CHAPTER 11 #2
Alex watched as Robert rode forth from his vantage point with a group of mounted, torch-bearing warriors flanking him on either side.
He lifted his sword, signaling for the remaining MacSween warriors to abandon their attack and form a protective line in front of him.
They moved forward with the deliberate, elegant precision of a highly trained army, their shields and swords flashing in the amber waver of torchlight.
The moment Robert caught a whiff of Lachlan’s foul brew he halted, some thirty yards from the castle wall.
The torch-bearing warriors swiftly reassembled, safely enclosing him in a ring of horse and fire.
“Good evening, Robert,” called Alex pleasantly. “How splendid that you have decided to join us. I was actually starting to miss your cheerful presence.”
“Give her to me, MacDunn,” demanded Robert coldly. “You have no right to her.”
“You’re quite right,” Alex agreed. “I don’t.” He sighed. “The problem is, Robert, she doesn’t want to go with you.”
“I don’t give a damn what she wants,” Robert snarled. “She must be returned to me so she can be burned.”
“Good Lord,” said Alex, sounding startled, “that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“That is her punishment.”
“Well, I can’t say I approve of that,” mused Alex, clicking his tongue. “I mean, if we all went around burning every young girl who rejected her suitor—”
“I’m not talking about Isabella!” snapped Robert.
Alex regarded him in bewilderment. “You’re not?”
“Give the witch to me, MacDunn, or I shall not rest until every man, woman, and child in your clan is reduced to a hot stew of flesh and blood.”
Alex frowned. “Does this mean you don’t want Isabella?”
“Forget Isabella!” he thundered.
“Well, that is a feat easier said than done, I’m afraid,” Alex told him. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but the lass loves to be the center of attention—which I suspect she gets from you—”
“Hear me, MacDunns!” shouted Robert, deciding to appeal directly to the clan. “Your mad laird has placed you in terrible danger by bringing an evil witch and murderer into your midst…”
“Nonsense!” shouted Owen, wagging a gnarled finger in the air. “The lass would never harm a soul!”
“…who viciously murdered her own father,” continued Robert, “by casting a hideous spell over him that sucked out his spirit and delivered it straight to the devil.”
“Did she, now?” snorted Reginald. “Then maybe we should ask her to do the same to you!”
Robert stared up at the jeering elder in confusion. Why the hell weren’t these ignorant louts afraid of Gwendolyn, as her own clan had been?
“The witch has cast a horrible pestilence on my people and lands,” he told them dramatically, “to punish us for trying to put an end to her wickedness. From the day your feebleminded laird stole her, scores of MacSweens have died in the most horrendous agony, their flesh consumed by fetid black sores. Our crops have rotted in violent storms, in which unearthly winds have uprooted house, tree, and animal alike, smashing them against the ground as she tries to destroy us—”
“Liar!” shouted an enraged woman’s voice. “How can you stand there and tell such vile falsehoods?”
Surprised, both the MacDunns and the MacSweens turned to gaze at Isabella, who was leaning out of one of the castle windows.
“Isabella!” yelled Brodick, “get back inside at once!”
“No,” returned Isabella defiantly. “Not when my uncle sits down there telling such ridiculous fabrications!” She leaned out even farther to ensure that everyone could see her. “Shall I tell them the truth, dear uncle?”
“Go and haul her back inside, Brodick,” Alex ordered between clenched teeth, “before she falls and breaks her bloody neck.”
“When I get her, I may break it for her,” muttered Brodick, moving swiftly away.
“Isabella, my child,” said Robert smoothly, “I am deeply relieved to see that you are well. Your dear father has been overcome with worry. Come to me, my sweet, and I shall take you home.”
“You would take me to a place where the starving MacSweens are dying from some ghastly scourge, and unearthly winds are destroying forests and homes?” Isabella asked sarcastically. “Your concern for my welfare is truly touching.”
“That does seem a wee bit odd,” observed Owen, knitting his white brows together.
“There was no pestilence after Gwendolyn left,” Isabella shouted, “nor were there storms, or winds, or uncommon occurrences of any kind! He only says this to make you think she is evil, when in fact the only evil one here is the man you see befo—”
Her tirade ended abruptly as Brodick grabbed her by the waist and yanked her back through the window.
“What are you doing?” Isabella shrieked, struggling to escape his grasp. “I’m not finished!”
“Yes, you are,” Brodick assured her. “And if I ever find you doing such a dangerously foolish thing again, Isabella, I swear to you I will make certain you cannot sit for a month!”
