The Highlander's Heart (30 page)

“I will no’ leave wi’out Andrew.”

“What trouble is this?” said a low voice behind them. Isabelle spun around to see James Douglas stroll up the bank dressed for battle. “We heard the screaming.”

“What goes here?” said Stewart, also stepping out of the shadows. They were followed by Campbell’s brothers and several of their retinue.

It was becoming a full house, and the bank by the loch was getting crowded. Isabelle glanced back and forth between the English and the Scots. She had the unhappy realization she was standing at the center of what may be their next battle.

“Now ’tis truly a party,” said Simon in a mocking tone. “Tynsdale has done what you have asked. The ransom has been paid. The return of his wife is all that is required of you. Come, Lady Tynsdale. Let us return to your husband.”

“No,” said Isabelle, stepping even closer to Campbell. She could not return to Tynsdale, but if she did not go… the English had the high ground. Campbell, his brothers, and Cait stood below them. If there was a fight, the Campbells would be caught in the crossfire. Isabelle turned to Simon, she must find a way out of this. “Simon, why do you wish me to return? Was it not you who warned me never to return to Tynsdale?”

Simon’s eyes never left Campbell. “What a fancy imagination my lady has.”

“’Twas not my imaginings and you know it, Simon,” said Isabelle with the indignation of surprise. All these years she had thought of Simon as a sort of savior. What was he doing now?

“And if the lady does not wish to return to her husband?” asked Campbell.

“What does her ladyship’s opinion have to do with her return? She is his wife. Her wishes can have no bearing on this matter.”

Behind her, Isabelle heard the slosh of the ferry raft going back to the island. They were bringing out more troops. Campbell was stalling for time.

“As a knight, I canna return a lady to anyone who may do her harm.”

“As a man you cannot stand in between what God has joined together. She is his wife. You have already shown yourself to be opportunistic in the advancement of your own coffers. Take your coin and be done with it. The lady belongs to her husband, and to him she shall now return or you be no knight.” Simon stepped closer to Isabelle and she moved closer to Campbell.

“Be that as it may, ye shall no’ take her against her will.”

“’Tis her husband’s will that matters. Or have you thought to put yourself in that role? Do you think to steal another man’s wife? You shall be excommunicated from the fellowship of the Church, and Tynsdale will raise an army like you have never seen to wreak havoc on the Scots in vengeance for the defilement of his wife.” Simon lowered his voice and stepped closer to Campbell. “Come now, my friend. No wench is worth that. Let the harlot return to her husband and you can buy a hundred comely wenches to keep you company.”

“Dinna disrespect the Lady Tynsdale,” Campbell growled.

“No disrespect intended,” said Simon, the words somehow emerging from his lips pressed together in a tight, fake smile.

“What seems to be the trouble here?” asked Douglas. “If she be ransomed, give the English lass back so we can be rid o’ her.”

“Aye. We can ill afford the ill will o’ the king o’ England. Give the lady back to her kin,” said the Steward of Scotland in a voice that sounded more like a royal decree than a friendly suggestion.

“No!” shouted a voice from the fog. “The Lady Tynsdale will not go with Simon, for he is a thief and a liar.”

Captain Corbett emerged out of the mist, walking up the shore to the hangman’s tree. Isabelle shook her head, trying to prevent him from revealing himself, but he would not be thwarted.

“And what business is this o’ yers, peddler?” Campbell’s voice growled with irritation.

“I am Corbett, the Captain of the Guard for the Lady Tynsdale. The Earl of Tynsdale is dead. It is not her husband who ransoms her.”

“Dead!” gasped Isabelle.

“I know you not, and I declare your words false,” said Simon to Corbett. “Tynsdale is alive and concerned to retrieve back what is his. Give me the lady, Campbell. You have no right to keep her.”

“Hold now,” said MacLaren. He turned to Corbett asking, “how do ye ken Tynsdale is dead?”

“After we lost the Lady Tynsdale, we searched for her long, but she could not be found. I sent some of my men to spy on Tynsdale. From those with cause to hate Simon, we learned Tynsdale was dead, and that Campbell was holding Isabelle for ransom. Soon it was all the talk in the town of how King Edward waited less than a fortnight after Tynsdale’s death before seizing his castle and lands since he had no issue.”

“He does have a son!” shouted Simon. “I am Tynsdale’s heir. It should all go to me.”

“So ye admit that Tynsdale is dead,” said Campbell in a low voice, steady and calm.

“My husband is dead?” Isabelle’s gaze drifted between Simon and Captain Corbett. Could it be true? Could she really be free?

