Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
A s Maxwell merged into the darkness, Finn slipped quietly to Aileen’s side.
“Ye ken Sutherland will kill him?”
Aileen nodded bleakly. Her heart was hurting. She was torn between her loyalty and love for her father and her concern for Maxwell’s safety. Bile rose in her throat as the grim truth of Finn’s words rolled over her. She coughed and spat.
Whatever cruel fate awaited the MacNeil, it came to rest on her shoulders. If not for her, he would be safely at his home on the Isle of Barra, well clear of Sutherland’s clutches. She rubbed her arms, suddenly reminded that she no longer wore the gloves that had been the accompaniment to her shame for so long. Now, rejecting shame, she was consumed by guilt.
She turned to Finn. “There must be some way out of this. I ken Sutherland will wreak his anger on me for capturing the brother instead of the laird he wants. But I cannae bear him taking Maxwell’s life in return.”
Finn reached for her hand. “Has it occurred to ye that Maxwell MacNeil may very well be the one to aid ye in escaping? Ye cannae go alone, pursued and harried as ye would be by the laird. But if ye were to run wi’ a braw lad like Maxwell beside ye for protection, ye’d have a chance.”
“’Tis an idea that’s crossed me thoughts. Yet I dinnae ken if I can trust the lad.”
Finn pshawed at this. “Sooner or later ye must learn to trust. He’s shown himself tae be a good, strong lad. He could have fled, Aileen and left ye tae deal with the consequences. If ye help him escape he’ll ken ye’re risking yer life tae free him. He’ll be honor bound tae take ye with him.”
Aileen did not dismiss Finn’s words, although she found it almost impossible to contemplate trusting her life to Maxwell. But Finn was right. If she obeyed her conscience and aided him to escape yet she, herself, remained in Dunrobin, her fate would be sealed.
“Ye’re right Finn.” There was a catch in her voice as she continued. “I need nay more than the evidence of me dear braither’s murder tae remind me of what befalls those who disobey Andrew Sutherland.” Her eyes misted with tears as she recalled the older brother she’d always looked up to and admired. She sniffed and wiped her eyes.
Séamus strode over to join them. “I couldnae help overhearing yer talk. Forgive me fer saying this Captain. I respect yer judgment most times. But on the matter of yer safety here and now, ye’re nae talking sense. Ye’d be a damned fool tae remain at Dunrobin if ye have a chance tae cut the anchor and run for it. We all ken what Sutherland will dae tae ye.” He glanced at her arms and growled. “Those scars will be naught compared tae what will become of ye next.”
The sharpness in his tone caused Aileen to draw in a harsh breath. Her first impulse was to berate him for his rudeness, yet she understood the concern lying behind his sudden outburst.
“Mayhap I’ll think of some way tae deal with this before it’s too late.”
Séamus grunted. “I cannae say more.”
Once she had reached the sanctuary of her bedchamber, Aileen had the opportunity to collect her thoughts at last. It seemed clear. Her only option was to make her move this night before the guards came for Maxwell. Once he was locked in chains in the dungeon there would be little she, or anyone, could do to save him.
First, she had to see her father and consult with him. After reassuring herself that he was well, she would face Sutherland.
The guard who had escorted her to the chamber had passed on a message.
“The laird wishes ye tae dine with him this night in his solar.”
She received the message with dread. Dining in a private setting instead of the hall, could only mean one thing. Sutherland did not wish there to be witnesses to whatever passed between them.
After splashing water on her face and hands and combing the tangles out of her hair she donned a gown she knew to be one of Sutherland’s favorites. The rich damask fabric matched the green of her eyes and the bodice was constructed in such a way as to emphasize her tiny waistline and shapely hips. She glanced in the mirror with a murmur of dissatisfaction. The neckline plunged uncomfortably low over her breasts. But, of course, this was the reason Sutherland admired it. The feature of the gown that pleased her were the long, tight sleeves that concealed her scars.
Will Andrew even notice I’m nae wearing gloves this night?
Her words to Mariam, the maid she’d been assigned, were curt.
“I’ll be with me faither if ye wish tae speak with me.”
Having no doubt her every move would be reported back to Sutherland, Aileen made it her business to say as little to the woman as possible. The lass gave a surly nod as Aileen stepped through the door.
Still questioning her decision, she made her way along the cold stone corridor to her father’s chamber. She knocked lightly and entered on hearing his responding: “Come.”
He was seated by the fire in his night shirt, wrapped snugly in a woven wool blanket, his slippers on his feet. On a tray next to his chair was a piece of chicken pie and a bowl of leek soup.
When she entered, he looked up, a smile creasing his careworn features, his piercing blue eyes lighting up as he caught sight of her.
