The Thistle and the Rose(37)

But she couldn't let it happen. No, not now. Not without a fight. Not now that she had come so close to the possibility of freedom from Danvers's malicious plans. She had to fight back. A surge of adrenaline pumped through her, and Celia slammed her head backward into the face of her captor. His hand released her neck involuntarily, and Celia dropped to the floor and rolled away, feeling desperately for her sword. Her head was pounding with the reverberation of the head butt she had delivered, and she felt as though she were watching herself from somewhere far away. As if in a bad dream, she saw herself trying to control the arms and hands that seemed to lack all coordination, that resisted her will to draw her weapon against the attacker.

Through the haze before her, Celia saw Ferret Face lunge toward her, his sword raised, and his mouth and nose gushing blood. She felt herself pushing backward away from the oncoming assailant when the dark room burst open at the seams.

Colin's sword tore through Ferret Face's neck and collarbone before he could even react to the sight of the onrushing warrior. The force of the blow drove the Englishman back to the far wall where he sat heavily against the panel, convulsing in his final moments of life.

The room was suddenly crowded with men, but Celia saw only Colin beside her as she lay back on the floor.

“Celia! Thank God,” Colin said soothingly, reaching and caressing her face. In the darkness of the room, he couldn't make out the extent of her injuries. But he could see the small pool of blood beginning beneath her head.

Celia's hand reached up and gripped his as it cradled her face. The strength of her fingers entwining his own gave him the hope, the sign that he was looking for.

“When they told me you were missing, I—”

“Argyll...traitor...Danvers,” Celia murmured, interrupting him, feeling herself beginning to drift. She had to warn him.

“Emmet,” Colin shouted over his shoulder. “Get Argyll.”

Colin looked down again at Celia. Now, from the light of the torch just brought in, he could see the lump developing on the right side of her head, behind the ear. Her eyes were trying to focus, but the eyelids continued to flutter over the black orbs. Colin rolled her head slightly, looking for the source of the oozing blood, and found the wound at the back of her head.

Argyll is going to pay for this, he thought, his rage building within him.

Dunbar crouched beside him, looking at her injuries, and Colin leapt to his feet.

“She should survive,” said the priest, looking up at Colin. “She's had worse than this.”

Colin turned to the door as Emmet rushed in, the young fighter behind him.

“He's gone,” Emmet exclaimed.

“What about the Abbot?” Colin demanded.

“Dead. And the clerk, too,” Emmet replied. “He murdered them on his way out.”

“How could he get out?” Colin spat at the young fighter. “You were on the landing.”

“He didn't come out to the landing, m'lord,” the fighter answered.

Colin heard Celia murmur again and crouched beside her.

“She said `Passage' and tried to point over there,” Dunbar told him, gesturing toward the panel that the dead attacker lay against.

Colin strode to the panel and shoved the body aside. Stepping back, he kicked the panel forcefully, splintering the wood and revealing the dark opening beyond. Putting his head through, he could see a ladder leading down into the black hole of a tunnel. Argyll's chamber is on the other side of this wall, he thought. He must have gone out this way.

“Alec,” he said, turning to his friend. “I need you to stay with Celia.”

Alec nodded, and Colin faced his fighters. “Emmet, secure the hall and send out for the rest of the men,” he commanded. “I'm going after Argyll.”

Taking the torch, Colin plunged through the opening and scrambled down the ladder. At the bottom, his torch light showed a long, wet, low-arched tunnel. Sword in hand, he splashed through the tunnel to a narrow wooden panel that swung outward at his push. Colin found himself crouching in a plain, stone-sided box of a room. Pushing the stone walls proved fruitless, but the stone slab that served as a ceiling slid easily to one side. Hopping up and out, Colin found himself standing in a crypt, beside a plain stone tomb. He slid the top of the tomb closed again.

“Rest in peace,” he muttered to himself.

As Colin started for the short flight of steps, something glinted in the corner of the crypt behind the largest of the stone tombs, something metal reflecting the light of his torch. The warrior moved quickly to the corner and stopped in amazement. The steel that had caught his eye was a weapon that was protruding from beneath a number of woolen tarps. Colin whipped off one of the tarps. Hundreds of new English halberds lay in piles behind the tomb. Their evil-looking heads of ax, spear, and pike gleamed menacingly in the torch light.

