Too Late
The king had delayed Alec’s departure from Edinburgh on a trivial matter of little consequence. But finally, he was free, and with Taran at his side, he galloped hard, arriving at North Berwick only to find Sorcha missing and Ravenscraig gone, desperately searching for her.
Alec hadn’t delayed a single moment. No sooner than he’d heard she’d disappeared while searching for herbs, he leapt into the saddle with Taran right behind him.
They’d scoured the seashore, combed the nearby forest, and then thundered into town, asking every resident for any sign of the red-haired lass.
Fortune favoured them at last with an encounter of an elderly woman hobbling to the kirk.
“Aye, I saw her,” she said in a thin, wavering voice. “Praying at the kirk, I was, and I saw them. Horsemen. They carried her west. Cunninghams, aye, ‘twas Cunninghams.”
Ignoring the sinking feeling in his chest, Alec spat with a curse, “’Tis Hugh then.”
“Aye,” Taran agreed curtly, adding a few ripe curses of his own.
They set out for Tranent at once, retracing their steps west, and by late afternoon, they’d arrived, cantering into the town, past houses tilting sideways, their upper levels jutting out awkwardly over the lower ones as if ready to collapse on a moment’s notice.
A small crowd had gathered around the market cross in the town square, catching Alec’s attention. He pressed forward to discover the lot listening to a fat man reading a posting, jabbing his pudgy fingers on the parchment as he laboriously formed each word.
Alec nudged his horse through the crowd, arriving just in time to hear the word ‘witch’. His shoulders went rigid and his stomach tightened with an ominous sense of foreboding.
“Aye, nearly sank the king’s ship, it says,” the portly man’s eyes lit as the townspeople around him cried out in delighted horror.
Color drained Alec’s face. Dismounting, he reached over the man’s shoulder and tore the parchment off the market cross.
Two words stood out. Sorcha Cunningham.
Choking, Alec forced himself to read from the beginning, but after the first accusing sentence, his hand clenched into a fist of its own accord and crumpled the parchment.
“A careless wench,” Hugh’s nasal tones sounded from behind him. “Aye, she was.”
Alec whirled, drawing his sword.
The crowd around him gasped, falling back.
Hugh sat on a fine, white mare as from various corners of the market square, his men emerged, on foot and on horse. Clearly, they’d been waiting.
Hugh’s thin face creased with suppressed amusement.
“Aye, I saw Sorcha with my own eyes, Alec,” he said in a tone of mock concern.
“Carted off to Edinburgh just this morning. She’ll be in New Tolbooth by now, I’d think.
” He let himself smile then. It was a menacing smile.
Evil. “’Tis a worrisome affair. Such accusations!
The king’s not likely to show leniency to witches casting spells that sink his vessels, aye?
Do ye think they’ll meet the same fate as those in Denmark? Death by burning at the stake?”
Alec’s world reeled. His chest constricted. He found himself speechless with shocked disbelief.
“‘Tis no matter,” Hugh continued almost blithely. “Sorcha’s safe, under the care of your friend, one David Seton, just recently come from Kilpatrick.”
A strangled sound erupted from deep within Alec’s throat.
Hugh laughed. “Aye, he recalls ye right well. Called ye—what was it? Ah, haughty and resentful—among other things.”
Alec strode forward to grab the bridle of Hugh’s horse, ignoring the circle of Cunninghams leaping forward to press the tips of their blades against the flesh of his neck.
“Your days are numbered, Hugh,” he promised, his voice low and harsh and his brows bristling into a line.
“I will finish this quarrel atween us and soon.”
Hugh leaned down, the leather of his saddle creaking.
“Ye are nothing but a hasty-witted fool,” he replied, eyeing him down the long length of his narrow nose.
“I am Master of the Queen’s Stables, and the king himself has declared peace atween us, aye?
Have ye grown so bold as to openly defy his majesty? ”
Alec’s muscles tensed, and he desired nothing more than to pull the man off of his horse by the throat and throttle the life out of him, but he retained his sense of control.
