Madeline was cold, hungry, and terrified. “What is happening?” she asked, not directly denying what Amaline had said. “No one has told me anything. What are they going to do?”
Amaline wasn’t foolish; she realized Madeline didn’t address her accusations. “Lord de Lohr is coming,” she said. “He will decide your punishment.”
Madeline’s eyes widened. “Who told you that?” she hissed. “Jamison? Havilland?”
Amaline nodded. “Jamison has sent for Lord de Lohr,” she said. Then, she frowned. “How could you almost let Havilland be killed? How could you do such a thing?”
Madeline could see that her younger sister hadn’t come to the vault to comfort her. She had come to berate her. Miserable, Madeline turned away from the iron bars and threw herself onto the hay pile.
“Go away, Ammie,” she said. “If you have only come here to scold me, just go away.”
“But what you did was wrong!”
Madeline lifted her shoulders. “Mayhap to you it was wrong,” she said. “But to me… I loved him, Ammie. I would do anything for the man I loved and now he is dead. Jamison Munro murdered him!”
Amaline was outraged at the accusation. “But he was defending Havilland!”
Madeline had always been the manipulative type, especially with her younger sister. Amaline had been most pliable at times. Madeline didn’t want to face de Lohr justice; she wanted her freedom before Lord de Lohr arrived. She wanted to run to those Welsh rebels who had meant so much to Evon, men who were a part of his culture and blood, including his brother, Morys. Morys Preece had been at the head of the Welsh attacks on Four Crosses, at least according to Evon, and Madeline was sure that Morys would want to know what really happened to Evon. Her love.
God, she missed him.
“I knew they would lie to you,” she muttered. “What did they tell you, Ammie? That Evon attacked Havilland? That he tried to kill her? It is not the truth, I tell you. I will tell you what happened – Evon Preece and I were in love. We wanted to marry. Because he is Welsh, I had to meet him in secret, whenever I could. Havilland followed me to one such meeting and brought Jamison with her, to call me a traitor when I am not. I only wanted to meet my love. As I watched, Jamison attacked Evon and broke his neck, throwing his body in the river. That is the truth, Ammie. I knew they would not tell you the truth of it to cover up for the murder that Jamison committed, but it is the truth just the same. Jamison killed the man I loved and he is trying to put all of the blame on me.”
Amaline was greatly confused. “Jamison saw you with him before yesterday,” she said. “He saw you with him two days ago and he heard you tell Evon about things you should not have told him. You were telling him what was happening here at Four Crosses so that the Welsh would know what our weaknesses were.”
Madeline was shocked at the news that Jamison had evidently seen her with Evon before. Yesterday was not the first time. Startled at the realization, she burst into tears.
“It is not true!” she said. “I met him because I loved him and I knew I would not be allowed to see him freely because he is Welsh. Ammie, do you know what will happen when Lord de Lohr comes? He will take me back to Lioncross Abbey and he will execute me. He will kill me! I do not want to die, Ammie! You must help me!”
She was sobbing by the time she was finished, playing on Amaline’s tender senses. But Amaline resisted, although it was difficult. Madeline never cried so the woman’s tears had her off-guard. In fact, she’d never seen Madeline behave this way at all. It was like watching another person. Amaline had no idea what to do or who to believe now, yet her instincts told her that Havilland wouldn’t lie to her.
But Madeline would.
“I do not want to help you,” Amaline finally said. “Why would I help you? What would you do? Run back to the Welsh and tell them all about us? You are a traitor!”
Madeline could see her tears hadn’t worked, but in truth, the tears were real. She was terrified of her fate. “Please, Ammie,” she rolled off of the hay pile, on her knees as she gripped the iron bars. “I do not want to die. Do you know what happens when they execute people? They will force me to my knees and a man with an ax will take my head off. Look at my neck; look at it! He will slice through it and my head will roll!”
Amaline was greatly distressed by the thought. She backed away from the iron grate as Madeline held on to it, using it to support her in her grief. “You must be punished,” Amaline said. “You tried to kill us all, Madeline. You are the enemy!”