“Come in, lass. Tell me of yer adventures. Ye’ve been at sea too long and I was almost fearing fer yer safety. We’ve had some terrible fierce storms lately.”
She took his hand in hers, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat at the sight of him. The once wild, strapping, Barclay MacAlpin was now a frail, old man. A prisoner, far from his home on the Isle of Canna.
After regaling him with some of the most amusing moments from their trip, including the sojourn at Tam’s tavern, without mentioning Maxwell, her conversation took a serious tone. She wasted no words describing the task Sutherland had ordered her to carry out and how she’d erred, taking the younger brother and not the laird.
Her father listened intently.
“Would this be one of the MacNeils of Barra?”
“Aye. It would.”
He gave a sigh. “I kent their faither when he was laird before the one ye mentioned.”
“Everard.”
“Aye. I was never friends with the old laird and he was nae a kind man, but we rubbed along well enough when we chanced tae meet. He was always in favor of me petitioning the king tae become a licensed privateer.”
“Ye didnae tell me of this.”
“Aye lass. I’d have had his support fer a petition. But then we got that English King Edward on the throne and I wasnae in favor of attacking the French. The Auld Alliance ye ken.”
“’Twas a sorry time fer us.”
He brightened. “But now, King Robert might look on ye kindly if ye petitioned him.”
She did not respond to this. King Robert was no friend of Sutherland’s and, although her father refused to countenance it, she was not a free agent but was operating under Sutherland’s orders.
“There is something else I wish tae speak wi’ ye about, Da.”
His face grew grave, the lines deeper than ever. “What is it lass?”
“I ken Sutherland will punish me fer bringing him the wrong MacNeil.” She tried a laugh to lighten what she was saying, but it came out as only a hoarse croak.
Her father gazed deep and long into the fire. Then he heaved a great sigh. “The laird will show nae mercy tae neither ye nor the lad. Ye must leave here at once lass. Gather up the MacNeil lad and begone. From what I’ve heard from ye now, he’s a good man and strong. A brave one who’ll help ye.”
She reached for his other hand and held them both in hers. “Will ye come wi’ me?”
He laughed. “I’d never make it as far as Dornoch, lass. And then ye’d have me death on yer conscience too.”
She moaned. “I cannae leave ye.”
“Ye must go.” He shook his head, lost in thought for a moment. “I’ve an idea that could see ye gone and keep me safe.”
“Oh?” She threw him a dubious look. “Pray tell, Da.”
“Scribble a note, making yer hand shake as ye write, and leave it in yer chamber.”
“And what should I write on this note?”
“That the MacNeil is forcing ye tae accompany him. That ye have nae choice but to go with him as he has a dirk at yer neck.” He chuckled. “A drop of blood might help.”
Her heart bounced with a sliver of hope. “Will it work?”
“As much as anything. Ye can never tell with that brute, but it will make him doubt. And if me luck holds, he’ll nae take revenge on me old bones.” He squeezed her hand with surprising strength. “But ye’d better run and keep running as far as ye can, fer Andrew Sutherland will nae let ye go. I’ve lived me life and taken me decisions. Ye shouldnae pay fer them, Aileen.”
She raised his old hands and kissed his fingers one by one. “So, I have yer blessing tae flee?”
He gave her a gentle smile. “If ye dinnae flee and escape that cruel knave’s torture, me life willnae be worth living.”
With a final kiss on his wrinkled brow, she stood and walked to the door. Her last glimpse of him he was turning his face to the fire, his white hair standing out in the light like a halo. She slipped out the door and made her way along the passage and down the staircase to the laird’s solar, her spirits plunging lower with every step she took.
At the entrance to the room, her strength almost failed her. The door was ajar and inside she glimpsed Sutherland seated by the fire in his imposing leather chair. Beside him, in a smaller chair, was Maxwell. Hesitating by the door, she took a deep steadying breath.
Sutherland’s games had begun. By positioning Maxwell in the smaller chair, Andrew was already establishing his dominance. She exhaled slowly. She was under no illusion that this pleasant scene boded well for Maxwell. All too often she’d watched noblemen reduced to a quivering and fearful version of their once proud self at Sutherland’s hands.
Pasting on a smile, she pushed open the door and entered the room.
I can dae this.
Sutherland and Maxwell rose to their feet as she walked in and swept her a courteous bow. “Welcome home, me dear.”
He took her hand and pressed it to her lips in a show of affection. His touch was cold, his lips colder still. Sutherland was making it clear she was his.
Suddenly thrusting her hand away from him, he looked up scowling, an expression of disgust marring his handsome features.
