Highland Vow (18 page)

Cormac grinned. “Aye. Wouldnae ye be if someone told ye to come heed their words or ye would regret it for all of your days?”

As Cormac followed the young page into the bowels of the gaol he began to feel uneasy. It struck him as odd that, after ten years of approaching Isabel with only eager anticipation and lust, he should now see any summons from her as a threat. The fact that the Douglases had locked her away in such a deep, dark place only enhanced that feeling.

The same two men who had guarded her chamber door as he, Ranald, and James had listened to her confession now guarded her cell. Sir Ranald clearly trusted only his own men near Isabel. Cormac stood in front of Isabel’s cell and studied her new quarters as she rose from her bed to approach him with measured wariness. Although it was chilly, damp, and lit only by torchlight, her cell was the most comfortable he had ever seen. The narrow bed was covered with soft furs and pillows. Tapestries hung on the walls—one was even draped to hide the necessary bucket. And there were rugs on the floor. It was very clean, as was Isabel. She had obviously been allowed both bathwater for washing and new clothes. Cormac suspected she was allowed regular visits from her maids. Such courtesy and gentle treatment must surely give her the confidence to believe that she would be able to escape justice if she could just find the right ploy to use. Isabel, Cormac decided, was not going to accept her fate until the bitter end. She simply could not conceive that, this time, she was not going to be able to lie or seduce her way out of trouble.

“Cormac, my love, I was afraid ye wouldnae come,” she said as she reached through the bars, frowning when he clasped his hands behind his back so that she could
not hold them.

“If naught else, Isabel, ye have stirred my curiousity,” he said, deciding that he did not have the stamina to even pretend that he still cared. “What do ye think I must hear?”

“Ye are so cold to me,” she whispered in an unsteady voice. “How can ye so quickly forget all we have meant to each other?”

“’Tis hard to recall much more than ye trying to decide how ye could make me hang for yet another murder ye committed. That sort of thing tends to cool a mon’s ardor.” Cormac smiled faintly when the guards snickered.

“Sir Kenneth forced me to do those things.” She faltered into silence beneath the look of utter contempt Cormac gave her. Then she started to get angry. “So ye side with Sir Ranald. I ne’er thought ye would fail me, Cormac. Ye have let them turn ye against me with their lies.”

“Ye did it all by yourself. I but listened to your own words and watched how deftly ye used your whore’s skills.” If she could get free, he thought as he watched her grip tighten on the bars, she would rip my eyes out.

“It matters not what ye think. Ye will still help me.”

“Nay, I think not.”

“Aye, I think so—that is, if ye e’er wish to see your son alive.”

Cormac was faintly aware of the gasped curses of the guards as he stared at Isabel. A slow, smug grin started to curve her full mouth and he ached to slap it away. It took several moments to rein in the confusing array of emotions that had assaulted him when he had heard and understood her words. A son? With Isabel? It was something he was finding impossible to grasp. And why, if she had borne him a son, had he never seen or been told of the boy? He realized he had asked that question aloud when Isabel chuckled.

“Did ye think I would take the little bastard with me when I got married or when I traveled? Jesu, I tried to rid myself of him the moment I realized your seed had taken root in my womb, but unlike the others, I couldnae shake free of him. So I have had the burden of the brat for nearly seven years.”

Her words chilled him to the bone. “So ye should have told me. I believe ye were widowed then. We could have been wed. Or I could have taken the bairn and raised him myself.”

“I ken it, but I decided he might prove useful at some time. A time such as now,” she said brightly. “So ye help me and I shall give ye the boy. He isnae far away.”

“Nay, he certainly isnae,” drawled Sir Ranald as he stepped up to the bars. “Ah, my sweet betrothed, it truly astounds me that no one has yet wrung your bonny neck. Howbeit, we will soon rectify that problem.”

“Go away, Ranald,” Isabel snapped. “I am trying to talk to Cormac.”

“Ye are trying to bribe the poor mon with something ye ken every mon wants. I suspected ye would.”

“How verra clever of you.”

“I am a verra clever mon. Did ye nay ken that I have suspected ye of murdering my kinsmen for years? I began to watch you closely, verra closely, several years ago.” He smiled slowly as he tugged a slender boy out from behind his back and watched Isabel pale, her expression a mixture of fury and fear. “Christopher, meet your father.” Never taking his gaze from Isabel, Ranald nudged the boy closer to Cormac. “Armstrong, your son, Christopher.”

