Chapter Twenty-Four #3
Cathlina was truly and deeply terrified. “Won’t the flame weaken the iron grate?”
The old man shrugged. “It would have to be very, very hot,” he said. “Even if it is that hot, the Scots cannot get near it, so we are still safe. The best thing they could have done was set the hall afire. They will not be able to get near it now because it is so hot.”
“And we will not be able to get out.”
“The iron will eventually cool. We are still safe, my lady.”
Cathlina wasn’t so sure about the situation but his words brought her some comfort. He was older and wiser, after all. She glanced around the room of family and servants. “Be careful what you tell everyone, then,” she said softly. “I do not want anyone to panic.”
The old man nodded firmly and moved away. Cathlina scurried back to her mother and sisters.
“It seems the Scots are burning the hall down over our heads,” she said quietly. “We are very safe because they cannot enter a flaming building to get at us, and the smoke and heat will rise. It will not come down the stairwell.”
Rosalund was surprisingly calm knowing that a building was burning over her head. “I see,” she said pensively. “I do not suppose there is anything we can do about it anyway. Come and sit, Cathlina. Mayhap… mayhap it is time to sleep a little while we can. You say the Scots cannot get at us now?”
“Not while there is a fire in the hall.”
Rosalund seemed satisfied, although she was still visibly tense. “Then come and lay down,” she said. “Sleep with Abbie.”
Obediently, Cathlina crawled over to her little sister, who was quite weak and limp.
Her breathing was slow and labored, but Cathlina didn’t mention it to her mother.
She suspected the woman already knew. Tears anew filled her eyes as she lay next to her sister and wrapped her arms around her, holding her tightly.
Abechail hardly stirred and Cathlina thought she was somewhat comatose because when she whispered her name, she received no response.
Feeling great sorrow, and great fear, Cathlina began to whisper in Abechail’s ear, telling her of the son she would bear in the spring and how she intended to name the child Magnus after Abechail’s family of hawks.
She told Abechail of the boy she intended to have and how he would be bold and cunning, and how much he would enjoy playing with his Aunt Abechail.
But that was as far as she got before tears overcame her and she simply held her baby sister tightly, kissing the girl’s cheek. Eventually, she faded off to sleep.
Rosalund remained awake, watching her daughters as they slept soundly.
She knew that Abechail’s condition had taken a turn for the worse.
She had seen her deteriorate badly just within the past several hours and sleeping in a damp, dank and now smoky vault wasn’t helping.
Still, there was nothing she could do about it.
She didn’t pray because she and God had not been on speaking terms for quite some time, at least since the time Abechail had been diagnosed by the physics and Rosalund had prayed for a miracle.
But no miracle had occurred and Rosalund had stopped praying.
God ignored her, just as he was ignoring her now as her castle was under siege and the zealous Scots were burning the great hall over her head.
Rosalund knew it was only a matter of time before the Scots broke through and were able to capture them, but she was determined not to allow that to happen.
She would not see her daughters fall victim to the clans.
In her heavy robes she hid a bejeweled dirk, a wicked and sharp thing that she was prepared to use on her children if the situation looked hopeless.
She would rather see her daughters suffer a few moments of pain rather than hours or even days of torture before they were killed.
No, she wouldn’t let that happen at all.
As she had brought them into the world, she was prepared to remove them from it, too.
Even the daughter that was pregnant with her only grandchild.
She would be doing them both a favor rather than let them fall to the Scots.
As Rosalund sat against the cold wall of the vault that was both her prison and her fortress, she began to notice a haze in the chamber.
Looking around, she realized that it was smoke, and she looked to the vault entry to see a significant stream of smoke billowing into the chamber.
Her heart sank; somehow, someway, the smoke was flowing down the stairwell and into the vault.
If the fire was bad enough, and burned long enough, the smoke would fill up the entire chamber and suck the air from it, suffocating them all.
It was a horrible ending, choking to death.
Fingering the dirk, she knew what she had to do should it come down to it. If she thought praying to God for strength would help her do as she must, then she might have uttered a prayer. As it was, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
He wouldn’t listen to her, anyway.