Meredith stared at the huge basin of water in front of the fireplace, then at the array of gowns spread out on the bed. At her arched look, Mackay gave her an evil leer.
“You are here to amuse me, Meredith MacAlpin. I want you to look like a lady when I take you. Not,” he added, pointing at her breeches and tunic, “like some muddy stable boy.”
“Rowena,” he said to the stooped woman. “You will bathe the lady and wash her hair in scented water.”
“Aye, my lord.” The woman tossed aside her cape and walked toward Meredith.
“Do not touch me,” Meredith said sharply. “I am capable of undressing myself.”
Instantly the woman paused and glanced at Mackay, awaiting his orders.
“We are not barbarians here.” His voice was low with seething anger. “I can give you everything that Brice Campbell gave you. Especially servants to assist you. You would not know it to look at her, but Rowena was once an assistant to royalty.”
Meredith studied the woman. Despite her crooked spine there was a look of elegance about her. And the gown she wore beneath the damp cloak was expertly tailored.
What would it hurt to allow her to assist? Meredith wondered. It would certainly buy some time. She was away from that horrid storage room and into a room with doors and windows that afforded some means of escape. That was a first step. But she needed time to formulate a plan.
While Mackay crossed the room Meredith took a moment to peer about. There were two windows, which apparently led to balconies. A possible means of escape. Unless the guards were still posted below in the courtyard.
Mackay peered at the gowns spread out on his bed. He lifted a shimmering white satin gown, encrusted with pearls, and ran his hand suggestively across the bodice. “She will wear this one,” he said to Rowena.
Then to Meredith he added, “It will remind me of the bride Brice Campbell abducted from the altar. The woman who will now be my bride.” He threw back his head and roared with laughter at his own joke. “At least until I tire of her.”
“Surely you do not intend to watch while I undress her and bathe her?”
The laughter was gone. His voice was low and dangerous. “And why not? I am her captor. I will do whatever pleases me.”
He sat in a chair stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Remove her cloak.”
The woman seemed to hesitate, then stepped forward and slipped the heavy cloak from Meredith’s shoulders. It dropped to the floor.
Meredith forced herself to show no emotion as the woman reached for the tunic and removed it. Beneath the tunic Meredith was wearing one of Brice’s saffron shirts.
“’Tis a man’s shirt.” Rowena’s voice was low, cultured, reminding Meredith of the women who surrounded the queen.
“Aye. And not fit to cover a woman’s body.” Mackay pointed a finger. “Remove it.”
Before Rowena could reach for the buttons of the shirt, Meredith stopped her. “It is a shame—” she spoke directly to the woman, ignoring Holden “—that your lord Mackay cannot be with his men in the great hall, drinking ale and sharing stories of their exciting hunt this day.”
Mackay’s eyes narrowed. “What game do you play with me, wench?”
“Game?” Meredith gave him an innocent smile. “I merely thought you would be more comfortable with your men than here with women, sharing women’s talk.”
To Rowena she said in a conspiratorial tone, “Did you know that my lord Mackay hunts humans in the forest? Female humans are his favorite game. Because most of them are helpless. Most,” she said with meaning, “but not all.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Holden Mackay rub a hand over his stiff shoulder.
“How many females have you captured in the past year, my lord?”
For one long minute Mackay could only stare at her. Then he leaped up with a look of fire in his eyes. “I need some ale!’ He stepped to the door, intent upon calling to a servant. From below he heard the sound of laughter drifting from the great hall, where his men were gathered before the fire.
Below stairs, his men would not make him feel foolish for having nearly been beaten by a woman. Below stairs, there was the comradeship of men who had gone to battle together and had tales of bravery to share.
As a servant stepped forward, Mackay shook his head and sent her away.
For one long minute he turned and stared at the little female who taunted him, who infuriated him. With a look of menace he hissed, “Much as I would enjoy watching you bathe and dress, I would enjoy a tankard or two with the men more!’ He strode to the door, then turned with a gleam of laughter in his eyes. “Besides, my lady, I will have the pleasure of undressing you myself in just a very short time. And then we shall see who is the victor and who the vanquished.”
