Chapter 35 #2
“She is not yet with child, sir.” Evelina held his gaze. “She hoped by claiming so, she’d rid herself of Balloch. I warned her otherwise, but she refused to listen. Now his ship is bearing down on us and he will reveal what my lady has done. The elders will be furious, their wrath great.”
“No’ as great as mine had they wed her to that blowhard,” Donall vowed, his mind reeling.
He turned to Gavin. “You go, fetch Iain and my men,” he said. “I will speak with MacArthur.”
“He willnae care. He’s a known thick-skull.”
“Nae bother.” Donall smiled, his plan more appealing the longer he considered it. “I will say Lady Isolde does carry my child and that her council erred in allowing him to believe a betrothal could take place. I will swear she is already promised to me.”
Gavin snorted. “You are a prisoner here. If you stay, you’ll be dragged back to the sea dungeon before you can spout one word of such nonsense.”
“It is a better plan than yours.” Donall tried reason. “We’d need two days to reach Baldoon by foot. A few more to rally our men and ride back.” He shook his head. “We cannae afford the time.”
“You may not need it, my lord. Your men should soon be here,” Evelina spoke up, surprising them.
“My men, here?” Donall glanced at Gavin, and then back to her. “How is that possible?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you…” She drew a breath. “I do not want to give you false hope. But I sent Lugh to fetch your men some days ago. I pray he made the journey safely.”
“Lugh?” Gavin glanced between them.
“The dark-haired lad who spooks about the dungeon gathering cobwebs and what-not,” Donall said. “I heard Niels and Rory call him so.”
“He is Devorgilla’s grandson. Not in the true sense, but she calls him so,” Evelina told them.
“You owe your escape to him, for he is the one who told me of the tunnel that opens off the sacred spring’s well shaft.
He discovered the tunnel while fetching frogs from the stagnant water at the bottom of the well.
He’s explored the passage and says it leads to the high moors. ”
Donall understood. “The moorland that stretches between here and Baldoon?”
“So he claims.”
“I thought the lad couldn’t speak?”
“He talks to me,” she said, a trace of sadness in her voice. “Men always do, even young ones like Lugh.” She met his gaze, her dark eyes knowing. “He will speak to your people when he reaches Baldoon. I’ve told him it’s important.”
Donall glanced at Gavin, then back to her. “You believe my men will be waiting on the other side of this tunnel?”
She nodded. “Your men, and your steeds,” she said. “If Lugh was able to lead the two horses there as he’d meant to do. And, of course, if he reached your stronghold.”
“Come, man.” Gavin grinned and seized his arm. “Of a sudden, I have a fierce craving to see a swarm of ugly MacLean faces smiling at me.”
And this time, when Evelina and Gavin hurried down the passage, Donall went with them, a smile of his own spreading across his face.
Isolde stood in the shadows of the stair tower and stared across the hall at the gathering of her council, a disaster unfolding before her eyes. The unraveling of her carefully wrought plans.
The ruination of her life.
If she allowed the elders to damn her. Something she did not intend to do.
So she drew a great breath and pulled back her shoulders.
It was time to face what she’d done. That everyone knew seemed clear.
The smoke-hazed hall rang with angry shouts, some so loud she wondered the walls weren’t shaking.
She did shake, hearing the hurled accusations.
Taunts and slurs raised by her own kinsmen and Balloch MacArthur’s men.
Trembling or no, she had her pride.
She’d keep her chin raised, her eyes free of tears.
Searching the crowd, she found Lorne and started toward him. Of all those present, only he appeared calm. He didn’t rant and shout like the others, so many of them red-faced with rage. The battle-worn knight simply stood to the side, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword.
Niels and Rory were in the midst of the storm, their faces dark with anger. But the din around them made it hard to catch their words. She could only hope their voices were raised in support of her.
Silently, she counted her faithfuls as she made her way through the hall.
Lorne.
Her cousin and Rory.
Bodo.
Her hopes rested on them. The few souls she trusted to stand beside her. Nothing else weighed in her favor save her decision to leave Bodo in the safety of her bedchamber, well away from the vengeful reach of Balloch MacArthur.
If only she could hide from him as well.
But she’d have to face him if she hoped to be rid of him.
So she glanced about, searching for him as she neared the gathering. But he was nowhere to be seen. Only his captain, and a party of MacArthur warriors.
Both she and Evelina had been wrong.
Evelina, because Balloch had not come himself as she’d predicted.
Herself, because even though he’d stayed away, his pride hadn’t held his tongue.
Her secret tidings to him, her deceit, everything, was being bandied about by those present. All save Lorne, and to her dismay, she no longer saw him either.
Isolde’s heart sank.
The old knight, her last hope in this sea of angry faces, had left the hall.