CHAPTER 31
“Damn it!” Finn nearly fell when he tripped over the damned dog. He thought the dog had not meant to do it, but then the wee thing growled and clamped its teeth on the back of Finn’s boot.
“All right,” he said, turning around. “I’ll follow ye a bit farther.”
When the dog ran ahead, nose to the ground, excitement grew in Finn’s chest. Perhaps the dog had found Margaret’s scent after all.
Luckily, the dog sat and waited for him in front of a giant crevice that split the ground, or Finn might have not seen it in time and fallen into the dark chasm. If Margaret did come this way, she would have to walk around this crevice in one direction or the other.
“Which way did she go? Show me!” he said, but the dog just jumped up and down barking.
Finn’s blood ran cold when the thought struck him that Margaret could have fallen down there. Leaning forward, he held the lantern over the edge, but the light did not reach the bottom.
“Margaret!” he called, even while he prayed she was not down there but safe at Lachlan’s cottage. “Maggie! Maggie!”
He lay flat on his belly and held the lantern as low as he could reach. On a scrub growing out of the rock several feet below him, a torn piece of cloth fluttered in the wind. He squeezed his eyes shut. Mother, Mary of God, please help me. My Maggie is down there.
He would not let himself think she was dead. She was hurt, and he needed to get to her.
“Maggie,” he shouted again. “I’m coming down for ye!”
He retrieved his rope from Ceò’s saddle and, holding his lantern up, squinted into the driving rain, searching for a bolder or tree to tie it to. There was nothing nearby but clumps of brush.
“Ceò,” he said, rubbing his horse’s neck. “This will not be easy, but we need to save her.”
After he tied one end of the rope to Ceò’s saddle, Finn hooked the lantern’s handle over his arm so that his hands were free to hold the rope. Then he stepped backward over the edge and started down, letting the rope slide through his hands as he walked his feet down the rock wall.
“Steady, steady,” he called out to Ceò.
His foot slipped on the wet rock and he slammed against the wall, jerking the rope. If his horse had bolted and ripped the rope from his hands, Finn would have fallen straight to the bottom—with no rope—but Ceò barely shifted under the strain.
Finn wiped the rain from his eyes and continued down. When he was halfway down, he heard the sound of water sloshing against the rock walls.
God’s blood, this was a sea cave.
He scrambled the rest of the way down until he was just above the water.
Holding the lantern high, he searched the dark surface, calling her name.
He knew no one could survive long in this watery dungeon, but he could not give up.
He tied the lantern to the rope and dropped into freezing seawater up to his chest.
On the far side of the cavern, he caught a glimpse of hair the color of moonlight floating on the water. His heart pounded in his ears as he splashed through the water to reach her.
He found her curled up on a ledge that was so close to being submerged that her hair and the skirt of her gown floated in the water. Praying hard, he gently lifted her in his arms and felt for a pulse.
Praise God, she was alive!
“I’ll get ye out of here, mo rùin,” my love, he said in a choked voice, and held her close.
“I was afraid you’d think I left ye,” she said in a weak voice.
“Don’t talk now, mo chridhe,” my heart. “Ye must save your strength.”
“I love ye, Finn,” she murmured as her head fell against his chest.
Racing against time, Finn climbed the rope up the slippery rock with Margaret’s limp body over his shoulder. He needed to get her out of this hellhole and warm. He had to leave the lantern to carry her, but he could gauge how much farther to the top by the dog’s frantic yaps above him.
Finally, he hauled her over the edge and crawled out of the abyss and onto solid ground. Margaret was shaking violently. He ran to fetch her cloak and blanket strapped to Ceò’s saddle, wrapped her in them, and rubbed her body, trying to warm her. But it was not enough. She needed a roaring fire.
The storm had blown over and the moon shone brightly, lighting Finn’s way as he galloped back to Helmsdale.
Encircled in the heat of his body, Margaret seemed to revive somewhat on the short ride.
When they reached Helmsdale, the guard saw him coming and opened the gate.
He rode through and up to the steps of the keep, then slid off Ceò with Margaret in his arms.
“I’m all right now,” Margaret said. “I need to tell ye something.”
He ran up the steps without pausing. Though he was relieved to hear her speak, whatever she wanted to tell him could wait until he had her warm in front of the hearth and had checked her for injuries.
“Wait, Finn—” she said as he pushed open the door to the hall.
“Bring blankets and a hot drink!” he shouted as he carried her to the hearth. “We need more peat on that fire!”
“I must tell ye why I left,” she said.
In his urgency to bring her back, he had forgotten that she had left in fear.
The hall and everyone in it had been a blur when he rushed in.
As he took in the room now, he could see that their sudden entry had disrupted a brawl.
A man with a bloodied face was struggling against two men who held him.
“He’s the traitor!” someone shouted. “The murderer!”
Finn recognized the man with the bloodied face now as the servant who went missing after his aunt and uncle were poisoned. So, they had caught the bastard.
“Kill him!” a woman shouted, and the others cheered.
“Finn!” Margaret gripped his arm. “Stop them. It wasn’t him.”