He pointed to the white gown on the bed. “Remember, woman, I want her to look like the bride Brice Campbell abducted from the altar. The bride Brice Campbell will never have for himself.”
His words brought a terrible shaft of pain. But she must not let him see how easily he could hurt her.
Mackay gave a hollow laugh and turned away.
Through narrowed eyes Meredith watched as the door closed behind him. In that brief moment she had noted the guards, whose presence would make her escape more difficult. But she was not about to despair. There were still the windows. And if that attempt failed, she would find another means of escape.
As Holden Mackay’s booming voice rang through the hallway, she vowed that he would never hold her in this prison of horrors.
She touched a hand to the dirk hidden at her waist. And no matter what, she would never again allow him to sully her with his touch.
Chapter Eighteen
Brice and Angus lay on their stomachs on a ridge that afforded them a view of Holden Mackay’s fortress. For nearly an hour they had noted every sign of movement outside the castle.
They had watched with great interest as a horse and rider approached the courtyard. The rider, a stooped old crone in a dark, shapeless cloak, had slid from the back of the horse and had been greeted warmly by the guards. A bundle had been removed from behind the saddle. Within minutes the doors to the castle were opened to admit the rider and bundle.
While Angus continued to lie and watch, Brice got to his knees and kneaded the stiffness in his shoulders.
“I tell you the best way to attack is simply to storm the courtyard and kill the guards.” Brice’s tone was harsh with determination.
Angus grimaced. “The doors will be braced from within. ’Twould take a battering ram to force them open.”
“Every minute we wait is another minute of agony for Meredith.”
“Aye.” Angus noted his friend’s drooping shoulders. “Do you think I do not know? But there are only ten and two of us. There could be many more times our number within the castle walls. If we can surprise them, we have a chance. But if the guards have time to shout a warning, all is lost.”
“Aye.” Brice stood, running a hand through his hair. “But with every passing moment I grow desperate.”
“I know.”
Just then both men looked up as Alston hurried toward them. “Two riders approach.”
“Are they headed for Mackay’s fortress?”
“Aye, Brice. They are just below us on that ridge. See?” He pointed and the two men followed his direction.
Brice’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, then he turned to Angus and saw that he was smiling. Both men had come to the same decision.
“They are the perfect foil,” Brice said. “At all cost we must intercept them before they reach the fortress.”
Alston’s lips curved into a smile beneath his bushy red beard. “Leave them to me.”
A few moments later, as Brice and Angus watched, the two riders were suddenly knocked from their mounts. There was a brief sound of a scuffle. And then the riders’ clothes were being removed.
Within a matter of minutes Brice and Angus had exchanged clothes and horses
with the dead men.
“You will watch until you see us enter the doors to the fortress,” Brice instructed his men. “Before the doors can be closed, you must disarm the guards and storm the castle. Else, all is lost.”
“Aye. Have no fear.” Alston looked around at the others who nodded and indicated their eagerness to attack. “It will be done.”
~ ~ ~
Meredith stood facing Rowena. She had managed to get rid of Holden Mackay. Now the only one who stood in the way of her freedom was this hunchbacked woman. She would bide her time and watch and listen. And when the time was right...
Rowena dipped a hand in the water. “Disrobe, my lady, and I will wash your hair and see to your bath.”
For the moment, Meredith decided to go along with the woman’s wishes. Slipping the dirk from her waistband she buried it beneath her folded cloak, then removed her shirt and breeches, carefully folding them as well.
As she crossed the room Rowena studied her with a professional eye. “You have a lovely body, my lady. ’Twould please me to create gowns for you.”
“Did you sew all these?” Meredith swept her hand to indicate the gowns that littered the bed.
“Aye. These are a sample of my wares.”
“Yours is a fine talent.”
