Highland Revenge (Fated Hearts Book 1) (4 page)

The MacKay commander urged Fiona up the stairs to the top of one of Naomh-dùn’s towers and into a small, sparsely furnished room. It contained only a bed, a washstand and a table with two chairs. There was a high, tiny window. Marcas pulled his dagger from its sheath and moved towards her. Frightened, Fiona backed away, bumping into the table.

“Calm yerself, lass. I am just going to cut the binding.” He slipped the dagger between her wrists and cut the leather cord. She rubbed her wrists, wincing. He took her hands in his and turned them over, examining the raw skin. “Lass, what did ye do? Did ye fight against yer bonds the whole way here?”

“I can’t help it. I can’t abide being confined.”

“Well, ye’re free now.”

“I’m not free. Ye’re locking me up.”

“Thanks to Lady Anna, at least it isn’t in the dungeon.”

“To me there is little difference.”

Marcas snorted. “I’d say there is. Here ye have a bit of sunlight and no rats. Ye should be grateful for that. I will send up a maid with water and linens. I’ll see if I can find a salve for those wrists as well.”

“How long do ye suppose it will take?”

“For the maid to come up? Not long.”

“Nay, I mean for the ransom to be paid. How long before I am released?”

“I don’t know. Laird MacKay will prepare the demand and see it is delivered. Yer uncle must then gather the ransom; that can take a bit of time. Then the ransom will need to be delivered and exchanged for the prisoners. I can’t imagine it taking less than a sennight, and that is if yer uncle agrees to the terms. If he negotiates at all, it could take longer.”

“Longer?” The thought of remaining locked in this room for an hour made her feel ill. How would she survive a week or more? She fought to remain calm.

“Ye will be all right. As I said, be thankful ye won’t be in the dungeon.”

“Being locked up—anywhere—scares me. My uncle used to punish me by confining me.”

“I’m sorry, lass, but there is no other way. Ye’re a prisoner.”

A prisoner. “But I did nothing to deserve it. My uncle’s guardsmen must have made a mistake. Maybe if I talked to the laird and promised not to escape—I just need a few moments with him.”

“Nay. Ye heard what he said. If ye cause any problems, to the dungeon ye go. Don’t give him a reason.”

She nodded and turned her back to him. She was fighting back tears and didn’t want him to see.

“A maid will be up shortly.” He left the room.

The sound of the key in the lock killed any hope she had of keeping her tears at bay. She sank onto the bed and sobbed. If she had never helped his wretched hide years ago, she wouldn’t be his captive now. But his death would have meant dishonor, and she could never have allowed that. Even if her uncle managed to convince everyone that Eoin had simply died from his injuries, she would have known the truth.

Nay, she had acted with honor. If he survived the neglect her uncle forced upon him, she could survive being locked in a room at Naomh-dùn for a few days—or weeks. By the time the maid arrived with water, salve and linens, she had managed to regain a modicum of control.

~ * ~

The next few days were the most trying of her life. She was left alone nearly all the time. A different maid came three times a day, bringing food, fresh water and other necessities—including some clothing and personal items she had been taking with her to the Sutherlands. At first she tried to chat with the young women, but they didn’t respond, so she gave up. It was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears each time someone left and she heard the key scraping in the lock. She had trouble sleeping at night, had very little appetite and felt tense and edgy constantly.

She longed for a visitor, someone to talk to. For a few days she hoped Laird MacKay would visit her and she could tell him, but she finally set that hope aside too. What good would it do? He was cruel and he hated all MacNicols; it didn’t matter to him who she was.

The only thing that helped keep her sane was the tiny window. It was so high that she could only see the sky when standing on the floor. However, if she slid the table against the wall underneath, she could stand on it and see into the inner bailey. She watched out the window for hours at a time. Nothing exciting ever happened, but simply seeing people about the business of their day made her feel less alone and confined.