Madeline shook her head. “My only crime was to fall in love with a Welshman,” she said. “Please, Ammie… please help me. If… if you release me, I swear I will run away and never come back. At least give me a chance at life. I have only seen seventeen years! I want to grow old and have children. I promise I will run away and never return if you release me from this cell. Please, Ammie… do not let de Lohr cut my head off!”
Amaline was standing back against the walls of the vault now, watching her sister beg. She’d never seen such a thing before. It was as if her entire world was turning upside down today – seeing behavior from Madeline she’d never seen before, and also seeing Havilland in a gown as she was smitten with a knight. So many changes for the young woman to stomach. At fourteen years of age, she was far too young to bear it gracefully. As Madeline wept at the thought of her impending death, tears came to Amaline’s eyes.
“What you did was not right,” she said hoarsely. “You are not even sorry that you almost let someone kill Havi.”
Madeline could see that throwing herself on her sister’s mercy and telling her what she wanted to hear might be her only chance of escape. She had been hoping all night that Amaline would make an appearance because if there was anyone she could manipulate to do her bidding, it was Amaline. Her younger sister was her only hope and she was trying her hardest to convince the girl to help her. Surprisingly, Amaline wasn’t bending. Madeline closed her eyes, weeping.
“I would not have let him kill her,” she said. “He threatened, but I would not have let him. You must believe me.”
“Tell me you are sorry!”
“I am sorry!”
The words were shouted at each other, so much so that Amaline quickly looked up the stairwell to see if anyone had heard them. Sounds were greatly muffled in the earthen prison. When Amaline was certain they had not attracted any attention, she returned her focus to Madeline.
The woman was bent over, on her knees, still clutching the rusting iron bars that imprisoned her. Amaline watched her, so terribly torn. She didn’t want Madeline’s head to be cut off, but she wasn’t sure she could forgive the woman for what she’d done. She wasn’t even sure she could believe her when she said she would run away and never return. Amaline’s entire world was in turmoil and she didn’t know where to turn. Tears filled her eyes as she looked at Madeline.
“Tell me again,” she whispered.
Madeline sobbed openly. “I am sorry,” she said. “Please, Ammie… forgive me.”
Amaline stared at her. There was something in Madeline’s tone that was false as false could be. She’d known her sister too long to think otherwise. Sick to her stomach with indecision, she had to go with her instincts.
“I do not believe you.”
With that, Amaline ran back up the stairs, trying not to trip over her skirt, listening to Madeline’s screams as she went. There was great pain and suffering in that vault, something Amaline was trying to escape but she couldn’t quite manage it.
By the time she hit the top of the stairs, she was openly weeping, too.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
*
“I shall have ye and no other….”
*
“Great Bleeding Jesus! ’Tis that big red beast in the flesh!”
Standing in the gatehouse of Four Crosses and facing the road that led up to the castle, Jamison heard the familiar exclamation from a distance and he knew, even at length, who the three riders were. If he’d be
en blindfolded and knew nothing about their physical characteristics, he still would have known that voice anywhere. A man he’d lived with, and fought with, and faced death with. He knew him like a brother. Nay; more than a brother. The man was part of his soul.
The White Dragon was in his midst.
“Beaux MacKay!” he bellowed. “Is it possible ye’ve dragged yer ugly arse all the way tae Wales?”
He could hear laughter, laughter he recognized, and he grinned from ear to ear, shaking his head as if in extreme disapproval. “By all the saints,” he muttered in disbelief. Then, he lifted his voice. “Dunna tell me ye brought yer sisters wit’ ye. Is it truly Kendrick and Caspian I hear?”
The three riders spurred their shaggy horses forward, galloping the rest of the way up the road and closing the gap to the gatehouse in short order. Rocks flicked up from the excited horses, pelting Jamison in the bare legs as he made his way to the three riders. He pushed aside big, frothing horse heads, coming to the first man who had dismounted and throwing his arms around him. It was an embrace of gratitude and of joy. It was an embrace that satisfied him to his very bones. Jamison finally released the man, grasping the familiar face in his hands.
“My God,” he breathed, drinking in the sight. “It ’tis ye, Beaux. Am I dreaming?”