He had to save Sorcha first. Still, he couldn’t refrain from spitting, “This matter atween us will not end as ye wish, Hugh.”
“I’ve no time to bandy words with a fool,” Hugh laughed, addressing his men before glancing back down at Alec to add disdainfully, “Now, if ye’ll excuse me, Montgomery, I’ve an audience with the king, but afore I leave, I feel compelled to tell ye ‘tis dangerous for ye to step foot in Edinburgh. And if ye dare stand up to the king and his fight against this witchery, no doubt ye’ll find him less friendly than even I. ”
With that, he jerked his horse’s bridle free from Alec’s grasp and, wheeling the beast, galloped away, his men quickly filing behind him.
Alec bit off an oath.
“He will pay, Alec,” Taran’s deep voice said as his strong hand fell hard down upon Alec’s shoulder.
Alec glanced back to see his cousin standing behind him, holding the reins of their mounts, his eyes cold, steely, and calculating.
“He will die under my blade,” Alec vowed, exhaling a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll not lose her, Taran.”
“Aye,” the man agreed, holding out the reins to his horse. “We ride, cousin.”
“Aye,” Alec whispered.
Refusing to succumb to despair, he swung into the saddle as Taran quickly followed suit, and with a loud cry, they spurred their horses forward, galloping west to Edinburgh.
Ahead, they spied Hugh and his men, riding hard, but determined to reach Edinburgh first, Alec guided his horse off the road, heading out across the surrounding moors, scattering the grazing sheep along the way.
The going was rough, but the ploy worked, and when they looped back to the road once again, they’d gained a significant lead over Hugh’s party.
Soon, the sun sank below the horizon, but again, destiny favored them. The clouds parted, revealing a bright moon, its light reflecting off of the light dusting of snow blanketing the moors. It was just enough to brighten the bleakness of the road stretching out before them.
They arrived in Edinburgh late in the evening, their horses lathered and exhausted. The streets were fairly empty by the time they galloped past Holyrood House and the empty markets, up the Royal Mile, and finally, to New Tollbooth prison.
“Take heart, gràdh geal mo chrìdh,” Alec whispered, vaulting from the saddle.
With Taran close behind, he strode through the doors and into the main guardroom. Torches flickered on the walls. A half-dozen men stood on guard, two before each wide, arched oak door leading in various directions.
A grizzly man with a ring of keys hanging from his belt glanced up as they entered. “And what brings ye here?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“I’ve come for Sorcha Cunningham,” Alec thundered, striding up to him with purpose. “Release her to me at once!”
The man lifted a sceptical brow. “Nay,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’ve orders that none may see the witch, save the king himself.”
“She’s no witch,” Alec hissed, reaching out to grab the man by the throat. He heard the rasping of steel as the other guards in the prison drew their weapons, but he only squeezed all the harder.
“’Tis the Earl of Eglinton you’re denying,” Taran informed the men coolly.
The guard under Alec’s hand coughed. “Aye, aye, my lord, I can let ye see her,” he amended with haste, alarm crossing his eyes. “But I canna release her. The king’s called for her, and his men are on the way to fetch her as we speak.”
Alec released him.
“Go,” Taran murmured in his ear. “At least see the lass. I’ll fend them off as long as I may.” He drew his dirk. The blade gleamed in the flickering torchlight.
“Come, come, my lord,” the gray-haired man croaked hoarsely. “There’s no need for that. Come, speak with the lass and then ye can speak with the king, aye?” He plucked the keys from his belt and held them out. “Come quickly.”
Drawing a deep, steadying breath, Alec followed the man through one of the arched doors and down narrow, stone steps. At the bottom, the man pointed toward a long hallway with torches hissing in their black sconces. “Third cell,” he said. “But ye’ve only minutes, my lord.”
Alec held out his hand. “Give me the key,” he demanded.
The man shrugged helplessly. “I dinna have it,” he said, quickly offering him the ring in proof. “The bailiff that brought them took it with him. Insisted.”