“Ye cannae just grab the boy and drag him here,” shrieked Isabel.

“I believe I did just that.”

“And how do ye ken that the lad is mine? Mayhap I was just lying to Cormac.”

“’Tis certain that ye have done that a lot, but this lad is your son. Did ye think ye could hide him away for his whole life? Aye, ye dinnae have much to do with the lad, but ye do struggle to visit him now and again to see if he still lives. The old nursemaid was ready to talk to me. Ye dinnae inspire much loyalty in your servants, ye ken. And, m’lady, one needs to see the lad but the once to ken whose fruit ye bore.”

Cormac paid little heed to the argument between Ranald and Isabel. His full attention was on the boy, who stared at him as intensely as he suspected he was staring back. Eyes very like his own and hair much like his brother Alaister’s proclaimed the child his. There seemed to be little of Isabel in the child. A hint around the mouth and, Cormac suspected, a stronger influence in the delicate perfection of the child’s features.

“Hello, Christopher,” he said quietly, the wealth of emotion he fought to control making his voice hoarse.

“Hello, sir,” the boy replied. “Are ye truly my father?”

“Aye, I am. Ye have come as a wee bit of a surprise to me.”

“I ken it, sir. Lady Isabel didnae tell ye about me, so how could ye have kenned I was born? Nurse Agnes says Lady Isabel was keeping me tucked away until she thought ye might need your chain yanked taut again. Nurse Agnes says I should wait until ye ken that I am alive and see what ye do then ere I decide if ye are a good mon or nay.”

“’Tis my hope that ye will decide in my favor. How old are ye, laddie?”

“I will be seven in a month.”

Cormac took a deep breath to try to push aside the fury welling up inside of him. All those years, and Isabel had not once mentioned a child. He had missed years of the boy’s growth, from his first smile to his first full sentence. Yet another thing Isabel had stolen from him. Cormac knew that, if he did not leave, he would soon thrust his hands through those bars, wrap them around Isabel’s slender throat, and end all need of a hangman.

“Would ye like to come with me, laddie? To stay with me?”

“Can I bring Nurse Agnes?”

“If she wishes to come along, aye, although I think ye may be getting a wee bit old for a nurse. But she is welcome.”

Christopher glanced nervously at his mother. “Does Lady Isabel come, too?”

“Nay.” Cormac realized that it was going to be difficult to explain matters to the child. “I dinnae think ye will see your mother again, so ye had best say your fareweels now.” His eyes widened slightly when the child visibly relaxed, shyly slipped his small hand into Cormac’s, then looked at Isabel.

“Fareweel, Lady Isabel,” Christopher said and bowed slightly. “I will live with my father now.”

“Nay,” Isabel screamed. “Ye havenae agreed to help me, Cormac. Look at the boy. I have given ye a fine son. Ye owe me. Curse ye. Do something about this. Can ye truly turn your back, walk away, and let the mother of your child hang?”

“I owe ye nothing,” Cormac replied, “save the promise that I will care for Christopher.” He glanced down at the child, who appeared to be unaffected by Isabel’s tirade. Then he looked back at Isabel. “And better than ye e’er have, I am thinking,
Lady
Isabel
. I suggest ye cease plotting ways to escape justice and call for a priest.” Cormac nodded his farewell to the Douglases and walked away.

“Jesu, I still cannae believe ye have a son,” William muttered, sitting on Christopher’s bed next to Cormac and watching their three kinsmen try to teach the boy how to play dice. “Still, there is nay doubt in my mind that the lad is yours. That old woman could see it, too, though ’tis clear she doubted Isabel was capable of kenning for certain what mon fathered any child of hers.”

Cormac smiled as he thought on stout, middle-aged Agnes. The woman had not hesitated to agree to go wherever Christopher went. After one long look at Cormac, she had told him and his relatives to move into the small cottage Isabel had settled her in. Although Agnes carefully measured her words whenever Christopher was near, she made it very clear that she thought Isabel to be unfit as a mother, that Isabel’s complete lack of interest in the boy had actually been in his favor. It was plain to see that Agnes was the boy’s true mother and Cormac was pleased that the two did not have to be separated.

“’Tis a shame Isabel let him be born a bastard,” William continued.

“Aye, but I will see him settled as weel as I can.”

“Did ye think on what David said ere ye went to see that bitch? Will ye now woo your Elspeth?”