“Aye, m’lady, Tynsdale is dead. But when Simon was ousted from Tynsdale castle, his army took Alnsworth by force,” continued Corbett.

Isabelle inhaled a sharp breath. “Simon attacked Alnsworth?”

“I’m sorry, m’lady. Most of my men were out looking for you and he caught us unawares.”

“Marjorie! Is she safe?” Isabelle asked Corbett, her heart frozen between beats.

“Yes, she escaped the castle before he took possession,” reassured Corbett.

Relief melted into molten anger, which rushed up Isabelle’s spine, making her bolder than she ought. She turned a malevolent glare on Simon. “And all these years I thought you were my friend. But no, Simon, you have been trying to get all that you could for yourself.” A sudden realization struck her. “It was you! It was you who turned my husband against me. What did you say to him? Did you accuse me of being a whore as you just did to Laird Campbell? You did not wish to save me, you wanted to get rid of me.”

Isabelle stepped even closer to Simon as if to see him better, to look through his hauberk into the darkness of his soul. “I see it all so clearly now. You wished to inherit, but to do so you could not let your father have any other children, any
legitimate
children. So you chased me away. And it was you who killed his other two wives.”

“Yes, of course it was me,” jeered Simon. “It was hardly difficult and no great loss. Just as no one will mourn your sorry life.” With the quickness of a man who lived his life by cunning and violence, Simon leapt forward and grabbed Isabelle, twisting her around and holding a knife to her throat.

“Now I am going to take this piece of baggage back to England and you are going to get back to your hanging.” Simon backed away slowly, dragging Isabelle with him.

Campbell drew his sword with a sharp, metallic ring that sliced through the gray morning mist. “Let her go and I may let you live.” It was his best offer to Simon.

On the hillside above them, more gray shapes became visible, holding bows at the ready. “I think not,” said Simon, his voice tight with excitement. “Call back your men or you all will die.”

Isabelle went rigid. Her heart stopped beating. Unlike when McNab threatened her, the knife at her throat was cold and sure. It would take but a quick flick of his wrist to leave her dead.

Campbell growled and her heart sprang back to life. He held his sword at the ready. If Simon slit her throat, she had the grim satisfaction of knowing that Campbell would see Simon dead before she hit the ground. Simon knew it too, and it was the only thing keeping her alive.

Simon dragged Isabelle back away from Campbell and his brothers. Isabelle kept her eyes on Campbell. As long as she could see him, she knew she would be safe. Though how he was going to rescue her she did not know. She was not one to pray often, but she did so now, praying for a way out, for safety for Campbell, his clan, and for her.

A fierce battle cry sliced through the mist and was suddenly strangled into silence. Simon’s arm jerked up and the knife flew away. Isabelle broke free and spun to face her attacker. She gasped at the sight. Andrew was hanging by his neck from the tree, his legs wrapped around Simon, pulling him away from her.

“Attack!” someone called and everything became a blur of motion. Simon threw off Andrew as arrows began to rain down from the hillside.

“Get down,” shouted Campbell and pushed her to the ground. “Stay down,” he said, giving her shoulder a squeeze and jumped up to run after Simon.

“Cut him down,” screeched Cait, running to Andrew’s side.

Isabelle started to get up to do so, but Captain Corbett pushed her back down. Gavin Patrick raced to Andrew, slicing through the hangman’s rope, and Andrew collapsed on the ground.

Simon’s men shot bolts down from the hillside, while others ran into the fray. Campbell’s men rushed out with shields to protect them from a barrage of arrows. Douglas, Stewart, and their men created a shield barrier and charged up the hill at Simon’s men. Isabelle’s own guard had not shields, so they ducked behind some rocks and fought any who came near.

Arrows rained down on them with a crisp slice through the air as they passed. Close, very close. More gray figures joined the others on the hill. We’re all dead, thought Isabelle. Simon’s army had caught them on low ground with nowhere to go but the loch. Yet the bolts came at a slower pace, and Isabelle realized with a rush of joy that the new figures on the hill were Campbell’s own men who had flanked Simon’s archers.

In the thick, gray mist, figures disappeared and reemerged into her vision without warning. Around her were the sounds of battle. Steel and iron bashed together with a ring and crunch. Men yelled, cursed, and shouted a barrage of commands. The smell of blood was in the air.

“Get her. Kill the bitch!” yelled the voice of Simon. Isabelle knew it was her he was trying to kill. He appeared above her, slicing through her guards. He raised his sword for a death blow, but suddenly Campbell was there, his sword blocking Simon’s steel with a tremendous clang.