Beaux shook his head, smiling into a face he’d not seen in a very long time. “Nay,” he said. “Ye’re not dreaming. But it’s been too long, Jamie. How long since we last saw ye?”
Jamison shook his head. “At least four years,” he said. “I last saw ye at Lioncross four years past. It was Christmas and I’d just come home from France with Arthur.”
Beaux remembered that Christmas and the heavy snows of it, making it particularly memorable. But before he could reply, however, Kendrick and Caspian made their way to Jamison, hugging him in turn, reveling in the joy of being reunited with their old friend. Jamison still had his hands on Kendrick and Caspian, looking at the pair in shock.
“I canna believe it,” he said. “The three of ye here. Are ye sure this isna a dream?”
Caspian slapped him softly on the cheek. “’Tis no dream, lad.”
Jamison chuckled. “I dunna even know where tae start,” he said. “Why are ye here? How did ye find me?”
Beaux slapped him on the shoulder, tugging him away from Kendrick and Caspian. “Take us inside, feed us, and we shall tell ye,” he said. “It has been a very long journey.”
Jamison was already moving towards the gatehouse. “Where did ye come from?”
“Home.”
That gave Jamison some pause. For some reason, a warning bell went off in his head and now the joy of their appearance was starting to turn into something else, something darker. He struggled against the sense of foreboding that filled him.
“Then it took ye months at the very least in this weather,” he said, endeavoring to remain calm. “Why did ye come?”
“Inside, man. We’ll tell ye everything.”
“Ye’ll tell me now.”
It was clear that Jamison wanted answers before he settled his guests. Their appearance was not only surprising, it was concerning. There was no earthly reason for the men to be here unless it was a serious matter and Beaux knew he had to tell Jamison something before the man grew less friendly and more demanding. Already, his manner was changing as they tried to avoid his questions.
“We went tae Lioncross,” Beaux finally said. “Lord de Lohr told us ye were here at Four Crosses. There’s much tae tell ye, Jamie.”
That didn’t clear up any of Jamison’s confusion. In fact, it only made it worse and, suddenly, he was seized by panic. He came to a halt just shy of the gatehouse, facing Beaux.
“Tell me what?” he wanted to know. “Sweet Jesú… is it me da? Is he well?”
Beaux could see the distress in Jamison’s face and he hastened to reassure him. “Yer da is well and healthy,” he said quickly. “But… tae be truthful, all is not well at home, Jamie. Let us go inside and speak o’ it.”
Jamison wouldn’t budge. Now that the truth behind their shocking visit was coming out, he wanted to hear all of it at that very moment. He didn’t want to wait until they were comfortable and plied with wine. He was selfish in that he wanted to know immediately. In truth, even as his mind went wild with possibilities, he already knew what it was about. His gut told him so.
MacKenzie.
“What has happened?” he demanded quietly.
Beaux was exhausted; he and Kendrick and Caspian had been traveling for, quite literally, four months. With the winter season, the roads had been difficult and the weather had been atrocious. What should have taken them several weeks had taken much longer, but they had persevered. They had made a promise to George Munro and they would not go back on that vow. So here they were, finally facing Jamison, and the man wanted answers. With a sigh, Beaux began to loosen his heavy leather gloves.
“Are ye sure ye want tae here it now?” he said. “It would be much easier for all of us over some mulled wine and a good fire.”
Jamison swallowed hard; they could all see it. “I would appreciate it if ye could tell me now, Beaux. Ye dinna come here tae see me pretty face. Something is amiss, something so terrible that it has ye traveling hundreds of miles in the dead of winter. Tell me what has happened.”
Beaux removed a glove and scratched his head. “Then I’ll come out wit’ it,” he said, looking Jamison in the eye. “There’s no easy way tae tell ye, Jamie. Georgie is dead. Yer da sent us tae give ye the news.”
Jamison’s features rippled with surprise and then, just as quickly, with grief, but to his credit, that was his only reaction. He steeled himself admirably. “What happened tae him?”
Beaux glanced at Kendrick and Caspian, as if the men would help him carefully phrase the answer, but Kendrick spoke because Beaux seemed hesitant to.
