Читать книгу Highlanders: The Warrior and the Rose / The Forbidden Highlander / Rescued by the Highland Warrior - Бренда Джойс, Michelle Willingham - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

JULIANA STRODE BACK and forth across her great hall. Her mind would not stop racing. She kept seeing Bishop Alan swinging from that noose, just as she could not shake off the memory of her dead men as they lay scattered about the cathedral’s nave, the vestibule and the courtyard outside. Finally, she could not get Alasdair Og’s dark, frightening image out of her mind.

Her desperate pleas had fallen upon deaf ears, she thought grimly.

But had they saved the cathedral? She, the monks and the villagers had been frantically fighting the fire when her brother and his men had arrived. Alexander MacDougall had immediately ordered both of his sisters back to Coeffin Castle, taking over the effort to save the cathedral. Juliana had not wanted to go, but Mary had been feeling faint and she had accompanied her sister back to the castle.

Mary was resting now, and comfortably. Juliana thanked God for that.

Juliana heard Alexander and William’s voices and she whirled as they came marching through the door, shaking snow from their mantels, followed by two dozen of their best soldiers. As they came into the hall, Alexander smiled at her.

He was a tall man in his late thirties, with strong features and brown hair. Like most Highlanders, he wore a simple short-sleeved linen leine, belted, his legs bare except for knee-high boots. Today he wore a shirt of mail over his leine. His wool brat was red striped with white—the MacDougall colors. “It is done. Yer cathedral is but a wee worse for wear. She stands.”

Juliana was flooded with relief.

“Mary?” William rushed forward. Three years younger than his wife, he was a tall, blond man with attractive features, clad in a long-sleeved red tunic, a brown surcote, hose and boots.

“She is resting upstairs,” Juliana told him and William rushed from the hall.

Juliana began to shake, thinking once again of Bishop Alan—thinking of Alasdair Og.

Her brother no longer smiled. “Tell me everything, Juliana.”

She inhaled. “No—you tell me!”

He was taken aback. “I beg yer pardon?”

“Did you urge Bishop Alan to spy? Did you send the poor bishop into that den of wolves?”

“I dinna ken what ye speak of!” he snapped angrily.

She felt like striking him, but he was chief of their clan, and she knew better. “You sent him to spy upon the MacDonalds—knowing how dangerous they are—knowing poor Alan is a man of peace, not war!”

“Ye blame me?” he cried.

She bit her lip, hard. Her brother was a ruthless man. She cared for and respected him, of course she did—but she also feared him. “He is dead because of it.”

“Ye go too far, Juliana,” Alexander said, his blue eyes dark. He now strode past her and threw his gloves down on the table.

He was right, she thought with trepidation. She would gain nothing now by accusing her brother of sending Alan to his death. “I need an army,” she said.

He whirled. “Ye what?”

“I want revenge.”

Alexander finally smiled—and then he laughed. “Yer mad!”

She had been thinking of revenge ever since leaving the burning cathedral. She did not think she had ever been so angry. “Vengeance is mine, said the Lord.”

“Yer a woman.”

“I’m your sister.”

He eyed her. A long moment passed. He finally said, “Do ye really think I’d let ye take an army and attack him? Ye ken nothing of war!”

Alasdair Og’s image flashed in her mind, hard, cold, proud—frightening. Her brother was right. She knew nothing of war, except that it so often took the lives of the innocent and the young. “He attacked Lismore,” she said, sinking to sit down on the bench. “He killed my knights, our bishop. He tried to burn down the cathedral.” She felt ill—as if violated. “Mary could have lost her child.”

“But I did not,” Mary said softly, from the threshold of the room.

Juliana turned to see her and William, arm in arm. Her sister’s color had returned, and she was smiling, her blue eyes alight. She looked very much like a woman in love.

“Ye dinna need an army,” Alexander said to her, and he was final. “I’ll make him pay for the bishop’s murder, Juliana. I’ll attack Ardtornish castle.” He suddenly paced, thoughtfully. “It’s a new stronghold. Strong, well built, with thick walls. ’tis said they’re proud of it. He’ll be furious to lose it.”

“Will you burn it?” she asked.

“Aye.”

As Mary and Will came to sit down beside her, Juliana stared at her brother. The one thing she knew was that Alexander usually attained his ambition. He had taken over leadership of the clan and its extensive lands at the age of seventeen—twenty-one years ago, before Juliana was even born. In the past two decades he had fought off every major threat to his power, from rival clans, from Clan Donald, and even from the kings of Scotland and England. Alexander MacDougall was a ruthless but excellent warrior—and he had proven it. His control of Argyll and Lorn had never been greater.

“When will you attack?” Juliana whispered.