However, after a few days, looking out the window only reminded her of how truly alone she was, and she stopped. She stayed curled up on the bed and tried to imagine herself out riding on an open heath or walking in the water at the edge of a loch. She even thought longingly of Aunt Sorcha’s solar at Castle MacNicol—at least she would have had someone to chat with there. She prayed it wouldn’t be long before the ransom was paid and she could go home. Home. If there was a silver lining to be found, that was it. After this ordeal, she would surely be able to delay going to Sutherlands for a little while. Perhaps long enough to have Alec intervene.

Fiona lay like this one afternoon, lost in her thoughts and nursing her own growing hatred for the MacKays, when the door opened. Believing it was another silent maid bringing food that she didn’t feel like eating, Fiona remained still, with her eyes closed.

A masculine voice broke the silence. “My lady, I hope I am not disturbing ye.”

Shocked, she sat up and turned to face her visitor. Standing just inside the door was an older man wearing priest’s robes. Not terribly tall, he had a ring of white hair around his balding head and a warm friendly smile. It had been days since anyone had spoken to her and a small part of her worried that she might be imagining him.

“My lady, do ye mind if I come in?”

She came to her senses; he was very real. “Nay Father, ye’re welcome. I—I’m sorry for my rudeness. I didn’t expect a visitor.”

“Ye needn’t apologize, my lady.”

“Please call me Fiona, Father.”

“Fiona, then. I’m Father Tomas.” He surveyed the room, his glance resting on the uneaten food on the table. “Fiona, lass, ye haven’t eaten.”

“I’m not hungry, Father.”

He considered her for a moment before taking one of the chairs at the table. “Come sit with me and eat a bit anyway.”

She obediently sat in the other chair but made no move to eat. After longing for company for days, she had no idea what to say. He might be a priest but he was, after all, a MacKay.

“Eat, lass.”

“Pardon me, Father, but surely ye aren’t here just to see me eat. Why have ye come?”

He smiled indulgently. “Actually, I came for several reasons, one of which is to see that ye eat something. I am worried about ye and so is Lady Anna. She argues incessantly with the laird about ye. She wants to visit ye herself, but Laird MacKay won’t allow it. When I noticed that ye stopped looking out the window and heard yer food goes uneaten, I added my voice to hers.”

“And so the laird allows me a visitor? How very generous of him. Thank ye for yer concern, but I’m fine, Father.”

“Ye don’t lie well, Fiona. Ye clearly aren’t fine.”

“Well, I will be as soon as I can go home.”

“But we don’t know when that will be. Ye need to stay strong until then. Please, lass, ye’re wasting away.”

Something inside Fiona snapped. She jumped to her feet. “What do ye care? What do any of ye care? Ye’re MacKays and ye hate me simply because of my family. I’ve done ye no injury, far from it. And yet, Laird MacKay is punishing me—” her voice broke on a sob. “He won’t listen to me and has locked me in this room. Well, here’s a bit of news. I’m learning to hate ye right back. Someday I will teach my hatred to my children and it will go on forever. That must surely be the goal in all of this, because I can see no other outcome.” She stood before him, trembling, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

The old priest stood and embraced her gently, letting her cry the way her father had when she was little. When she stopped, he guided her back to the chair. Sitting across from her, he took her hands in his.

She whispered, “I’m sorry, Father.”

“There’s no need to apologize, child. Ye’re right, of course. Hatred begets hatred and the innocent always suffer the most. I am sorry ye’re caught in this web. I don’t hate ye and neither do all the MacKays.”

“Laird MacKay does, and there is no reason for it.”

“I don’t think he hates ye personally, but yer uncle did a terrible thing to him.”

“Aye, but another MacNicol saved his life, and yet he is only interested in revenging the wrong rather than returning the kindness.”

“How is it ye know someone helped him?”

“Father, everyone knows someone helped him. He wouldn’t have lived or escaped otherwise. It doesn’t matter anymore anyway. Clearly that person has been forgotten.”