“The MacKenzies murdered him,” Kendrick said, his voice low and deep. He was a truthful man to a fault. “They lay in wait for him, Jamie. Georgie was going tae church and they ambushed him. Trampled him with their horses and dragged his body back tae Foulis for yer parents tae see.”
That drew a reaction from Jamison; his cheeks reddened and he rocked back as if he’d been physically struck. He stared at Kendrick in horror. “Oh, God…,” he gasped. “They killed Georgie.”
“Aye, they killed him,” Kendrick said. “Yer da told us that ye killed Connell whilst defending Robbie. Ye know the MacKenzies killed Georgie tae send a message tae ye, Jamie – this is tae lure ye home. Ye fled and they want ye tae come home tae face them.”
Jamison felt as if he’d been hit in the chest. He was having a difficult time breathing. All he could think of was his pious older brother, a tall and rather meek character whose only goal in life was to become a priest. He hated fighting and politics. He wanted to live in peace. To have met such a violent end sickened Jamison so badly that the more he thought of it, the more nauseous he became. It was little time before he became violently ill and ended up vomited the contents of his stomach into the grass at the side of the road. He could feel a hand on his back, meant to give him comfort and support, but there was no comfort to be had. He knew the truth.
He had killed his brother.
“Sweet Jesú,” he breathed, still bent over. “I killed him. As I live and breathe, I killed Georgie. Tae get tae me, they killed him.”
Beaux was standing next to him, his big hand on Jamison’s back. “Ye know that’s not true,” he said quietly. “Yer da said that Georgie wouldna listen tae him. Yer da tried tae tell him not tae leave the safety of home, but Georgie left and the MacKenzies found him. Had Georgie listened, he would be alive”
“Had Robbie not lusted after Eva MacKenzie, none of this would have happened!” Jamison suddenly roared as he stood up, wiping his mouth. He was pasty-white as he faced off against his friends, his closest brothers. “I leave for home today. If the MacKenzies want me, then I willna disappoint them.”
Beaux and
Kendrick were shaking their head at him. “Jamie….” Kendrick said dubiously. “Ye canna….”
“If they want me, I am coming!”
He was already moving, staggering back to the gatehouse, but Beaux and Kendrick put their hands on him, preventing him from continuing. He was half-mad with grief and anger, speaking before thinking, which was exactly as his father had feared. It was Caspian who pushed between Beaux and Kendrick, his intense gaze on Jamison. He was the most serious of the three, a deadly man with a deadly manner.
“Listen tae me,” he said, his hand on Jamison’s face. “Yer dad sent us tae prevent ye from doing this. Ye’ll return, but it will be well-planned. Ye’re not going tae walk into their open arms, Jamie. Yer father canna bury another son, and especially not ye. Are ye listenin’? Now, take us inside and feed us, for the love of God, before we collapse. Let us calmly speak of this. If ye’re going tae face the MacKenzie, then ye need tae think it through and we will help ye. Whatever ye decide, we’ll be there. Agreed?”
Jamison gazed into the face of his friend, one of the wisest men he knew, and he struggled to control his rage. After a moment, he nodded his head, unsteadily, taking big, deep breaths in an effort to calm himself.
“Aye,” he finally muttered. “Agreed. But poor Georgie….”
Caspian slapped him lightly on the cheek. “Not a-now,” he said. “Let us go inside first. Just breathe, Jamie. We’ll help ye think this through.”
They forced him to walk, all three of them, forcibly escorting him through the gatehouse where a host of de Lohr and Four Crosses soldiers were watching the four men with a great deal of curiosity and concern. It was clear that these men had told Jamison something quite devastating because he had vomited and raged all in a short span of time, so clearly, something was greatly amiss.
Once inside the bailey, however, it came apparent to Beaux and Kendrick and Caspian that things were not normal. From what they heard from de Lohr, Four Crosses had been under siege and suffering a great deal of trouble, but the bailey didn’t look that way at all. It looked as if some kind of events were happening because there looked to be an arena near the troop house with archery targets and other things going on. It was, truthfully, difficult to tell but it looked to them like something of a party. This didn’t look like a beaten castle. Curious, Beaux pointed to the arena.