers, and that many of them were very reluctant to sell their wares.

It had been Nigel’s idea to use the women to help distract Beaton’s men, ensuring that Beaton’s guards were too busy to watch who came and went from Dubhlinn. The idea had been sound, but Balfour had been reluctant to use it, not wishing to put women in danger. Once it had been presented to the women, however, they had had no lack of volunteers. Several of the women were ones who had had their men killed or wounded by Beaton in past battles, and they were eager to help in his defeat. It was obvious that the plan was a good one and was working well. Balfour just prayed that the women they had recruited would not pay too dear a price for their aid.

“We can begin,” whispered James.

“All of our men are gathered?” asked Balfour even as he prepared to throw off his cloak.

“All that are needed to hold the gates so that the rest may rush in.”

“Shall we begin quietly or with a roar?”

“Oh, aye, let us roar. I want Beaton to hear his death approach.”

Balfour grinned as he threw off his cloak and drew his sword. The women clustered around Beaton’s guards were watchful and were already hurrying out of reach of the men when Balfour sounded his clan’s war cry. James and Douglas heartily echoed it and quickly struck down the Beaton men closest to them. As Balfour began to fight his way to the keep itself, he saw the bailey fill with his men and felt the first sweet taste of victory. He fixed his mind on finding Eric and Maldie, knowing that any victory would never be satisfying unless he got them both back to Donncoill safe and unhurt. He prayed they had the sense to stay out of the midst of the battle until he could lead them to safety.

Maldie covertly watched the guard watch her. There was a dark, hungry look on his pockmarked face that she easily recognized, but his lust did not frighten her. No man at Dubhlinn would touch Beaton’s daughter, and she was sure everyone knew who she was now and what she had tried to do. Such news would have spread through Dubhlinn so fast it would have reached the village by the time the cell door had shut behind her. Even though Beaton intended to hang her at the end of the day, in a strange way he was also protecting her. Maldie was just not sure if it was fear of Beaton himself that made his men just look but not grab, or fear that she might carry the seed of the disease that had so ravaged their laird.

Eleanor would have heard what had happened to her, too, she thought, and sighed. Maldie hoped that the woman was not too worried and did not do something foolish to try and help her. She wished she had had the time and opportunity to explain things to Eleanor, to tell the woman the truth. It was probably for the best, she decided, for it
would have made the woman uneasy to know that she sheltered one of Beaton’s bastards, one with murder on her mind. Maldie just hoped that Eleanor could forgive her.

She looked at Eric, who dozed on the filthy cot she sat on. They had talked until the early hours of the morning, until neither had the voice left to speak and their exhausted bodies had forced them to go to sleep. Eric was still heartbroken, still found it difficult to think of himself as a Beaton and not a Murray. He was also deeply afraid of how the men he had called brothers for all of his life would treat him once they discovered that he was the son of the enemy. There was nothing she could do to ease that pain and fear, but she knew that Eric now saw her as family. More than blood bound them now. If the boy was set aside by the Murrays—and she did not want to believe that Balfour could be so cruel—he knew that he would not be alone. Maldie just hoped that that would be enough.

All the flattering things she had heard about Eric were true, she mused, and gently brushed a stray lock of hair from the boy’s brow. He was clever, sweet of nature, and loving. She was proud that they were related by blood. One could not have asked for a better brother. Maldie prayed that Beaton and Nigel would feel the same.

Those concerns had to be set aside for the moment, however. Their most important and immediate need was to get out of Dubhlinn. Maldie was disappointed in herself, for she had not thought of any new, clever plan to get away. Instead, she was going to use the same ploy she had used to flee Donncoill. Instinct told her that the scowling man Beaton had set in front of her cell would be as offset by talk of a female’s various ailments as Balfour’s man had been. She wondered briefly if she should warn Eric of what she was about to do, then decided that he would probably behave more appropriately if she did not. Later, when her plan showed signs of succeeding, she would tell him, for she would need his help. She hoped he would forgive her trickery.

After taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she clutched her belly and groaned as she bent over double. Eric immediately woke, his face paling as he sat up and put an arm around her. The fear on his young face made her feel very guilty, but she just groaned louder.

“What ails the lass?” demanded the short, heavy guard as he stepped closer to their cell.

“I dinnae ken,” Eric replied. “Maldie, are ye in pain? What is wrong with you?”

“’Tis my woman’s time and it comes on hard,” Maldie said, rocking back and forth and moaning. “I need a maid’s help.”

Blushing furiously, Eric looked back at the guard. “Ye must bring a woman to help her.”

“Why?” the guard snapped even as he backed away, staring at Maldie as if she had caught the plague.

“Because she is in pain, ye great fool. Why, she might even die if she doesnae get some help.”

“What matter that? The lass is for the scaffold in but a few hours.”

Maldie inwardly cursed. She had not considered that complication. At Donncoill no one had wanted her harmed, so they had been more than willing to get her all she needed to stay hale and happy. Here everyone knew she was soon to hang, that she was as good as dead, and a dead woman did not need any pampering. Then Eric began to speak in a cold, commanding voice, and she decided she needed to have more confidence
in the boy.

“I think Beaton would want her to still be alive when he hangs her,” Eric said. “Aye, alive and fully aware of her impending death. He wants to send her to hell and he willnae be verra pleased if he learns that ye sat by, idle and uncaring, whilst she took herself to that blighted place. If ye value your ugly hide at all, ye had best fetch her a woman to tend to her.”

Maldie heard the guard curse, then hurry away. She waited a moment before looking to be sure he had gone. When she finally looked straight at Eric his eyes widened as he stared at her. She knew she would not have to waste much time in explanations.

“I am not ill, Eric,” she reassured him, watching and listening closely for the guard’s return. “This is how I got out of Donncoill. He will be bringing me a maid in a moment and when he unlocks the door to let her in, we must be ready for him.”