Chapter Twenty-Two
Rory left the keep in the dead of night and made his way on foot to the base of Torna Doon where Michael had tethered a horse for him to ride into Luthmore at first light.
He walked the horse in circles to make good his pretense of having traveled through the night, returning for the first time to the castle—at least as far as the rest of the clan was concerned.
Having spent the past three days concealed within Alex’s chambers, it was, indeed, his first time entering the courtyard.
Straightaway, he was struck by the stillness.
Sunrise usually sparked a whirl of activity, castle servants going about their morning duties, children playing, warriors readying to train.
But the usual din was silenced in the wake of the news Rory knew they would have already received; their lady’s health was failing.
The grim weather mirrored the apprehension and sadness on the unsmiling faces that looked up to note his return.
Gloomy clouds hung heavy with rain that fell in big, cool droplets.
No sooner had his booted foot hit the sodden earth when a broad-shouldered man ducked beneath the stable doors.
“Rory,” Gavin called before starting across the courtyard with Adam falling in line beside him. Both men appeared weary, their expressions as joyless as their surroundings.
Feigning a look of confusion, Rory’s brows came together while he hastened to meet them. “What is it?” Rory said. Then he gestured to the encompassing misery. “What has happened?”
“Alex is ill, gravely so,” Gavin said.
Rory raised his brows in a moment of forced surprise an instant before he turned on his heel and headed toward the keep.
“Where are you going?” Adam called after him.
“To the keep. I must see her,” he called over his shoulder.
“She will not see you,” Adam shouted.
Rory froze, then turned back around. “What do ye mean?”
Adam lifted his shoulders in a helpless gesture. “No one has been permitted to see her. Only my Mary—I mean to say—only Lady Mary and Rosie have been permitted into her chamber. They’ve hardly left her side since ye left.”
“That was the case until two days ago,” Gavin corrected. “But now, Michael and William have been called to her side.” Gavin’s voice cracked. “She’s taken a turn for the worse. They do not think she is long for this world.”
Rory put a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Let us out of this rain,” he said, steering the men toward the kitchens.
Stepping through the archway, he heard soft sobs combined with the din of chopping and pots clanging. Rory’s heart broke when he saw Jean’s puffy eyes and trembling lips.
“I can’t even bring her a tray like I used to when she was just a sweet, wee lass,” she cried while adding chunks of meat to broth nigh brimming out of a bread bowl.
“They make me leave it outside her door.” Her sobs continued as she lifted the tray in her trembling hands, the broth sloshing over the crusted edges. “They say ‘tis a pox.”
Rory’s stomach twisted with guilt. More than anything, he wanted to bring Alex’s kinfolk relief.
He wanted to shout at the top of his lungs that their lady was still as vibrant, bold and brave as ever.
But then flashes of memory from the Berwick massacre stole his breath.
Mass graves filled with the bodies of innocents: men, women, and children.
King Edward’s heart held no mercy. If he knew Alex had a hand in robbing him, the might of his hammer would demolish Luthmore castle.
Unbidden, the images of the villagers in the courtyard, slowly milling about, fretting and grieving over their lady’s health were suddenly slain, their bodies broken and strewn across the courtyard.
Rory shook the images from his mind. That was exactly what he and Alex were trying to prevent with her feigned demise.
Now, if Richard Ash were to return to England and gain Edward’s ear and force an inquiry—Edward would learn that the Lady of Luthmore had taken ill before the heist occurred and died from her illness.
Rory opened his arms to Jean. She turned her plump face into his chest and sobbed out her grief. He held his silence, steeling his heart against her sorrow and that of the servants crying soft tears around him. Their lives would be spared, and, in time, their broken hearts would heal.
Very soon it would all be over. He knew when night arrived, Alex would bid goodbye to her family.
ALEX CHOKED BACK HER tears. “I love ye, Will.” She swiped at the tears streaming down her brother’s freckled face.
“Look after Mary for me and keep doing the rounds with her.” His sobs tested her resolve.
She took a deep breath. “Hush now, sweetling,” she crooned.
Then she cupped his cheeks. “Look at me, Will MacKenzie. I’m not really dead. ”
Will nodded and buried his face in her neck. “I ken,” he cried. “I just love ye ‘tis all. And I’m going to miss ye.”
She took a deep breath, reminding herself this was not goodbye forever. Then she reminded Will, “When ‘tis safe, ye and Michael will come and visit me. All right?”
Wiping his sleeve across his nose, he nodded. “All right.” Then a smile suddenly stretched his face wide. “I’ve never left Luthmore before.”
She chuckled and ruffled his hair. “Ye see, ‘tis the makings of a fine adventure.” Wiping his nose again, he kissed Alex once more, then crossed the room to stand by Rosie.
“Take care of him,” Alex said to Rosie.
Michael stepped forward. “I knew ye weren’t just going to visit Abbot Matthew. Although of all the foolhardy things I imagined, what ye really were doing—being part of a secret rebel movement—was not one of them.”
She smiled. “This is when ye soften the sting of yer words by saying ye wouldn’t have me any other way.”
A sad smile crinkled his eyes. “But ye’re very much mistaken because I would rather have ye here. Still, I am proud of ye, and yer father and mother would be proud of ye, and Robin for that matter. And I suppose Scotland needs every brave soul she can find—even if that brave soul is ye.”
The door opened just a crack and the abbot squeezed into the room.
“I’ve given the bad news to Father John, and he agreed to lay yer body to rest in hallowed ground rather than yer family’s tomb, to prevent the spreading of the pox.
” He crossed to where Alex stood and clasped her hands.
“’Tis time, my child. Soon Father John will ring the bell, and Gavin will come for the coffin.
” He turned then and looked at Michael. “Did ye weigh it down?” he asked.
“We did,” Michael confirmed. “And nailed it shut.”
The abbot nodded and turned to Alex. “We must be on our way. Rory will have made his excuses by now and will meet us on top of Torna Doon. I shall take ye that far before I return to assist Father John with yer funeral.”
She nodded, tears stinging her eyes. “I am nearly ready to go.” She turned to Mary and pulled her cousin into a fierce hug.
“Give our people every comfort, especially Helen. Tell her I died peacefully.” Then she pulled away just enough to remove her necklace.
“This is yers now,” she said, placing the chain Rory had mended over Mary’s head.
Eyes wide, Mary clasped the trinity knot. “But yer mother gave ye this.”
Alex wiped the tear she felt course down her cheek.
“My mother gave it to me so that I would remember that the wellbeing of the people comes first. Remember her words, Mary, but also remember mine—yer life matters too. Make yerself happy.” Then she stepped away.
“I love ye all,” she said while she swept her cloak around her shoulders.
Then, grabbing the satchel she’d packed, she lifted the trap door.
The abbot handed her a torch. She took it and looked at her family.
“This is not goodbye,” she said once more, her chin quivering before she began her descent—taking the first steps toward her new life.