Highland Surrender (40 page)

Fiona brushed past him to walk toward the great hall. “I left them in the village, the foul goats. They think to find some willing lasses, though I’ve said no Sinclair woman would have them.” She pulled off one riding glove as she went forward,
hoping to appear nonchalant, though her legs had turned to mush.

Simon followed after her. “How many men are with you?”

She worked on the other glove and kept her pace. “What? Oh, I don’t know. Six, perhaps? I try not to pay attention to any of them.” She moved quickly up the steps leading toward the hall. “Where is Marg?”

“I don’t know.” Simon’s voice was a grumble. He took a step and grabbed her arm, jerking her to a halt. “Fiona, I find it odd that you arrive here with no warning and no men to speak of. Is your husband truly so careless?”

She flicked the gloves against her palm. “My husband”—she let the word drip with disdain—“is busy playing politics in Edinburgh and has not the slightest notion that I’m here. Dempsey is an awful place. Full of Campbells, you know. I’ll not forgive you and John for forcing me among them.” She tugged her arm from his grasp and prayed for strength, walking again.

“Where is John, by the way?” she asked, trying to imagine how Vivi might sound in such a circumstance. “I’ve a scolding for him, I must say.” Fiona stopped a few paces ahead and turned to gaze at Simon when he did not answer. “Well?”

He glared back, measuring her, and a chill ran up her spine.

“What is the matter with you?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” he finally said. “But John isn’t here.”

“Where is he? In the village?”

He glowered another moment, then shrugged those massive shoulders. “He’s away. Now, if you’ve a mind to see Margaret, then do so, but I’ve important tasks to attend to. I haven’t time to play the gracious host.”

She frowned and made certain he saw. “One would never expect you to be gracious, Simon. But this is still my home, and I can manage for myself.”

She turned away and nearly buckled at the knees. He’d leave her be so she might seek out her sister and Genevieve. It was less than two hours until dusk. She hadn’t much time.

Moment after moment slipped away as she sought her sister. Fiona had not been at Sinclair Hall for months, and every person whom she passed stopped her, wanting to offer her their greetings, yet none seemed to know of Marg’s whereabouts. On and on Fiona went, cordial to each, for she did not want to seem exasperated, but time was slipping away like water through her fingers.

At last, she came upon Margaret, tucked up on a bench under a window in Fiona’s old chamber. Needlework lay unattended in her lap.

Margaret’s smile spread like sunshine. She leapt from her seat, and Fiona gathered her into a warm embrace. Joy burst within, and she kissed her sister’s cheeks.

“Marg, how I’ve missed you! You cannot imagine.”

“I have missed you too. Desperately so. It’s been so different here without you.”

“I know, sweeting. I know.” She brushed the blonde hair back from her sister’s face. “I thought of you every day. But you must listen to me now. We have much to talk about, and some of it is very serious. But first, do you know the servant, Genevieve?”

“Genevieve? Yes, she works in the kitchen, but why?” Margaret’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“We must find her and make our way to the chapel. I shall explain everything once we are there.”

Margaret tipped her head. “’Tis an odd request. Can’t we visit for a minute here first? You’ve only just arrived.”

Fiona went back to the entrance of her chamber and peeked out. Seeing no one in the dim hallway, she closed the door and returned to Margaret’s side.

“I know this makes little sense, and I’m sorry to burden you with it so quickly, but our brothers are plotting something. Have you heard of their plans?” Fiona asked.

Margaret’s smiled dimmed. “Plotting? No, but they seem to be training often. And John has been gone for weeks.”

Fiona nodded. Her anxiety grew as she noticed the golden glow of a waning sun. She tugged her sister toward the door. “Come with me to find Genevieve. I will tell you both an amazing tale once we are all together. But, Margaret, this is not for Simon’s ears. He is planning something most heinous, and it is up to us to stop him.”

“Stop him? How?” Marg’s feet skidded on the floor. Fiona had forgotten her sister’s persistence, but for once, the girl would simply have to wait. She tugged her toward the door.

“Patience, Margaret. Please, just trust me and do as I say. Understand?”

Margaret nodded and followed, but reluctance marred her pretty face.

Fiona opened the door and stepped into the corridor, glad it was still empty. They made their way through the hall and toward the kitchen. All about them, Sinclairs moved in and out, attending to their daily chores. Another ordinary day, just as her wedding day had been.

The sisters reached the kitchen in a matter of moments.

“Do you see her?” Fiona whispered.

“There”—Margaret pointed discreetly—“that one is Genevieve.”

Fiona recognized her, the lovely widow whose husband had been lost in a raid last year. She’d come to Sinclair Hall just months before Fiona had left. But when the girl turned, Fiona gasped. She was petite as a pixie, yet there was no mistaking the rounded curve of her abdomen. Fiona’s hands went to her own belly in solidarity, for Genevieve was clearly with
child, yet John had said nothing. Leave it to a man to omit such a detail.

There were few others in the kitchen. Still, discretion was necessary. She and Margaret wound their way closer, as if they had no specific aim, but when Genevieve looked up and saw them, she stepped back from her task in apparent surprise.

“Lady Fiona.”

What a beauty this Genevieve was. No wonder John’s eyes had gleamed with adoration when he spoke of her. Fiona smiled, hoping the girl would see an offer of friendship in the gesture.

“Are you Genevieve?” she asked, just to make certain.

“I am, my lady.” She curtsied and tried to brush the flour from her apron without success.

“I have need of you. You must come at once.”

Genevieve’s eyes rounded.

Fiona leaned forward, casting a glance over shoulder to make sure none of the others might hear. “I have word from John,” she whispered. “Have no fear.”

