April Holthaus - The MacKinnon Clan 02 Read online

  “Yes, I once thought to devote my life to serve the church, but my brother refused my wishes.”

  “Well I must say, my lady, that I am grateful for his denial. A lady like you should not be hidden away in the confinement of the church and behind nun’s robes. You should be dressed in the finest of gowns to show off your beauty,” he said as he brushed his hand against her cheek.

  Jacqueline blushed from his words and unexpectedly smiled. Never had a man spoke to her in such a way, but James entered her mind and her smile quickly vanished.

  “Would you care to join me on our walk now?” he asked.

  Jacqueline nodded and Lord Wessex stood up and held out his hand to assist her. He placed her arm under his and began walking out of the church and into the gardens. Jacqueline listened to him as he spoke of his family and his life as a militant man. In turn, Jacqueline answered his questions about her own life, but left out details of how her parents were killed and of James. Those, to Jacqueline, were far too private.

  As they walked, they passed the wall just outside the dungeon, causing Jacqueline’s eyes to drift downward at the small window opening. She wondered how many of them had survived the day’s hangings. She knew that even though a caged bird was offered food and shelter from the elements, it would give up all of its comforts for freedom. Jacqueline had only wished that she had the courage to fly.

  Listening to Lord Wessex, and how her had treated her thus far, comforted Jacqueline. She was glad that he was not the vicious man from the stories she had previously heard about him. She had no doubt that when the time came, Lord Wessex would open her heart to a lasting friendship, as that would be all she could offer him.

  “Well, My Lord, Charles. The hour is late. I thank you for your company.”

  “The pleasure has been mine, Jacqueline,” he said as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

  Once Lord Wessex opened the door to the great hall to escort her inside, Jacqueline took her leave to retire to her bedchamber for the remainder of the evening.

  Ewan saw nothing but the blackness of the night illuminated by the few torches lit on the curtain wall of the castle. He inched closer to the tree line to have a better look. Several villagers passed through the gates carrying with them what appeared to be large sacks. The men in the courtyard seemed occupied with mundane tasks of hauling supplies and moving whiskey barrels about. Ewan’s curiosity grew as he knew that something was going on. Most of the guards were away from their posts and for this time of night, far too much activity was going on.

  “We should strike now. They are nay expecting an attack,” Oliver suggested.

  “Nay, now is no’ the time. We will wait till first light,” Ewan cautioned.

  “Nay, we should get ‘em while they lie in their beds and cut their throats while they sleep.”

  “Look around, ye ol’ fool. Heavily guarded they may no’ be, but twice the guards they have. To attack now would be foolish in this darkness. We dinna have the faintest idea where the dungeon is and we would only get ‘em killed. Patience, my good friend. We will ken when we are ready.”

  Oliver spun around kicking the dirt up as he scuffled away in frustration. Ewan knew that whatever was going on down in the courtyard would only jeopardize their mission. He knew that Oliver was angered by having to wait, but running in blind would only be suicide and prove unsuccessful. Ewan turned back to the trees and helped the men set up camp for the night.

  The sun had not even risen before Jacqueline awoke. Too nervous pending the day’s events, she sat on the edge of her bed in what was to be her wedding dress. Her stomach began to flutter with uneasiness. Glancing across the room, she gazed into the mirror. Almost unrecognizable, the reflection was almost as if a stranger was staring back at her. At her brother’s request and without argument, she agreed to marry Lord Wessex. And in a few short hours, she would be.

  Jacqueline aimlessly twirled her hair around her finger, allowing her mind to drift as she stared out the window at the sky. Bright colors of red and orange lit the sky as the sun began to rise. Slowly, Jacqueline stood up from the bed and walked over to the window. And without thought or reason, she stepped up onto the ledge holding onto the sides of the window frame. Her lack of emotion made her so numb that she couldn’t even feel the cool air on her bare skin.

  Jacqueline looked down at the thorny brush below. For a moment she thought about how easy it would be to just let go; to release her hands from their grip. She felt trapped and almost welcomed death. Her heart skipped a beat as she almost lost her footing. Jacqueline tightened her grip on the wooden frame as a small sliver pierced her fingertip.

