Celia turned and motioned to Ellen and Father William. Together, they all ran toward the stables. Edmund stopped at the gate, and as Celia and the others entered the walled enclosure, two soldiers leapt in front of the group. The two grinned like idiots.
“Look!” said one. “Women and a priest!”
“And if I'm not mistaken,” responded the other, “there's a baby in that one's arms.”
“If it's a boy,” said the first, “that'll mean extra reward for the little tike's carcass! Lord Danvers is promising extra for the boys, you know.“
The second held out a hand to Ellen. “Give him up to me, you filthy Scot whore. He's bound to meet his Maker.”
The soldier's hand dropped useless in the dirt, but he wouldn't have much time to miss it in this life.
Father William followed his short sword stroke with a thrust under the chin, lifting the soldier onto his toes before letting him sink lifeless to the ground.
“Don't be referring to the Maker in such casual terms, you mangy cur,” he snapped at the slumping figure. He turned to see Celia pulling her blade from the dying body of the other soldier.
In a matter of minutes four horses galloped from the enclosure. Celia paused only for a moment at the gate while Edmund swung easily into his saddle. The sound of screams could be heard coming from the manor house. Celia looked back only once at the flames rising high above Caithness Hall.
As she rode into the darkness, Celia wondered where they would find safety. Where in Scotland could a baby boy be safe?
Chapter 2
The king has commanded this action, so it is my duty to obey. But I watch Lord Danvers, and I think he is mad. He sits on his black charger, watching the men set fire to the manor house. It is as he directed, and he watches with pleasure. But as the folk pour from the front of this place, this Caithness Hall, he is clearly looking for someone. We all know that he will pay bounties for any babies, alive or dead, that we bring to him, and some of the others are butchering innocent Scottish children now whenever they find them. Calmly, he smiles while the officers pay. But here, it is no baby he is looking for, and the screams of those he...questions...
No thoughts of this. I must obey...I must obey...the king's command.
Scotland's Western Isles; March, 1514
In the light of the full moon Kildalton Castle gleamed like a diamond over the Firth of Lorn. The wind was now whipping the western sea into a surging demon, and the waves crashed with a devil's rage against the rugged cliffs upon which the Campbell fortress perched.
No one could have expected the small sailing vessel that was scudding across the firth's surface. But it was, without question, being handled by a master.
At the small boat's helm a huge man wearing light armor and a cloak shouted orders to the sailor who, crouched by the single mast, was busy shortening the sail. The third voyager, a warrior nearly the size of the helmsman, sat in the bow of the boat, holding his head in his hands. The sea spray on his armor glistened in the moonlight, but he was not a sailor; that was apparent. Low groans escaped from his handsome, full lips, and he kept running his long fingers through his golden red hair.
The giant's gaze swept from his seasick friend to the shining castle that was directly above them, and he pushed the tiller over with an ease that three men could not have accomplished. The seagoing warrior's long black hair streamed in the wind behind his massive shoulders, and the weathered look of his face could not belie the strength and agility of his muscular body.
For more than a month Colin Campbell had looked forward to this moment. For the first time in weeks his fierce scowl relaxed, and his gray eyes shone with a radiance that reflected the castle's moonlit gleam.
“Alec,” Colin shouted to his golden-haired friend. “If you can muster the strength to turn your dainty head, you'll find a welcome sight.”
Alec turned and looked in the direction that the boat was now traveling.
“Finally. Kildalton.”
“That it is, Alec. Home to the Campbells.”
Alec carefully worked his way past the sailor to his friend in the stern. It occurred to him that he was seeing a rare look on Colin's face. Why, Colin was nearly smiling.
Colin Campbell had certainly not been smiling at Torquil Macleod's gathering of the Highland chiefs at Dunvegan Castle. Colin had gone for his father, for he would soon follow the old man in his role as Campbell chieftain. And Colin had not been happy at what he'd heard.
None of the chiefs of the Highlands or the Western Isles had been happy with the heavy hand of the Stewart king, James IV. But the squabbling and murderous feuding that Colin had seen start up immediately between the clans convinced him beyond doubt that the Scots would be ruled again by the English. Without a strong Stewart king to unite them against the English, they would continue to fight among themselves until they all fell to the tyranny of the butchers to the south.