Simon held a broadsword in his right hand, a mace in the other. Isabelle scrambled out of the way of the fighting men. With a brief sneer in her direction, Simon charged Campbell who ducked, the mace swinging perilously close to his head. Campbell swung his claymore in a great arc, coming down upon Simon, but the Englishman proved quick and dodged the blow, parrying with a jab at Campbell’s shoulder. Campbell slouched and spun out of reach of Simon, reaching up to touch his shoulder.

He
has
no
armor
. Isabelle noticed it now. Campbell had not anticipated the fight so he wore no armor; Simon’s men wore mail or plate.

Simon allowed Campbell no respite and attacked with a fury of sword and mace. Campbell fought him off, defending himself against the blows, backing up on the uneven hillside. Campbell took one more step backward, hitting a loose stone, which rolled out from underneath his foot. Isabelle stood in horror as Campbell went down.

“No!” shouted Isabelle.

Simon pointed at her. “Kill her!” He swung his mace down at Campbell for the death blow but Campbell rolled and jabbed up with a knife he pulled from his boot. Simon was quick and deflected the attack with his sword, but the movement put him off balance and he stepped backward. Campbell was up and on the attack. Campbell swung his blade against Simon’s mace, slicing the weapon in two, the iron-spiked ball flying through the air and hitting Simon’s messenger in the side of the head.

Simon’s men rushed at Isabelle, but she was defended by Corbett and her guards. She wondered how long her line could hold. Campbell attacked without expression, his face stone, his actions precise and meticulous.

“You defend the wrong woman,” sneered Simon. “She is naught but a whore. A favorite at court for an easy roll between the sheets. My father found out only too late what she truly was.”

“Ye do yerself no favors by insulting the Lady Tynsdale,” growled Campbell.

“By all means, I have no complaints from my poke with her. She was a most eager bed partner.”

Campbell attacked in anger, powerful but careless. Simon easily evaded and sliced back with his sword in a move Campbell was barely able to deflect. Campbell stumbled back a few steps before finding his footing.

“All I want is to return the lady to her country,” Simon continued in his slick voice. “Our king will wish her back and take it poorly that she be taken. Do you risk war with England over this one wench? Is an easy lay worth the death of your family? Because make no mistake, King Edward will come after you, leaving your kin slaughtered.”

“You vile creature,” screamed Isabelle. “You speak nothing but lies. King Edward has not a care for me. And I have never even been to court, you lying dog.”

MacLaren and Chaumont joined Isabelle’s guard to fight against Simon’s men. Their considerable skill turned the tide and Simon’s men fell back. The din of battle lessened, and an eerie quiet hung in the air. Simon’s men on the hillside had been flanked and defeated. The men he had with him were either dead or taken. He alone stood against Campbell.

Simon glanced around with narrow eyes and took a step back. “All I ask is for the Lady Tynsdale to be returned. King Edward will certainly take offense if the lady is not returned after the ransom has been paid.”

“Campbell,” said the Steward of Scotland. “This man is right. We cannot refuse to return the Lady Tynsdale without condemning Scotland to another invasion from the English.”

Campbell and Simon continued to circle each other, the weapons at the ready.

“If I give her to this man, he will kill her, you ken that to be truth,” said Campbell.

“’Tis not our concern,” said the steward. “She belongs to the king of her country, to their damnable King Edward. If he canna protect her, ’tis not our job to do so.”

“Listen and hear me well,” growled Campbell. “I will no’ give up the Lady Tynsdale to a fiend who only wishes her harm.
I
will
not
give
her
up!
”

Isabelle clasped her hands together and held them over her lips to refrain from cheering. To claim her before his friends and enemies alike, he must truly care for her.

“Even if it means open war wi’ England?” asked Douglas. “Think, lad. Is one Sassenach lass worth the blood o’ yer countrymen?”

“She is worth all to me. My actions are on me alone.”

“The king will not see it in such a light, I fear,” said the steward. “It is often the innocent who suffer for the misstep of another.”

“And what would you have me do? Give her back to this bastard?”

“She must be returned, lad,” said Douglas. One lass canna possibly be worth the destruction o’ yer clan. Think on yer brothers and sisters. Where will this leave them?”

“I will take her back to England,” said Captain Corbett. “I will keep her safe.”

Isabelle closed her eyes for a moment and breathed the morning air. She could smell the dirt that had been kicked up in the fight and clung to her gown. She breathed in the scent of loch and the tang of blood of the wounded. Campbell risked his family, his kin, his very brothers and sisters to protect her. The power of this fact struck deep, but she could not let him or his family be harmed.