Meredith saw the woman beam at her compliment. As Rowena helped her into the water and began lathering Meredith’s hair she said, “I was once the royal seamstress.”
“You sewed for Queen Mary?”
“Aye.” The woman’s tone grew dreamy. “I was but ten and three when I accompanied the infant queen to France.
Because of my deformity, ’twas determined that I would never marry. So I was taught from childhood how to sew. When the queen mother, Marie de Guise, saw my work, she insisted that I would spend my life dressing her child.”
“How wonderful. Did you enjoy your time in France?”
“At first. It was so gay there. There were so many balls and state dinners. I was kept so busy I hardly had time to sleep. I was given a little room filled with bolts of silks and satins and a clean bed of my own. Though it was drafty, and far from the queen and her ladies-in-waiting, it was heaven after the humble cottage I had been born in here in the Highlands.”
Meredith leaned back in the water, loving the feel of the woman’s strong hands against her scalp.
She had been cold, so cold, on the long journey from Kinloch House to this ancient fortress. The warmth of the bath, the fingers at her scalp, threatened to lull her into a false sense of security. She cautioned herself to stay alert to any chance at escape.
“It all sounds wonderful.”
Meredith heard the note of pain that crept into Rowena’s tone. “Aye. It was. For a time. But when the young queen married the dauphin, his mother, Catherine de’ Medici, stated that I was an embarrassment at Court. She insisted that I be sent back to Scotland at once.”
Meredith’s sense of fair play overcame her earlier dislike of this woman. “Was the queen not able to use her influence on your behalf?”
“Influence.” Rowena gave a hollow laugh. “As long as Catherine de’ Medici lives, there is no other influence in France save hers.”
“But Queen Mary has returned from France.” Meredith sat up as the woman wrapped a linen about her damp hair. “Perhaps you should entreat her to reinstate your position and once again use your talents.”
Rowena toweled Meredith’s hair vigorously, then picked up a cake of fragrant soap. Her tone was one of resignation. “I am a humble Highlander. The queen is surrounded by important people, her time taken up with matters of state. By now she has forgotten her childhood dressmaker. There is no way I could ever approach her.”
“What of your lord Mackay? Could he not use his influence as a Highland chief to intercede with the queen?”
“My lord Mackay,” Rowena said with a note of contempt, “would never act as an intermediary for one of his clan. He is a cruel leader who thinks only of his own pleasures.”
“Then why do you assist him in this?”
The woman looked away, unable to meet Meredith’s steady gaze. In a soft voice she whispered, “I must survive, my lady. To refuse Holden Mackay is to invite death.”
Meredith fell silent for a moment. She had not given a thought to the many people who were at his mercy.
“What made him so?”
Rowena handed the soap to Meredith, then lifted a kettle of hot water from the fire. As she emptied it into the bath she said, “It is rumored that when he was born, his father, Douglas Mackay, was engaged in a terrible battle with English soldiers who had stormed their Highland fortress. One of the soldiers ran his sword through the swollen stomach of Douglas’s wife, Genevieve, who was close to her birthing. Genevieve died, but a servant delivered the bloody bairn and placed it in Douglas’s arms. He scarce looked at the babe before turning it over to be suckled by a village woman who had also recently given birth.”
So caught up in the story was Meredith that she barely took time to appreciate the luxury of her bath. In minutes she stood and wrapped herself in the linen offered by Rowena. Seated before the fire she listened while Rowena dressed her hair and continued the tale.
“Douglas Mackay was gone for two years, locked in terrible battle with the English. When he returned, he stopped at the village and claimed his son, who was still living in the cottage of the woman who had nursed him. Father and son were never apart after that. When Douglas Mackay died, Holden Mackay became obsessed with amassing as much land and power as he could.”
“But the death of his mother at the hands of the English and his own cruel birth should not be sufficient reason to be cruel to his people.”
Rowena’s voice lowered to a murmur, as though fearing that at any moment the object of their discussion might come through the door and overhear her words.