  Jumping down from the window frame, she carefully pulled the splinter out of her finger as a drop of blood landed onto the hemline her dress. She went to the basin of water to frantically wash off the blood before a stain set in. The dress she wore belonged to her mother. It had been saved in an old wooden trunk at the end of her bed for when she got married. Looking over at the trunk now, memories flashed in her head. Jacqueline wandered over to it and kneeled down lifting the top open. Inside the chest held the last few things she had left of her parents’ possessions that her uncle allowed her to keep.

  They included two of her father’s books, and a small brooch with a lion and serpent upon it, the Renold family crest. Jacqueline often wondered how her father had come to have such a sacred family heirloom. Stories her cousin had told her was that he had no brothers when he met her mother and most of his family was dead. His marriage to Jacqueline’s mother was only secured by a chest of coin he offered and his devoted affection for her.

  Theirs was a love match in every way. Jacqueline envied her parents as her marriage to Lord Wessex would be a loveless one. But nonetheless, Jacqueline would do her duty to her family and marry the man. After all, their marriage had been arranged for years, according to her cousin. Bringing the households of Carlisle and Wessex together had been planned ever since she was a child. Only until she became the age of sixteen was the vows of marriage of import. Uniting the two families also provided stronger allies to King Edward and his war against both Scotland and France.

  The last item in the truck was a torn piece of tartan. The plaid of red and green was well-worn but the colors were still distinct enough to make out. This piece of cloth was the only evidence proving MacKinnon murdered her parents. It was found clutched in her mother’s hand. Jacqueline felt anger as he was never tried for their deaths. Instead, he had gone into hiding. Jacqueline dropped the fabric back into the trunk and slammed it closed when she heard someone knocking at the door.

  “My lady, it is time.” Maggie called out from the other side of the door.

  Ewan woke with astonishment that Lord Richard had a wedding proceeding that morning. He watched as visitors dressed in their finest were escorted from the gates to the large church which stood on the far side of the keep. Serenading music echoed through the trees causing his men to grunt with ridiculous amusement. During the ceremony, Ewan thought would be the perfect time to enter through the gates. Even though they were not dressed up all fancy-like, they would be able to sneak in unnoticed, disguised as simple villagers wanting to pay their respects to the bridegroom and his bride. This distraction was exactly what he needed. Most of the men would be unarmed, and unprepared if it came to an attack.

  Feeling the tingle on the back of his neck, Ewan felt a hand cup his arm. Instinctively, Ewan grabbed onto his dagger, turned and pressed it hard onto the man’s throat.

  “Ewan, it’s me,” Oliver whispered.

  “Ye should nay sneak up on a mon, could get yerself killed,” Ewan said as he lowered the dagger.

  “I just returned from the eastern side of the castle. There is nay any other way around except through those gates. The walls are too high to climb and there dinna appear to be any cracks or holes to burrow through.”

  “Then through the gates it is. We will first need to take care of the guards at the gates. The dungeons w
ill be locked. One of the guards will have the key. Search ‘em. We must do this quickly and quietly.”

  “Aye.”

  Ewan and Oliver nodded to each other indicating that it was time. The others stayed behind and waited as Ewan and Oliver made their way to the gates. Without spilling any bloodshed, both men attacked the guards, rendering them unconscious. Grabbing onto their boots, the two men dragged them into the nearby bushes. Signaling to the others to join them, Ewan and Oliver dug through the guards’ pockets looking for any sign of a key.

  “I can no’ find one,” Oliver called out.

  “Damn it,” Ewan responded.

  Jacqueline followed the procession line down the aisle towards the altar where both her brother and Lord Wessex stood. The church had been cleaned and dusted from the day before and fresh flowers covered the floor. The sun shined brightly through the narrow window slits and all of the candles that hung on the walls were lit.