English halberds in Argyll's castle.

The abrupt thundering of horses’ hooves outside shook the subterranean vault. Colin turned and ran for the steps that led up into an empty chapel. The warrior yanked open the oak door that led outside, sprinting into the courtyard and the clouds of dust that hid the quick exit of Argyll and a large group of his men.

Shouting to his own fighters who were now pouring out of the main building, Colin dashed toward the stables, only to find them empty. His face a portrait of fury, the Campbell leader walked back outside, frustrated for the moment but undaunted.

“We'll get that bastard yet,” he muttered to himself, walking through the group of fighters who had followed him to the stable.

“The main building's secure, m'lord,” Emmet said, trotting up to Colin. “We have a couple dozen of Argyll's men. Those left behind have no desire to fight.”

“What about the gate and towers?”

“We took those just as Argyll and the rest rode through,” the fighter said. “We couldn't get the gate closed in time.”

“I want the village and the abbey secured as well,” Colin told him. “We're taking everything the traitor has here. What about the other fighters that followed us up the coast last night.”

“I sent out word,” Emmet said. “They should be here within the hour.”

Colin had indeed taken precautions on Lord Hugh's advice. A force of his troops had been ordered to follow the coast road from Oban the night before, and to wait within striking range of the village.

“Too late to catch Argyll,” Colin muttered bitterly. “He'll go straight inland to avoid our men at Oban, but he'll be heading south toward the Lowlands... and that English dog, Danvers.”

“We have the fourth attacker in the tower room above Argyll's chamber,” Emmet said, with a grim smile. “He became very willing to talk to you, after just a glimpse of the torture room the good earl has set up there.”

Colin headed for the building with Emmet at his heels.

“Emmet, I want you to treat the villagers humanely. If possible, we want them on our side when Argyll comes back to reclaim all he's left here. And he will come back.”

“M'lord,” Emmet said. “When you talk to the folk inside, you'll see they're already on our side.”



Celia was sitting sideways in a chair in Argyll's chamber when Colin came through the door on his way to the tower room above. After the abbot and the clerk had been removed, Dunbar had wrapped her head in bandages, and she rested her head against the back of the chair. When she heard Colin enter, she opened her eyes and smiled weakly.

“Did you get him?” she asked.

“Nay. He got away.” Colin didn't want to burden her with the details of Argyll's escape or of the treason she was already aware of.

“Why aren't you lying down?” he scolded gently, crouching in front of her.

“We tried everything,” Alec responded from a bench at the table beside her. “But she'd have nothing to do with lying on Argyll's bed.”

“I see we'll have to get you back to Kildalton.” Colin smiled, taking hold of her hand.

“Nothing would suit me better,” Celia replied gratefully, wincing at the pain in her head. “I'm a bit tired of the earl of Argyll's hospitality.”

“We'll be going as soon as my men arrive to help Emmet hold this castle.”

“Colin,” she asked. “Have you sent the bodies of the Abbot and his clerk back to the abbey yet?”

“Not yet,” he answered with a quizzical look. “But they'll be going over shortly. Why?”

“I want a few leaves of common nightshade from their apothecary, and a bowl of warm water,” she said. “For Alec.”

“For Alec?” Colin smiled. “Are you sick, Macpherson?”

“Nay, I'm not sick,” Alec replied in a huff, flushing red.

“Leave him be, Colin,” she put in tiredly. “It's for his seasickness.”

“After what you've been through, you're worrying about...”

Celia silenced him with a gentle look.

“All right, Celia. If they have any, we'll get some,” Colin said with a laugh. “But I'm not sure I want Alec free of his...character flaws.”

“And, Colin,” Celia said, glancing at the priest standing beside her. “This is my friend, the king’s court poet, William Dunbar. He warned me that it might not be healthy for me here.”

“A warning”—Colin smiled, patting her hand—“that you took seriously, of course.”