“Soon—as soon as I can.” His smile was savage. “The bastard will pay, Juliana—ye’ll have yer revenge.”

Mary took her hand. Juliana did not look at her. For suddenly there was dread—and she wondered if she had just set a new and terrible feud in motion.

* * *

“YOU HAVE BEEN behaving oddly—ever since the attack on the cathedral.”

Juliana was helping Mary to dress. It was early morning, and a fire roared in the hearth of her sister’s chamber, but it did not chase the winter chill away. Nor could it calm her ever-racing thoughts. Almost a week had passed since Alasdair Macdonald had attacked the cathedral and murdered Bishop Alan.

Almost a week had passed since her brother had sailed away toward Ardtornish Castle. And he had attacked two days ago—a messenger had been sent to tell them.

Juliana finished braiding her sister’s long, thick hair. Her stomach churned. “I am wondering what has happened.”

Mary turned, understanding her. “No news can be good news. And an attack on a castle like Ardtornish could take days or even weeks.”

Juliana did not point out that her brother had said he would destroy the castle, not besiege it. And because Mary was staring far too curiously at her, Juliana walked away.

“What is wrong with you?” Mary asked quietly. “You are so anxious. Are you worried about Alexander?”

Juliana hesitated. Every time she considered a confrontation between her powerful brother and Alasdair Og, she was filled with an odd dread. Too late, she did not think any good could come of pitting two such men against one another. “I am worried,” she finally said. “But not about our brother—he is invincible.” She smiled, then hoped she had not misspoken. “I don’t know what is bothering me so much...I cannot get over Bishop Alan’s murder.” That much was true, for she felt guilt every time she thought of him. At night, she dreamed of the damned attack. She saw her dead soldiers. She saw Alan, begging for his life. And she saw Alasdair Og, his blue eyes as cold as ice.

He had been impossible to forget.

“I know we are already at war with the MacDonalds,” she finally said, “but I feel as if I have just started another war.”

“You did not start anything,” Mary flashed. “He attacked us.”

Juliana decided not to point out that their brother had sent the bishop to spy upon them, and in a way, he had triggered the attack. She still did not know which man she should be angrier with—her brother or MacDonald.

“I am glad you are still here,” she said impulsively. Because William remained loyally at their brother’s side, Mary had decided to stay at Coeffin Castle with her. Once the battle was finished, she and her husband would adjourn to her lands at Loch Fyne, and then travel on to Castle Bain, William’s stronghold that he inherited from his father. Mary intended to give birth there.

“We will have news soon,” Mary assured her. “Ardtornish is but hours away.”

That evening a second messenger came. Juliana and Mary were having dinner when he arrived. Both women leapt up as the young, freckled Highland lad hurried breathlessly into the room. It was snowing outside, and he left clumps of melting snow on the floor as he stomped it off his boots and shook out his plaid.

Juliana handed him a mug of wine. “What word?”

He took a gulp. “Alasdair Og was at Ardtornish when we attacked. He held us off, lady, for two entire days.”

The boy was shivering, and Mary took his cloak from him, handing it to a maid to lay it before the fire.

Juliana was in disbelief. “But surely, my brother will prevail?”

The boy grimaced. “My lady, Alexander has taken his men and is returning to Dunstaffnage as ye speak. And he has ordered ye to join him there, as soon as ye can go.”

Her astonishment increased. Alexander’s attack had failed—Alasdair Og had triumphed again! Was there no justice to be had?

And why was her brother ordering her to his seat? Did he fear for her safety at Lismore?

The young Highlander now turned to Mary, handing her a rolled-up parchment. “From yer husband, my lady,” he said.

Juliana walked over to Mary. “What does William say?”

Mary looked up, unsmiling. “The Earl of Buchan has summoned him directly to a war council in Lochaber. Alexander is going, as well. William wants me to go immediately to Dunstaffnage—there will be more fighting soon, to stop Bruce’s rebellion.”

Juliana rubbed her forehead, which suddenly ached. “More fighting, where? Is Lismore in danger?”

“William did not say.” She stared at Juliana with trepidation. Then she clasped her small belly.

Juliana knew she dreaded the outcome of this war—that she still feared for her husband’s life. “William is a warrior, Mary. He cannot sit out this fight.”

“I know that.” Mary glanced at the messenger, who was no more than fifteen or sixteen. “Come sit down and sup,” she said.

When the boy was seated and feasting on venison, Juliana and Mary walked over to the hearth and stared at it. Mary spoke first. “We should prepare to leave.”

“Yes, we should.” Juliana sighed. She did not want to leave Lismore, but she could not disobey her brother. And there was no hardship, truly, in residing at Dunstaffnage. It was a strong fortress and a magnificent estate. “Alexander must be worried, to order me from my home.”