“How dare you!” she raged, trying to break free. “I’m trying to help Gwendolyn! Robert is filling their heads with lies!”
“You have already helped her. You have exposed Robert’s charges against her for the falsehoods they are. You needn’t put yourself in any further danger by falling out the window or getting shot by one of Robert’s men.”
“No!” she cried, struggling violently against him. “I must help her more!”
“Isabella, stop!” He gave her a hard shake. “Enough!”
Startled by the anger in his voice, she suddenly stopped and gazed up at him, her eyes sparkling with tears.
“Forgive me, Bella,” he apologized, instantly easing his grip on her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Isabella swallowed thickly and shook her head. “You didn’t,” she said, her voice small and forlorn. “It’s not that.”
“Then what is it?”
She hesitated a moment, then inhaled a ragged breath and whispered brokenly, “I didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” asked Brodick, gently capturing the silver drop trickling down her cheek. “Tell me.”
“They were so cruel to her,” she said, the words choked with misery.
“Everyone was, because they—we—thought she was evil. ’Twas common knowledge, so none of us ever thought to question it.
And whenever anyone grew sick, or died, or a crop failed, or milk soured, or bread wouldn’t rise, we blamed Gwendolyn. ”
Brodick regarded her grimly and said nothing.
“But when they said that she had killed her father…I knew that couldn’t be right.
” She bit her trembling lip. “I’d seen them, you see, walking together on the hill.
I used to go sometimes and hide in the deep grasses when I wanted to be alone.
And they would be walking—just the two of them, because no one else would go near her—and they’d be holding hands, and he’d be telling her the most marvelous stories about a great warrior called the mighty Torvald.
Then they would sit on the ground, and he would tell her things that he thought she should know, about birds and clouds, or the world that lives under a rock when you turn it over…
.” Her voice began to break. “And Gwendolyn would look at him with such love….” The words disintegrated into tears.
“Shhh, Bella,” soothed Brodick, wrapping her in his arms. “It’s all right.”
“No, it isn’t. Because I knew there was something wrong when Robert said she had murdered her father—but I didn’t do anything. I just let them find her guilty. But how could Gwendolyn have killed the only person in the world she really loved?”
“She couldn’t have,” Brodick agreed quietly.
“I believed she was a witch, and told myself it didn’t matter,” she confessed, her voice sodden with contempt.
“I thought that even if she didn’t kill him, she was responsible for all kinds of other terrible things, so she deserved to die.
And then I just put it from my mind. I chose a pretty gown to wear, and I laughed and flirted with you while they tied her to that awful stake—and set her afire—” She began to sob.
“Hush, Bella,” crooned Brodick, tenderly stroking her hair. “You couldn’t have saved her. Your people had feared her for years and were determined to burn her. There was nothing you could have done to change that.”
“But I should have tried. I should have said something in her defense. But instead I remained silent.” She buried her face in the warm mantle of his plaid and wept uncontrollably.
“And yet tonight you leaned out of a tower in the midst of a battle and challenged Robert’s false allegations against Gwendolyn.” Brodick grasped her chin and tipped her head up so he could look into her eyes. “Do you realize Robert could have had you shot just to silence you?”
“I don’t care,” she told him fiercely. “At least the MacDunns would know the truth about Gwendolyn.”
Brodick stared at her a moment, overwhelmed by her unexpected courage.
And then he bent his head and crushed his lips against hers.
“…and therefore I shall be forced to destroy this holding and everyone in it,” finished Robert menacingly.
A long silence followed.
“Do you hear me, MacDunn?” he thundered.
Alex peered over the parapet, politely stifling a yawn. “Forgive me, Robert,” he apologized, stretching, “but you were talking for so long I found my mind wandering a bit. What were you saying?”
Robert’s face contorted with fury. “Shoot them!”
A volley of burning arrows vaulted into the air, making a graceful arc of flame against the velvet sky before they dipped and rained upon the battlements.
“Sweet Jesus!” shouted Munro, grabbing his blazing shoulder. “I’m hit!”
Cameron quickly whipped off his plaid and threw it over Munro’s shoulder, extinguishing the flames.
“By God, Cameron,” Munro said between clenched teeth, “ ’tis noble of you to bare that ivory backside of yours again just for me.”
“Be grateful it’s a warm night,” joked Cameron, “or I might have thought twice about it. Steady, now,” he commanded, gently easing Munro against the stone floor. “Breathe deep. If it’s not in too far we can take the arrow out straightaway.”