  Jacqueline felt the lump beginning to form in the back of her throat as her chest constricted, causing her to breathe heavy. She took deep breaths trying to will away her agitation and fear of what was about to happen. Jacqueline felt grateful for the long white veil that covered her face. She felt relieved that the crowd of people could not see the sadness upon her face.

  Lord Wessex was dressed in a fashionable white open collar shirt with black trews. His hair was nicely combed back and he stood tall and proud with his hands folded behind him. His facial expression however, Jacqueline thought looked cold and unemotional as if this was a matter of business as opposed to his wedding day.

  Her brother on the other hand was dressed in a similar fashion which made Jacqueline softly giggle seeing her brother dressed as such. For a nobleman, Wayland was always more comfortable in his everyday tunics. Jacqueline was amused by his look of discomfort. At least for a moment it had cheered her up.

  The priest, who was dressed in his dark-colored robes came to stand before her and Lord Wessex and began the ceremony. Speaking in Latin, he started out with a prayer of greeting and worship. With her hands folded together and her head bowed, Jacqueline and Lord Wessex kneeled before the priest. With his hand, the priest gently pressed down on the tops of their heads and blessed them. Shaken by the noise of the bells ringing from the battlement, the entire room was startled as the church doors blew open.

  “My Lord, My Lord. We are under attack,” a guard yelled out from the back of the church.

  Without haste, the men ran out into the courtyard leaving Jacqueline to stand up at the altar alone and unprotected. Running to the window, she flung off her veil and she peeked out the slit to watch the battle unfold in front of her eyes. She watched as the assailants moved closer to the dungeon door, but was stopped at every attempt. It soon dawned on Jacqueline who these men were and why they were here. They came for the prisoners.

  As the group of women huddled at the back of the church, Jacqueline snuck out the back door unnoticed. Without a moment of hesitation, Jacqueline hid behind a cart piled high with hay along the castle wall. She looked back and forth, between the door to the keep and the one that led to the dungeons. Inside, she felt an internal struggle; to run and hide from the intruders or help them. She knew that she could not free herself from her own bindings but she had the power to help free them.

  Jacqueline crept along the wall as the men battled it out in the courtyard. Frightened by the loud clashing of metal, she held her hands to her ears and continued on towards the dungeon door. With swift stealth movement, Jacqueline pulled hard onto the iron door with all her might, and tightly squeezed in the opening unnoticed before closing the door behind her.

  Looking around the musty cold cell, she saw about a half a dozen men, and the two young boys. The room smelled like rotten food and urine. Jacqueline gagged. Holding her breath, she walked to the cell door and quietly said, “I am here to help you.”

  Jacqueline grabbed the key that hung on the wall outside the cell door and turned the key in the rusted lock. She swung the door open and put her finger to her lips to indicate to them to keep silent. They snuck up behind her slowly taking each step at a time. Distracted by fighting, Jacqueline was thankful that no one was guarding the door.

  Jacqueline called out, “Go, and go now.”

  “Bless ye, my lady,” a man whispered to her and the group of them ran out towards the gates in the middle of the scuffle.

  “Ewan, the prisoners,” Duff cried out pointing to the men running towards them.

  In the dim light as men had kicked up dirt and dust causing it to float through the air, Ewan had to squint his eyes. He did not see the shine of their swords, nor did he hear the sound of battle cries. The small band of men running towards them, were unarmed.

  “Help us, save us,” a man cried out.

  “They be Scottish,” Oliver yelled.

  “Quickly, to the woods wit ‘em,” Ewan insisted.

  As they continued to fight, more guards piled into the courtyard to defend their castle. Soon Ewan and his men became outnumbered. Once Ewan knew that Oliver had safely made it to the woods with the prisoners, he would fall back and retreat. Swinging his sword, he cut down the guards trying to close the gates. Kicking over a whiskey barrel towards his attackers, Ewan took the opportunity to run through the gate, just as it slammed closed onto the ground. He ran as fast as he could across the bridge to get enough distance between him and the English before they had a chance to re-open the gates.

  “Halt. You there,” Ewan heard an English guard yell out.