He thought at first she must still be out of her head, but she was sitting straight up and her eyes were alert.
“I’m telling ye,” she said. “It wasn’t him.”
He suddenly knew why she had left the castle so suddenly in the midst of a storm. She had discovered the killer.
“Hold on!” Finn stood and raised his arms. “Let’s hear what this man has to say.”
“We already know he’s guilty,” one of the men said, and punched the already-bloodied man in the gut.
“Cut his head off!” a woman shouted.
“If ye cut off his head, he can’t tell us who else was involved in the murders,” Finn said. “Now let him go.”
Finn stared them down until the men reluctantly released their captive.
“I came back to clear my name after I heard what was being said about me,” the injured man said as he wiped the blood from his nose. “I didn’t poison them. They were still well when I left.”
“Then why did ye leave that night?” Finn asked.
“I was told to slip away after I served the wine and deliver a message to Girnigoe Castle,” the man said. “I was given a gold coin to keep quiet about it.”
“Who gave ye the gold coin and sent ye to Girnigoe?” The blood pounded in Finn’s ears as he waited for the answer.
The man extended his arm, pointing. “She sent me.”
The force of the man’s accusation was like a lance clearing a path through the room in the direction he pointed until it landed on Isabel.
Isabel glared back at them with defiance in her eyes.
Finn should have known she would alert her cousin, George Sinclair, to the opportunity presented by the earl’s poisoning and likely death. But taking advantage of the tragedy, bad as that was, did not mean Isabel played a role in the actual murders.
“He lies to cover his own dark deeds,” Isabel said. “He admits to betraying his laird for a coin, but the gold he took was for poisoning him!”
“This man speaks the truth. Isabel is the murderer!” Margaret’s voice rang out from behind him. “After I found henbane in the chest in Isabel’s chamber, she tried to murder me as well.”
Finn spun around to find Margaret on her feet, clutching the blanket. Despite her wet, bedraggled gown and the blanket clutched around her shoulders, she looked like a breathtaking avenging angel.
“She poisoned the peat in my brazier,” Margaret said loudly enough for everyone to hear. “When I escaped before the fumes killed me, she followed me and pushed me into the enclosed sea cave where Finn found me.”
After she finished speaking, Margaret’s burst of strength was gone, and she seemed on the verge of collapsing.
Finn wrapped his arms around her and stared at Isabel over the top of Margaret’s head.
Despite Isabel’s past cruelties, constant barbs, and smoldering resentment, he never thought her capable of murder.
By now, she would have removed the henbane from her chest and the poisoned peat from the brazier.
With no proof, would the others take Margaret’s word over Isabel’s?
In the silence that followed, Gilbert emerged from the stairwell, leaning heavily on a cane.
His face was deathly pale, and his hand shook, rattling the cane against the floor as he crossed the room to Isabel.
Obviously shaken by the accusation against his wife, the ill man was coming to his wife’s defense. Or so Finn thought.
“What have ye done, woman?” Gilbert said, standing before her.
“I did what needed to be done,” Isabel said. “I did what you weren’t man enough to do.”
“Nay,” Gilbert said, shaking his head. “This cannot be.”
“I did it for our son. Bearach was meant to be an earl.” Her black eyes glowed as she spoke. “Only three stood between him and the great earldom of Sutherland. I was patient. I bided my time for years. And when the opportunity came, I struck.”
“My God, ye poisoned my brother and Helen?” Gilbert said, staggering backward.
“Ach, your high and mighty brother, always lording his wealth and status over us,” she said. “He thought he was so clever, having Duffus murdered to eliminate his claim. Never occurred to him that with Duffus dead, all I had to do to clear the way for Bearach was to rid us of him and Alex.”
Finn could not take it in. Isabel had murdered his aunt and uncle—and tried to kill Alex?
“I knew ye were spiteful, but I didn’t want to believe ye were capable of such evil,” Gilbert said. “God forgive me, I should have thrown ye out years ago instead of sending Finn away.”
“You disgust me. You’re a weak and pathetic man, not like my cousin George,” Isabel said. “We planned it all together. He promised the Sinclairs would fight to support Bearach’s claim once the deed was done.”
“And what did ye gain by it?” Gilbert said. “Our son is dead at your hands. Dead!”
His words transformed Isabel’s defiance to grief, and she sank to her knees.
“Bearach was supposed to be safe at Girnigoe,” she wailed, holding her head. “I did not mean to kill him. Not Bearach. Not him. Not my precious son.”
A horrified silence filled the room.
“An earl has been murdered. Only the Crown can decide her guilt,” Margaret whispered in Finn’s ear. “Without her as a witness, men who seek an advantage from the earl’s death are bound to make false accusations against their rivals.”
“And Isabel is the only one who can point a finger at George Sinclair,” Finn said.
“Death to her! Death to her!” men suddenly began shouting, and several of the Gordon guards surrounded Isabel, who was still slumped on her knees on the floor.
Finn leaped in front of Isabel.
“We shall have justice, but not like this,” he said. “She must be sent to Edinburgh and tried for her crimes.”