“Perhaps not, Fiona. While yer kinsmen are being held in the dungeon, Laird MacKay treats them fairly. The healer has tended their injuries and they are given adequate food, water and bedding. Ye have not been held in deprivation either.”

Fiona sighed. “I have been locked in a small room and tended by silent maids for over a week. Until ye came today, I hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. I hate being confined. I feel as if I’m going daft. When I was a child, I would sooner face a beating than a locked room. Laird MacKay couldn’t have served me a worse punishment if he tried.”

“Child, I’m sorry. I’ve known others who felt the same way when confined. Perhaps if I explain this to Laird MacKay, maybe some other arrangement can be made.”

“Would ye, Father? I tried to speak to him the day he brought me here, but Marcas said it would do no good.”

“I will talk to him, but ye must promise to eat something. If ye fall ill from lack of food, ye won’t be able to leave when the ransom is paid, and that should be any day now.”

Father Tomas kept her company for a little longer. For the first time in days, hearing the lock click after he left didn’t fill her with despair. Maybe he would gain some bit of freedom for her until her uncle paid the ransom.

Her hopes soared even higher later that afternoon. She heard a commotion in the inner bailey. She climbed onto the table and looked out the window. She was thrilled to see that a small group of riders, carrying the MacNicol banner and a white flag, had entered the gates. They led horses. It could only mean one thing—her uncle had paid the ransom and she was going home. It would all be over soon. She washed quickly, changed her clothes, combed her hair and worked it into a thick braid for travelling. Then she gathered her belongings so she would be ready to leave without delay. With nothing left to do, she paced nervously until someone finally knocked on the door and opened it. The laird’s brother, Tasgall, stood there looking grave. “Ye can come with me down to the hall my lady.”

“I’ll just get my things.” She started to retrieve the small bundle from her bed.

“Nay, lass, that won’t be necessary. Please just come with me.”

“Is something wrong? I saw men riding under the MacNicol banner, leading extra horses. This is about the ransom isn’t it?”

“Aye, Fiona.” He said no more, simply taking her arm and leading her from the room. They descended the stairs quickly and as she stepped into the hall, she glanced around. Eoin sat at the head of the table, an unfurled scroll and several large bags of what Fiona assumed to be coins on the table in front of him. He looked furious. The MacNicol guardsmen who had accompanied her stood waiting near the main doors.

“What’s happening?” she whispered to Tasgall, but before he could answer, she saw Padraig standing to one side of the table. He put his arms out and she ran into his embrace. Padraig had been more of a father to her since her own da’s death than Uncle Bhaltair.

“My lady, I had to see ye, to know ye’re well.”

“I am, Paud. I’ve missed ye so. I’m glad it’s ye who came to take me home. I’m ready to go.”

“Ah sweet lass, I’ve missed ye too.”

She rested her head against his chest and he stroked her hair as a father would.

“Ye’ve seen her now. Ye can return to Castle MacNicol with yer men.” Eoin growled.

With yer men
? “What about me? The ransom is paid, isn’t it? I’m going home too.”

Padraig took her hands in his. “Nay, pet. I’m sorry.”

“It seems, Fiona, that yer uncle was willing to pay for the return of his men, but not for ye.” Eoin’s tone was calm, but he was clearly furious.

Fiona couldn’t believe her ears. “Nay. Nay. There has been some mistake. Paud, tell him. Tell him there has been a mistake.”

“I’m sorry pet, it is true. Yer uncle believes that since ye’re betrothed to Bram Sutherland, the Sutherlands should pay yer ransom.”

“What about Alec? Did ye contact him? He is the laird. He won’t stand for this. I know he will see the ransom paid.”

Padraig looked stricken. “Alec is missing, Fiona. He left Munro as soon as he received word of yer capture. He hasn’t been seen since.”

Fiona had been locked in a room for over a week fighting panic and despair. She had pinned all hope on the confidence that her ransom would be paid. This couldn’t be happening. She had to stay strong a little longer. She wouldn’t cry. There was a mistake and it would all be sorted out.