Walking fast, the three women reached the chapel, and Fiona nearly collapsed in relief at having not encountered Simon on the way. Inside, the building was dim and stank of old rushes and tallow. She was struck by the contrast, for the loving care with which the Campbell servants bestowed upon their place of worship showed. No such dedication was lavished upon this sad little spot. Perhaps ’twas why God never visited here.

Fiona peered around, shivering at the thought they might yet encounter Father Bettney. Time away had not mellowed her dislike of him. Fortune prevailed, for he was nowhere to be seen.

“What is this about, Fiona?” Marg said, crossing her arms. It seemed she had been patient long enough.

“Come and kneel with me. If Father Bettney enters, I would have him think we pray. I must explain things to you quickly,”
Fiona instructed. They walked toward the altar, and she lowered to a kneeling bench between the other two. She looked to the mullioned window to gauge the setting sun and knew her words must be swift and persuasive.

As quickly as she could, Fiona whispered the details of Simon’s plan and John’s change of heart. She spared nothing, for if each knew the whole of the situation, they could take her place in case she somehow failed.

“John is safe and near?” Genevieve whispered, her eyes glimmering with tears.

Fiona nodded. “He is most anxious to see you.”

The servant’s taut face relaxed a bit, though tension still radiated from her being and the hand rounded over her belly.

Unbidden, Fiona did the same, as if to make certain her own babe was safe.

Genevieve saw the motion and smiled. “You too, my lady?”

Fiona nodded, but Margaret paid no heed, still rattled by the other news.

“I do not understand,” she said. “John has been a Campbell all this time? And now he means to betray us? We are still his family.”

Her voice trembled, and Fiona clasped her hand.

“We are John’s family, Marg. And Simon’s too. I would do anything to change this if I could, but our brothers have put themselves on opposite sides of the crown. One of them will lose. There is no avoiding that fact now. I side with John, not only because his way is more certain to keep our clan safe, but also because he is on the side of right. Simon seeks to kill for vengeance only. John aims for peace with our king.”

“Are you certain? Perhaps it is the Campbells who make you believe such a thing. They are the enemy, you know,” Margaret said.

Fiona wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. “No, sweeting. ’Tis man’s pride which is the enemy. We are merely caught up in it.”

Margaret still looked doubtful, but Fiona had run out of time to convince her.

“Listen, I must go into the passageway and unlock the gates. Will you come with me and hold the lantern? Genevieve can keep watch for any who might enter the chapel. We cannot fail at this.”

Myles, with John pointing the way, led the king’s men along the rocky shoreline until they reached the outer entrance of the passageway. They had come on foot and left the horses back with the king, so progress was slow. But at last they found it, hidden among huge stones and covered by thick branches that appeared to have been growing there for ages.

John drew his sword and swung at the thick wood, the metal of it clanging against the rock.

“Be quiet,” Myles said, “or you give them warning.”

He did not trust John fully, no matter that he was Fiona’s brother, or indeed, even his own. But now it seemed they must work in tandem. Myles pulled the branch up, and John swung so that the blade missed the rock and struck the wood. It snapped in two, and they moved on to the next.

“See you do not slice me by accident,” Myles warned.

John cocked one brow, as if to say it would be no accident at all. Perhaps his brother did not trust him so much either.

The sun set as they hacked at the remaining branches. Finally, the door was clear, and Myles leaned forward to tug the handle. Locked, still. He hoped Fiona was having success on the other side. With nothing to do but wait, Myles told the men to
sit and rest while they had the chance, and so they settled upon the rocks.

“How many gates line this passageway?” Myles asked John after another moment had passed.

“Three. This one here, one at the very entrance near the sacristy, and one about halfway in between. It’s near two hundred paces from here to the other end. If I had thought of it, I’d have unlocked the gates before coming to Dempsey. ’Twas a foolish oversight and would’ve kept Fiona from this task.”

“She seems up to the challenge,” Myles answered, though his breath came shallow as he thought of her and their child inside those walls.

John met his gaze. “She is up to any challenge. But I should not have allowed Simon to force her into marriage. I failed her in that.”

Myles bristled at the implication he was not a worthy husband, but John continued.

“Yet it seems you are well suited. And I think she cares for you.”

“We are well suited. And she does care for me.”

John’s gaze was earnest. “Do you care for her as well?”

“I do.” He could say more on the matter, but now was not the time.

“Then be true to her. Truer than our father was to his wife.”

The words were spoken softly, but Myles felt the sting of John’s discontent. It must be no easy thing to learn you are a bastard son. And Myles himself had struggled with the disappointment he’d felt in hearing the earl’s confession. He’d thought his father above such things, flawless in his judgment and deportment. But it would seem even the Campbell chieftain harbored mortal flaws.

“What are our options of entry if this fails?” Myles asked, bringing his thoughts to the matter at hand.

“Our options?” John replied.

“Yes, if Fiona cannot open the gates, what other method have we to get inside? Besides the front gate, of course.”

John looked in the direction of Sinclair Hall, although not much could be seen from their vantage point.

“There is a weak spot in the north wall. It’s half-crumbled, and perhaps it could be scaled. I cannot say for certain. It may have been shored up while I was away. But Fiona will not fail. As long as she can get past Simon, all will be well.”

His words were confident enough, but his tone implied it was himself he sought to convince. Myles reached out and tried the door once more.

“Perhaps we should try to pick the lock from this side. It would give us a head start if Fiona is delayed.”

John nodded, and they set to work trying to dismantle it.

“She’ll not fail,” John said again, but both men knew she might.

CHAPTER 41

“T
HE ENTRANCE TO
the passageway is behind the sacristy,” Fiona whispered, trying to mask the tremor in her voice. “John said the keys would be in a jar near the door. Margaret, we will search while Genevieve keeps watch within the chapel.”