Alec looked hard at that face. Colin's was a face of war, tan and scarred with steely gray eyes that froze men's blood in their veins. Colin's was a face that was fierce on a normal day, but when the great fighter was angry, it was a face to strike terror in the heart of an enemy. And when he had spoken for the Campbells in support of the Stewart successor as a lesser of two evils, the other chieftains' responses had brought a fierceness to that face that was truly chilling.
For only a few had understood his reasoning. Alec's clan, the Macphersons, had agreed with Colin. But they were not enough to outweigh the bluster and arrogance of the others who had combined for the moment to drown out the Campbell leader's voice. None of them would have faced this warrior alone in a confrontation—Colin's quickness to anger and the finality of his warlike temper were legendary—but together they could take the risk of opposing him.
Together and with a great deal of show, Colin and Alec had left the gathering with the plan of forging an alliance attractive to some of the fence-straddling chiefs, and to Lowland lairds as well. Colin just hoped the Stewarts would do something soon to help themselves. The rumors from court of power struggles were certainly unsettling.
But those thoughts could be put aside for a while. Colin was nearly home, and that made the warrior smile.
Suddenly Alec was aware that Colin was not steering toward the small harbor village that lay dark and sleeping beside the fortress. Colin was heading directly toward the surf- beaten cliffs beneath the castle walls. But there was no pier, no beach. The cliffs were jagged outcroppings of stone. Alec could see the waves breaking over reefs that pushed up through the raging surf like the heads and backs of so many sea serpents. Colin had gone berserk, Alec decided. That's why he was smiling so strangely.
The boat was fairly flying across the water. They were now surrounded by crashing rollers and reefs that threatened to demolish the small boat before they even hit the wall of rock. The distance between the boat and the cliffs was closing at a truly breakneck pace. Alec clung to the thick wooden side and murmured a prayer. Colin had gone daft. Too many hits to the head.
Suddenly the boat dropped into the trough of a wave and seemed to almost slide to the right. As it did, the sailor pulled down the sail and heaved the short mast out of its place, easing it quickly into the belly of the boat.
Alec watched the activity openmouthed, glancing back at the smiling Colin still standing at the tiller, and then shot a glance back at the cliff wall that was about to crush them.
But the wall would not crush them—there was a low and narrow break in that murderous cliff. He no sooner saw the small cave opening than they were through it, careening in the blackness through flat water and then bumping up a gently sloping incline that slowed and eventually brought the boat to rest.
Colin and Alec waited while the sailor struck a flint to the torch that Colin held. The light flared, illuminating the low-ceilinged cavern that stretched beneath the cliff and castle.
Alec glared at his black-haired host. “You might have told me we were going to try killing ourselves. I would have prepared myself.”
Colin laughed. “Oh, you mean you didn't know about the cave?” he said, knowing full well that the Macpherson heir hadn't any knowledge of it, in spite of his many visits.
Alec smiled in spite of himself. “That is quite an entry!”
Colin handed the torch to Alec and took some of the gear the sailor was unloading from the boat.
“Aye, I believe I've only wrecked one or two boats coming in at that speed.”
“Three, m'lord,” the sailor jokingly murmured under his breath to Alec. “I've still splinters in my buttocks from the last one that broke up.”
“Those splinters are from you lounging too long on the kitchen bench, you lazy water rat,” Colin laughed good-naturedly. “You go on up through the kitchen, now. In the morning get one of your boys to help you with the rest of the gear.” It was good to be home.
Alec's handsome face looked thoughtful. “Now that I know about this entryway, it shouldn't be any trouble for me to come in here one night with fifty or sixty of my best men, and...”
“Sure, Alec. And be sure to come in at high tide.”
“High tide? Why?” Alec asked.
“Because then we'll fish your bones...or better yet, your war gear out of the water,” Colin said wryly. “There's no trace of this cave at high tide.”
“Then the fifty of us will sneak in at low tide, with these nice sharp Highland dirks,” Alec continued, indicating the dagger at his belt, “and cut all your thr—”