“I had thought to do so, but how can I now? I now have a son by the verra woman who came between us.”

“Is Elspeth nay the one who fought to save a tattered, ugly cat? The same lass who took in a child no one else wanted? Do ye truly think your wee Elspeth will fault the lad because he was born of Isabel? If so, ’tis probably best if ye just forget her.”

“Ye have ne’er even met Elspeth.”

“Dinnae have to. She freed ye from Isabel. All that vow and honor business just meant ye were a little slow to accept your freedom. For that I am willing to kiss her wee feet.”

“Ah, now, to see that I am willing to risk a lot. So a-wooing I shall go.”

“Isabel has been imprisoned for the murder of precisely
all
of her husbands.”

Elspeth stared at Payton, stunned to hear that someone else had not only shared her suspicions, but acted upon them. She sank down in the chair opposite Payton at the head table in the great hall. There had been whispers about the woman since the death of her first husband, but very few had ever even suggested that she was responsible for the death of them all. Then Elspeth frowned. Payton had returned to court right after bringing her home, but now that she considered it, he must have stayed only long enough to gather this news. While it was pleasing to hear that Isabel might actually be made to pay for her crimes, Elspeth suspected there was more news to come. And that more had to be dramatic if it prompted Payton to ride immediately back to Donncoill to tell her.

“Who has imprisoned her?” she asked as a page poured them each a full goblet of wine.

“Sir Ranald Douglas—her betrothed,” Payton replied and then took a long drink of wine.

“She was to be married
again?
”

“Aye. And he, too, was supposed to die. It seems Isabel has had yet another Douglas as her lover from the very beginning. ’Tis said that she and Sir Kenneth were patiently killing off everyone who stood between him and the lands he wished to be laird of. Sir Ranald was the last. He was a reluctant groom.”

“That is evident. But Isabel could yet pull him beneath her spell.”

“Nay. I spoke to the mon when the betrothal was agreed to. He is a good mon. A little hard, but quick of wit and honorable. I told him a few cold truths about his bride, including the fact that I, too, had been her lover once.”

“Payton, he could have killed you,” she said, her voice weakened and made hoarse with shock over his recklessness.

“He could have, but I felt certain he wouldnae e’en try. He was interested in all I had to tell him and assured me that he had no intention of marrying Isabel. The mon told me that he kenned exactly what Isabel was, that he had been watching her closely since her third husband died. He was gathering all the information he could and felt he was finally uncovering the truth. ’Tis clear that he finally did.”

Elspeth sipped at her wine and murmured, “I wonder what happened that gave him the power to act against her.”

“It seems that he and a few others had their ears pressed to the right door at just the right time.”

“And they actually heard her confess?”

“Aye, that as weel as proof that Sir Kenneth was her lover, that the pair of them plotted together, that Sir Ranald wouldnae survive his marriage, and that they had already selected the mon who would take the blame for the death.”

The way Payton watched her so closely made Elspeth’s blood chill. It was not hard to guess which poor fool had been chosen to be accused of Isabel’s crime. Just the thought of Cormac’s name was enough to make her wince, which was why she had forced herself to think of the man as little as possible. In the ten days since she had left him, she had wept herself dry, cursed Cormac and his honor, longed for him, cursed him again, then tried to work herself into such a constant exhausted stupor she could think of little, save for getting some sleep. Her parents were watching her so closely she knew that
soon they would cease waiting for her to tell them what was wrong and demand some answers. Elspeth was dreading the inevitable confrontation.

And now, just as she had obtained an almost perfect state of unthinking numbness, Payton returned with news that brought all the pain and confusion rushing back. Isabel would actually pay for her crimes now and Cormac was about to face a scarring heartbreak. The fact that she found herself worried about him infuriated Elspeth. When a small part of her began to wonder if Cormac would turn to her when Isabel was gone, when his pledge was severed by her death, Elspeth almost screamed. She did not want to think she could be such a priceless fool.

“Has Cormac learned of any of this?” she asked, hating the weakness that prompted the question.

“He was there.”

“Oh, sweet Jesu.” Elspeth was shocked, but she found the strength to quell the urge to go to Cormac, to try to help him overcome what had to be a devastating revelation. “Do ye ken what he has done or is going to do?”