“There are those who say that Douglas Mackay’s son was too frail to live, and that the village wench gave up her own son in order to ensure that he would be laird of the manor. Others even whisper that Douglas Mackay’s son was murdered by the woman in order to place her own son in the laird’s castle. Whatever the truth, she carried it to her grave. But until the day she died, Holden Mackay was devoted to her. It was she who was his adviser; she who taught him greed and avarice and spurred him on to achieve even greater wealth and power than his father before him.”
Meredith was too stunned to speak. That might explain Mackay’s cruelty. If he was raised from birth to lie and steal another’s inheritance, he would become the kind of man who would stop at nothing to succeed.
“Why did Holden Mackay ride with Brice Campbell?” Meredith asked suddenly.
“My lord Mackay boasted that it was his intention to befriend the Highland Barbarian and discover his weaknesses. In that way, he could overthrow Brice Campbell and claim his land and titles.”
“Titles?”
“Aye, my lady. Did you not know that Brice Campbell is also Earl of Kinloch? His father was held in highest esteem by King James, until he fell into disfavor just before his death. Despite the blot on his name the queen considers Brice Campbell to be a noble man.” Her voice lowered. “But there are those who would disgrace him and force the queen to award his land and titles to others.”
Meredith sensed the hand of another in all this. “Could it be that Gareth MacKenzie and Holden Mackay have joined forces in order to destroy Brice and divide his wealth between them?”
“There are many who covet the land and titles of Brice Campbell, my lady.”
Meredith was aware of the warmth in Rowena’s tone when she spoke of Brice.
“Do you know my lord Campbell?”
“Oh, aye,” Rowena said softly. “He was one of the few at Court in France who treated me with kindness.” Her tone betrayed her pain. “There are many who fear those who are different. And many more who are merely offended by my appearance.”
Meredith felt a wave of compassion for this woman. If only there were some way
to erase her pain.
“When Catherine de’ Medici ordered me returned to Scotland, it was Brice Campbell who gallantly offered to accompany me. And when I first returned to the Highlands, Holden Mackay promised Brice Campbell that I would be taken care of as befits a royal seamstress.” Rowena’s voice hardened. “But when Brice Campbell returned to his own castle, I was told that the only thing I would be given was the humble cottage where I was born. I have been forced to accept whatever scraps my lord Mackay tosses to me. I am no better than a beaten dog. It is the way Holden Mackay keeps all of his people obedient to his every wish.”
Meredith’s earlier resolve returned. She must escape this madman. At any cost.
“Here, my lady,” Rowena said, lifting the white gown in her hands. “You must hurry and prepare for your laird. He will be coming for you soon.”
When the woman crossed the room, her eyes widened in surprise. In Meredith’s hand was the small, deadly dirk.
“My lady...”
“Be still.” Meredith moved closer, lifting the knife in a menacing manner. “Put down the gown and remove your clothes.”
“My...”
“Quickly.”
When Rowena had removed her clothes, Meredith pointed to the white gown. “Now put it on.”
“But my lady, it will never fit.”
“Do it.”
Meredith watched as the woman, with trembling hands, pulled the gown over her head.
“You will sit there,” Meredith ordered, pointing to a bench in front of the fire.
When Rowena was seated, Meredith hurriedly pulled on her shirt, tunic and breeches, then stepped into her boots. “With your cloak to hide beneath, the guards will not stop me.”
“Perhaps. But they will know that I am not you,” Rowena protested.
“Aye.” Meredith paused, then lifted a lacy shawl from the bed and placed it over the woman’s head. With her hair covered, and the folds hiding the slight hump on her back, the guards would be fooled if they were given only a glimpse.
“Hold out your hands,” Meredith commanded.
“My lady, there is no reason to tie me,” Rowena said softly as Meredith tore the ribbons from her chemise to use as cord. “I would gladly take your place in order to help you escape this prison.”