Mary gazed back at her. “Yes, he must be worried, but is he concerned about the war with Bruce, or about reprisals from Alasdair Og?”

Both women fell silent then, lost in their own thoughts.

Mary finally said, “I will need a day to ready all of our belongings.” Because of her three children, she traveled with a large entourage.

“We can have our trunks sent to us and leave at first light,” Juliana said. She was beginning to feel some anxiety that their brother indeed feared reprisals from Alasdair Og. She had only met him once, but she felt certain he would be thirsting for revenge, after the attack on his new stronghold.

Mary shook her head. “I don’t think lingering a single day will matter; neither Alexander nor William said we must rush. And you do not know when you will return. You must prepare the keep for your absence.”

“You’re right,” Juliana said, deciding she was foolish to suddenly become nervous. “I am going to find a pallet for the boy, and retire early. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

* * *

THE FOLLOWING DAWN both women were up, each involved in the vast preparations necessary for their departure. Juliana took her steward, Walter, aside to go over her many lists. Winter was a quiet time, and she hoped to be back in the spring, when the usual repairs would have to be made to her castle and her galleys, when the cellars, depleted during the winter, would have to be filled, and when cattle and sheep began birthing, and when she would be needed for dozens of baptisms—there were so many children born in the spring.

“Lady!” One of her Highland soldiers rushed into the great room. “Two dozen ships are approaching.”

Juliana leapt to her feet with her steward. “Fergus—is it my brother?”

“They are too far to remark, but they come from the west.”

Juliana froze. Ardtornish Castle was to the west.

As she stood there, her heart racing, Mary hurried into the hall. “What is it?” she cried. “I heard that a fleet approaches us!”

Juliana did not answer. She rushed past Mary, going up to the tower, Fergus, the steward, and Mary behind her.

The watch was outside the tower, on the ramparts, both men peering out to sea. A number of her archers had gathered, as had women and children. Juliana rushed through the tower and outside.

It was a gray wintry day, with poor visibility, the sky and the sound very much the same dreary color. Shadows were slowly, inexorably approaching, their shapes distinct enough to know she was watching a fleet of galleys.

And then the fog suddenly shifted, a part of it lifting, a ray of sun pouring through the clouds. The fleet was suddenly illuminated.

More than two dozen ships approached. And then she saw the huge blue-and-red flags of Clan Donald blazing like fire into the gray skies.

Alasdair Og was bent on reprisal—and he meant to attack her.

“Ring the bells,” Mary ordered. One of the men rushed inside to obey, and instantly, the bells began to toll.

“Can we defend ourselves?” Juliana heard herself ask. Her heart slammed as she watched the fleet, sailing ever closer.

“We will defend ye, Lady Juliana, I vow it,” Fergus cried.

Mary confronted the soldier. “That is not what she has asked. Can we thwart Alasdair Og and his army? Do we have enough men, enough arms, enough munitions?”

Fergus flushed. “The truth, lady?”

“Yes, of course we want the truth!” Mary cried.

“We can defend Coeffin Castle, I think, but not Coeffin Castle and Achanduin at once!”

Achanduin Castle had been the seat of Bishop Alan. Juliana must decide between defending her home, or that of the now deceased bishop. But if that were the case, there was no choice to make. She looked at her pale sister. “Maybe he does not want Achanduin Castle.”

“If he is here to strike at us, we will soon know it, and we must prepare.”

Juliana nodded. “Fergus, if he attacks Achanduin Castle, we will let it fall. But we cannot allow Coeffin Castle to fall.” She could barely breathe.

“Summon every archer to the ramparts,” Mary said. “Make sure our catapults are ready, and we must start fires. We must also send word to Alexander.”

“I am prepared to defend the castle, Lady Mary,” Fergus said. He signaled to several men and hurried away.

Juliana inhaled. Her sister had endured several sieges in her life. Fergus was an experienced soldier—one of her best men. But, dear God, she had lost her five best soldiers already. What if they could not defend themselves?

Alexander would come, even if he had already left for Lochaber, but what if he was too late?

What did Alasdair Og intend? To seize her home—or to destroy it?

Juliana was frightened. He had murdered Bishop Alan without remorse, as if he did not have a conscience. But surely, she and her sister were not in danger—they were noblewomen.

“There is no point in standing here, freezing,” Mary said. She took Juliana’s arm and they hurried back inside.

In the hall, Juliana grabbed her hand. “You should disguise the boys—dress them as village children—and warn them not to tell anyone who they are.”

Mary turned white. “You think he will take my sons hostage?”

“I don’t know what to think!” Juliana cried. “But we should prepare for even the worst possibility.”

Mary nodded and ran off. Juliana blinked back tears. If there was one thing she must do, she thought, it was protect her sister and her children.