Aye, ‘twas like Seton. Grabbing the keys all the same, he took off down the hall at a half-run, stopping at the third cell to see an elderly woman chanting prayers on her knees in one corner. Gellie sat beside her with a vacant kind of stare.
And then he saw her, Sorcha, sitting in the straw with her cheek pressed against the stone wall, her eyes closed.
Emotion closed Alec’s throat, and he stood there a moment, drinking her in with his eyes before his mind noted her purple lip and the dried blood staining her bodice. She cradled her arm, as if it were injured.
“Sorcha,” he choked a whisper.
She opened her eyes, a momentary bewilderment creased her brow and then, bursting into tears, she rushed towards him.
Fear rippled through him. She was clearly frightened, and recalling her dream of the priest, he couldn’t admit just how frightened he was himself.
Reaching through the iron bars, he caught her fingers and brought them to his mouth.
“I’ll get ye out of here, lass,” he vowed.
Tears threatened, but he fought them back, determined to remain strong for her.
“I’ll get ye out of here, upon my life.”
She kissed his hands, desperately. “’Tis too late for me, Alec,” she whispered.
“Not another word!” He silenced her by placing a finger on her lips. “Ye’ll be wedding me, and soon, lass,” he whispered hoarsely. “I dinna care for a long courtship.”
She closed her eyes and wept, her slender shoulders shaking.
His heart rose into his throat. He trailed his thumb along her cheek, too overwhelmed to speak a single word.
“Ye have to let me go, Alec,” she said softly, her lips trembling.
“Never,” he swore. “I’m getting ye out of here, lass. I am.”
She bowed her head, the strands of her auburn hair falling loose around her face. “Ye canna change destiny, Alec,” she said sadly. “Keep me in your heart. ‘Tis all I can ask. My dream has already told me my fate.”
“God’s Blood, but I will change your dream!” he swore.
The sound of men shouting filled the hall behind him. They were coming.
She sank to the cell floor, her skirts puddling on the filthy straw, as several guards seized him from behind, pulling him back.
“No!” he shouted, resisting and fighting them off.
Another man jumped into the fray. Alec struck out, hard, but they dragged him back.
Someone hit him on the back of the head.
He collapsed to one knee. They swarmed over him then, pulling him back up the stairs to the chamber where Taran was now sprawled on the floor, his hands tied behind his back.
Three men lay unconscious all around him, several others leaned against the wall, nursing their limbs.
Hugh stepped into his field of vision. “’Tis fair impressive ye got here afore I did,” he said with an acidic laugh.
“I’ll grant ye that. And from the kindness welling in my heart, I’ll personally see the king doesna hear of this wee incident.
” Turning to the guards he ordered, “Keep him here until we’re safely on our way to Holyrood. ”
Alec growled. The men holding him tightened their grip.
“Fare thee well, Alec,” Hugh said with a little bow, and then spinning on his heel, strode out of the chamber as more men welled up from the hall behind him, dressed in the king’s garb.
Alec saw her then, staggering between two burly guards, each of them grasping her firmly by an arm.
“Sorcha,” he gasped, as she filed past.
She didn’t look his way. Perhaps she didn’t hear him.
He could do nothing but watch as they led her down the same path Hugh had taken and out of his sight.
When the last ring of the guards’ boots faded away, the men restraining him released their hold, and after unbinding Taran’s wrists, hastily withdrew to leave them alone.
Alec remained where he was. “The world has gone mad,” he said hoarsely.
“Aye,” Taran agreed, rising to his feet and rubbing his wrists, his dark brows drawn into a scowl. “I fear I canna ride to the highlands and muster aid quickly enough, cousin. We’re outnumbered.”
Alec didn’t respond. He bowed his head. But then, a thought crossed his mind. Slowly, he raised his head. “Aye,” he whispered, his voice hard and low. “We’re outnumbered, cousin, but not outwitted.”
Taran raised a querying brow.
“Come,” Alec said, a flicker of hope rising within him. “’Tis time to trust the fairies.”