“He lingers at court in case he is needed as a witness. Since Sir Ranald made it verra weel kenned that he did not want Isabel as a bride, and the other witnesses are all his kinsmen, that verra weel may be necessary. Sir Ranald clearly wants her and Sir Kenneth to meet justice at the end of a rope. He works diligently to gather together all who have any knowledge of Isabel’s or Kenneth’s crimes, no matter how small. I think he also wishes to make it clear that Isabel and her lover were not simply brushed aside because they had annoyed a Douglas. He wants there to be no doubt about their guilt.”

“The fact that he could simply use the power of the Douglases, but willnae, does seem to show that he is a good, honest mon.”

“And one who kens weel how to survive. There is trouble brewing, lass. The Douglases grow too powerful and far too arrogant. There will be blood spilled soon, lands lost and gained, and a shifting of power. Sir Ranald intends to survive that, lands and power intact. I think he has the wit to do just that. We shall see. What of Cormac?”

Payton said the name without warning and Elspeth could not completely hide her reaction to it. It was a sad thing, she mused, when the mere mention of a man’s name could so pain her, could make her flinch as if struck. Aside from all of the news Payton had brought her, he had also revealed to her that she had to work a lot harder to bury her feelings about Sir Cormac Armstrong. She knew it could be years before those feelings died, but she was determined that they would stay entombed within her until that time when they had the grace to wither away.

“What of him?” she replied. “He has seen what Isabel is and that is good. Now he is free—free of whate’er he may have still felt for her and free of that cursed vow. Naught else matters.”

“Ah, Elspeth, do ye really believe that?”

“I must.” She sighed, resigned to the fact that she would have to talk about Cormac and praying that she could do so without weeping. “I gambled and I lost. I havenae the heart left to try it again. Mayhap I have become a coward. It hurt more than I could have imagined when he chose Isabel and I dinnae wish to inflict that upon myself again.”

“He is a fool.”

“Weel, aye.” She smiled faintly, her heart pounding from the strain of keeping her emotions reined in. “But mayhap I am a bigger one for thinking that I could end ten years
of blind, ill-placed devotion with just a few weeks of honest loving, that somehow I could be the one to make him see that he could end his pledge to her and still keep his honor.”

“And if he comes after you?”

“I dinnae ken. Beneath my pain I am still verra angry and, I beg ye, dinnae stir a hope in my heart. ’Twould be too easy for it to take root and I shudder to think what I would feel when it never bore fruit.”

“Fair enough.”

“Elspeth,” her father called as he and her mother entered the great hall, “a messenger has brought ye something.”

“Ye havenae told them, have ye?” Payton whispered as he watched his aunt and uncle approach.

“Nay,” Elspeth replied, “but I believe my period of grace is over.” She smiled at her father, but could tell by the way his dark eyes narrowed that it had been a sad effort gone to waste. “Who would send me something?” she asked as he handed her a small package wrapped in a bright piece of silk.

“I dinnae ken,” Balfour replied as he sprawled in his chair at the head of the table and watched his daughter closely. “The lad who brought it wouldnae say. He waits for a reply.”

Elspeth was not surprised to see her hands shaking as she opened the package. The moment it had been placed in her hands she had felt Cormac’s presence so strongly she was surprised he did not walk into the hall. A brooch pinned to a small piece of parchment was revealed, a beautiful brooch of a heavy silver decorated with dark, blood red garnets. Below it, scrawled on the parchment in a broad, masculine hand were the words:

Forgive me. Cormac
.

At the edges of the emotional maelstrom she had been plunged into, she sensed her father and mother studying the brooch, the note, and then her.

“Forgive him for what?” Balfour demanded.

“Nothing of any great importance,” Elspeth answered as she staggered to her feet, desperately needing to retreat, needing some privacy in which to pull her shattered insides back together.

“The lad awaits a reply.”

“Tell him thank you.” Elspeth walked away, fighting the urge to run out of the great hall.

“No more?”

“Nay. No more.”

The moment his daughter left, Balfour looked at Payton. “Something is breaking my lass apart.”

“Aye,” Maldie agreed as she sat down opposite Payton and fixed him with a stern gaze. “It has gone on long enough. What happened between her and the Armstrong lad?”

“And why does he ask for forgiveness?” Balfour added.

Payton sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. “It isnae my place to tell you. Ye must speak with Elspeth.”

“Oh, I intend to,” Balfour said. “I would just like some wee hint of what quagmire
I may be stepping into. He has hurt her.”

“Aye, but she willnae let ye punish him for it. Weel, nay let ye kill him leastwise. And in truth, he doesnae deserve killing. In many ways, Elspeth brought this upon herself. She gambled. She lost. Or so she believes.”