“I will go with my captain,” Isabelle said in a voice that didn’t quite sound her own. She met Campbell’s eyes. She hoped he understood. “I will go back to my king.” It was an acceptable solution, considering her options. She would probably be given in marriage to another English baron who would make war against the Scots. The thought filled her stomach with gall, but there was nothing else to do.

Simon’s attack was swift and decisive. He lunged at Campbell who, though still holding his claymore, was distracted by the negotiations. Simon stabbed forward with his sword, but Campbell was not as inattentive as Simon thought. Campbell spun to the side, deflecting the thrust with his sword and rolling around to the side of his enemy. With a cry he jumped up and plunged a knife into the gap of armor at Simon’s neck.

Simon gasped and fell to the ground. Isabelle stared in silence at his crumbled body until she was sure Simon was dead.

It was over. Isabelle gasped and her legs swayed beneath her. Since girlhood she had feared her husband, living in dread of being put back into his power. Now her husband, Lord Tynsdale, was dead. And the true monster, the one who planned her murder, was dead too. She was free.

“Riders approaching!”

More riders? She glanced around at the people before her. Who could possibly be missing from this assembly?

“’Tis the minstrel returning.”

Out of the mist the minstrel returned on horseback. His same wool cloak was pinned at the shoulder, but underneath chain mail glinted beneath his bright blue surcoat. A sword was belted around his waist. What on Earth was this about?

“Isabelle?” growled Campbell.

Isabelle shrugged. For once, a strange occurrence was not of her doing. Why Campbell was always blaming her was beyond her.

“Welcome, minstrel. What brings ye back to us dressed for battle?” asked Campbell, his sword still drawn.

The minstrel opened his mouth to speak but paused a moment looking around him. It must have seemed an odd sight to him too. “I come to bring you news and to make you an offer in the name of my lord, but I seem to have arrived late for the party. What goes here?”

“I will ask the questions, minstrel,” growled Campbell. “Who are ye and whom do ye serve?”

“I am Sir Dragonet. I serve the Duke of Argitaine, the Golden Knight.”

Silence descended on the group as everyone took a moment to comprehend his statement.

“Another spy in yer midst, Campbell?” asked Stewart. “Ye should have a better watch on whom ye invite to entertain yer guests.”

Campbell raised one eyebrow at Stewart, and turned back to the minstrel turned Sir Dragonet. “Ye have deceived me once, and I have little time to be fooled by yer words again. Get to your own business and let me to mine.” Campbell wiped his blade clean and sheathed his sword.

“Forgive the ruse, my friend,” said a shadowy man. His horse clopped slowly out of the mist. Isabelle stared at the figure, her mouth open wide. The man on horseback was dressed in golden armor. His helm and gauntlets were golden. The plates on his legs and arms were golden. Over this he wore a red and blue surcoat trimmed lavishly in gold thread. The cost of his harness alone would be enough to cover her ransom fiftyfold.

“I am the Duke of Argitaine,” said the Golden Knight in a smooth, easy voice. “I sent my trusted knight, Sir Dragonet, to seek the will of the Scots to determine if they would continue to respect the Auld Alliance with France. I am pleased to know that Scotland still maintains her freedom against English aggression and domination.”

“I am the Steward of Scotland,” said Stewart, stepping forward. “May I ask what has driven ye to travel so far from yer home to visit us today?”

“Only the most desperate of circumstances, and the desire to help my brother Scots in their struggle against the English oppressors. Behold, I bring a token of France’s support of Scotland against the English devils.”

The Golden Knight motioned, and four soldiers rolled forward a cart carrying a large, wooden trunk. They took a moment to open a large lock and opened the lid. Isabelle was not the only one to gasp. It was full of gold.

“And what would ye have us do to earn such a boon?” asked Douglas, ever suspicious, his arms folded across his chest.

“Join me in arms against the English. Together we will stand victorious where divided we will fall alone.”

“Join ye in arms?” asked the steward. “Ye mean for us to go to war wi’ England?”

“Yes. We fight the English in France. If Scotland invades from the north, we shall surround our mutual enemy and drink to her defeat.”

“Or we could be slaughtered like the last time we invaded England. I saw what was done at Neville’s Cross. I know how many o’ our men died that day,” put in MacLaren.

“MacLaren!” The French duke raised his hand in greeting. “You are well met.”

“And ye have bought yerself a new set of armor since the last time we met,” replied MacLaren with a glint in his eye.