“Aileen, ye’re nae wearing yer gloves. Why, pray tell me is this?” He gave her a cold smile. “Surely, ye’ve forgotten. D’ye wish tae retreat tae yer chamber tae collect them?”
She shivered, glancing at Maxwell, who was glowering at this display. Willing him to conceal his emotions, she took the seat beside Andrew near the fire.
“Nay, me laird, I didnae forget them. With such long sleeves,” she held up her arm, “I saw nay need of them.” With an effort, she maintained the smile on her face. It was clear to her that Andrew was playing his game of humiliation with her, doing his best to shame her in front of MacNeil.
“But ye are hideous without them, even with yer sleeves.” He looked pointedly at her, seizing her hand again. This time there was no pretense of affection. Instead, he examined her wrist where the wound from the blade was still fresh.
“I see ye’ve yet another wound tae add tae yer ugliness. Go, now tae yer chamber and bring back another pair of gloves. I insist.”
There was a gasp from Maxwell as she turned to go.
“Wait, lass.” Sutherland’s commanding tone sounded through the solar like a whiplash.
She froze as he turned his attention to Maxwell who had risen to his feet and was glaring at Andrew.
“D’ye wish tae comment, MacNeil?”
Aileen held her breath. This was the moment of confrontation between these two powerful men she’d been praying would never occur. Yet, she well knew that Sutherland would never accept so much as a raised eyebrow that smacked of disapproval. Maxwell’s gasp was enough to rile him.
Maxwell shook his head. She breathed again, although she could see from the fury in his eyes that giving way to Sutherland had cost him dearly. But this was not the moment to faceoff with the laird. They were both in his power and he would not hesitate to use it against them.
She watched in horror as Sutherland’s fingers curled into fists by his side and braced herself for a blow. But it was Maxwell who had earned his wrath and, in a flash, Sutherland turned, drew back his fist and, fueled by his own personal demons, lashed out with a savagery that surprised even her.
His fist cracked against Maxwell’s jaw, the force of it causing Maxwell to stagger. It was only the chair behind him that broke his fall. Grabbing the arm of the chair he regained his balance.
Blood dripping from his cut lip he sneered at Sutherland.
“What kind of man strikes a guest at his table?” His voice was little more than a furious growl. “Ye’re nae a man of honor, Andrew Sutherland. I could see that written plainly on yer face, even if ye hadnae brought me here by force.”
Aileen moaned quietly. It would not do to infuriate Sutherland further if they were to have any hope of escape. She flicked a cautionary glance at Maxwell.
Sutherland stood still for a moment, his face distorted in rage. But he calmed, forcing his features into a semblance of a smile and shaking his head.
“Come now lad, dinnae take it so. ‘Tis me playfulness ye’ve mistaken fer something else.”
Maxwell huffed at that, and she could see the effort he was making to pull himself into line. He surely realized this was a moment of great danger.
He smiled. “Of course. I jest.”
This appeared to mollify Sutherland. “Mayhap ye’d be more comfortable in yer chamber where ye can attend to…” He gestured to his lip. “I’ll have the scullery maids take yer meal tae ye.” He snapped his fingers at the two guards at his door.
“Escort him back tae his chamber.”
The door closed behind Maxwell and the two guards.
“Take yer at seat at the table lass.”
He gestured to the polished oak table, its settings of silver shining in the warm light of a large candelabra. If she’d not known the truth, this would have appeared to be the height of opulent hospitality. Yet beneath its glowing surface was a cesspool of corruption and cruelty.
The servant pulled out the chair for her and she sat. Her hands shook as she reached for the goblet of wine the maid poured for her. There was a third place setting that Aileen assumed had been for Maxwell. No doubt the punishment Maxwell would be dealt would surpass anything she’d seen before. No one had stood up to Sutherland as he’d done.
As each course was served Andrew became more attentive.
“That gown is very becoming, my sweet.” His eyes were focused on the expanse of naked breast it exposed. “Notwithstanding those long sleeves.”
She smiled politely, forking at her tasteless food, assailed by nausea with every mouthful she swallowed.
Finally, she could bear it no longer. “I am too tired tae eat any more, me laird. Fatigue is claiming me and I fear I shall nae be able tae hold my eyes open much longer.”
“I am sorry tae hear it. But, of course, ye’ve been sailing all day and ye must be exhausted by now.”
If she’d not known him, she might have been convinced of his concern for her. Yet, it was merely part of his game to confuse her. She gritted her teeth. His punishment was yet to be dealt.
He rose and accompanied her to the door, where he again took her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Rest well, fer tomorrow ye’ll be watching the first day of punishment I intend inflicting on that pox-ridden upstart, MacNeil… and me dear, forget nae tae wear yer gloves.”