“Ye think otherwise?” asked Maldie, absently stroking Balfour’s clenched fist where it rested upon the table in an attempt to soothe his rising temper. “Ye think it will all right itself in the end?”

“I do,” Payton replied, “yet Elspeth is right to say it would be cruel to stir any hope in her breast. I dinnae really think she has lost her gamble. ’Tis simply that the prize she sought didnae come to her as quick and clean as she thought it would. Then again, I am nay sure I understand how she could have lost even for a little while. ’Tis a verra complicated situation.”

“Obviously,” Balfour drawled, “for ye have left me more confused than I was when ye started talking.”

Maldie stood up, grabbed Balfour’s hand, and tugged him to his feet. “So now we talk to Elspeth. Get some sleep, Payton. Ye are looking almost plain,” she said and winked at her nephew.

Balfour followed his wife out of the great hall and paused when he saw the young messenger still waiting. “The lass says thank you.” Nodding at the boy’s frown, he said, “Aye, ’tis a puzzle, but ’tis all she said. Howbeit, ye may take that young fool another message. Tell him that he has broken something precious to me, and if he doesnae fix it soon, I will be paying him back in kind.”

“Balfour!” Maldie protested, pausing on the steps to frown at him.

He shrugged and started to follow her again. “’Twill do the mon good to ken that his idiocy isnae a secret kept between only him and Elspeth.”

“We dinnae ken yet if it was
his
idiocy.”

“Weel, we will soon,” he said as he strode toward his daughter’s bedchamber, moving so fast that Maldie was soon following him.

Elspeth sat on her bed and stared blindly at the brooch she still held in her hands. Muddy curled up at her side, stroking her hip with his head as though he knew she was in dire need of some comfort. She reached down to idly stroke him back, that soothing motion and his loud purr soon taking the sharp edge off her pain. There was no doubt in her mind that her parents would soon arrive and she wanted to be calm enough to answer all the questions they were sure to ask.

Forgive me
, he had written. For what? was the question. For hurting her? For not wanting her anymore? For not knowing what he did want? For wasting his honor on a woman who did not deserve it and being too blind to see that? Perhaps for not having the strength to resist the passion they shared. There were too many possibilities and few of them gave her any hope that Cormac himself would soon follow his gift. At the moment, she was not even sure she wanted him to. She had wanted him to choose her over Isabel because he wanted her more, loved her more. She did not want him turning to her because Isabel was dead, hanged for her crimes, and forever out of his reach. Or because, now that the one he had pledged himself to was gone, he could trot into her arms with his precious honor intact. Her pride rebelled at the mere thought of that and so did her heart. To know that she was merely his second choice would be like a slow poison to her spirit.
Eventually, she could grow to hate him, could even grow to hate herself.

After a brief, sharp knock on her door, her parents entered. Her father shut the door, leaned against it, and crossed his arms over his broad chest. There was anger hardening his fine brown eyes and Elspeth knew he had already guessed at some of her secrets. There was sympathy there, too. When her mother sat down next to her on her bed and took her hand between hers, Elspeth felt her sympathy, too, and prayed she had the strength to resist it. She was a woman grown now and should be beyond crying on her parents’ shoulders. That might ease some of her hurt, but it would not cure it.

“Elspeth, we have watched ye struggle not to fall apart for ten long days,” her mother said. “We cannae just stand and watch any longer. Tell us what has wounded ye so verra badly. Let us help.”

“Ah, Mither, I fear ye dinnae have a poultice that will cure this wound,” Elspeth murmured. “I believe a shattered heart will bleed until it decides it has bled enough and no salve or bandage will change that.”

“So I was right,” said Balfour, his deep voice rough with anger. “The bastard used ye and then tossed ye aside.” He grimaced when his wife and his daughter scowled at him, their matching green eyes sparkling with matching annoyance.

“Ye could have said that more kindly, husband,” Maldie said.

“Aye,” Elspeth agreed, “and ’tis nay the way of it. Truly.”

“Ye mean he didnae bed ye?” her father asked bluntly.

Elspeth felt herself blush. “I am sorry to disappoint you so, but, aye, I am no longer a maid. Howbeit, ’tis unfair to say that Cormac is at fault. He didnae take my innocence. I gave it to him. Ye see, I have loved him since the day I found him wounded on Donncoill lands.”