  Stopping in his tracks, Ewan turned when he heard the alarm from the guard.

  “Everyone to the horses, now,” he yelled as he helped a wounded captive onto the back of his horse.

  Looking down the hill towards the castle, Ewan saw a shimmering figure of a woman running across the courtyard. Her ashen-colored hair and white dress shimmered in waves as she appeared to be floating towards the shadows of the wall. The sun’s rays shined off the mysterious lass like a halo or a beacon beckoning in the night; drawing Ewan to step closer, almost bewitched by her beauty. Ewan knew that only the legend of Sirens who lived in the deepest part of the ocean had this effect on man. But this lass was no Siren. She was an angel, he assumed, as no mortal woman would find herself in the middle of a battle.

  Knocking him out of his daydream, Oliver whispered out, “Ewan, we need to leave.”

  “I thought I saw…,” Ewan tried to explain.

  “Hurry,” Oliver urged.

  Ewan turned back towards the castle but the angel had disappeared. He mounted his horse and rode off back towards Scotland.

  Chapter 4

  Pacing back and forth, Jacqueline kept herself from running to her window to watch the horrid scene below. She worried that the bloodshed had cost many lives.

  An hour had passed and still no sign of her brother or cousin. Jacqueline’s curiosity grew as no one had come to check on her, not even her betrothed. Each passing moment, Jacqueline’s mind ran rampant with all possible scenarios of what could have happened. They could have been killed during the raid, or taken as a prisoner themselves. Perhaps they were all dead and God’s mercy had saved her soul.

  Feeling plagued from exhaustion, Jacqueline thought to lie down. Unlacing her dress and shifted her torso back and forth, she pulled her dress up over her head. Taking out a clean white nightgown, she slipped it on, covered herself with a robe and went to sit down in front of the hearth. She knew that at least this night the wedding was canceled and would probably resume in the morning.

  Wayland marched from the courtyard into the great hall with his guards to ascertain the situation. Storming behind him was Richard and Lord Wessex.

  “What the hell happened? How did they get inside the gates?” Richard yelled out.

  One of the guards courageously stepped forward and spoke up, “We were unprepared, My Lord. They attacked the guards at the front gate and walked in among the villagers. It wasn’t until we demanded they leave their wea
pons did we know that it was an ambush.”

  “Our castle was just attacked and the prisoners are gone. Someone will pay for this,” Wayland said in an unsympathetic tone.

  “We will gather men to go after the ones responsible,” the guard said.

  “Responsible? We know bloody well it was the Scots,” Lord Wessex sneered

  “There were only a few of them, how exactly did they get past you and into the dungeons?” Wayland asked the group of soldiers

  The line of soldiers looked around at each other but remained silent.

  “You will answer or you too will see yourself in the bowels of the dungeon,” Richard hollered.

  “It’s just, we are not certain what we saw, My Lord,” the same brave solider said.

  “And what is it that you think you saw?” Wayland asked.

  The solider cowardly lowered his head and whispered, “Lady Jacqueline, My Lord.”

  “Blasphemy. What is the meaning of this?” roared Lord Wessex.

  “It’s true, My Lord. We saw Lady Jacqueline open the door to the dungeon and that is when moments later, we saw the prisoners escaping to the woods,” the man replied.

  Facing Richard, Lord Wessex fumingly asked, “You dare have me wed a traitor?”

  “No, My Lord. Certainly these men must be mistaken. If you wish, we will confront her at once,” Richard said as they headed towards the staircase.

  Jacqueline shook from the loud thundering sound the door made when someone repeatedly pounded on it. Opening the door, she saw Maggie standing in the doorframe. Deathly pale the poor woman looked distraught.

  Maggie brushed past Jacqueline, grabbed onto Jacqueline’s slippers and forcefully shoved them into Jacqueline’s hands. Reaching for the handful of silver that Jacqueline kept inside a black velvet trinket box, Maggie shoved the coins into a small leather pouch and tied it to the rope of Jacqueline’s cloak.