Authors: Gerri Russell
"Aye."
Disgust at his rash action pulsed through Orrin. "I'll get the Stone back. I will go back to the bishop’s house and retrieve the Stone if it's the last thing I do."
"Nay, Orrin," Camden said fiercely. "We are in this together, as we always have been."
Orrin looked at his friend with a spiraling despair. "I really did think I was helping you."
A flicker of deep pain crossed Camden's face. "I know that, you fool."
"Can you ever forgive me?"
"We have yet another battle to fight to get back what rightfully belongs to the Lockharts. Are you with me?"
Orrin's nod was fierce. "To the end."
"Let's hope it doesn't go that far. But we must retrieve the Stone, and soon."
Orrin straightened. "I can have the men ready for battle in under an hour."
Camden nodded. "I will join you then."
Chapter Twenty-Three
Mistress Faulkner and four other women were in the chamber with Rhiannon when Camden returned. Rhiannon still wore the blue silk gown he had given her only a few hours past. She appeared as lovely as a cornflower in the soft summer sunshine instead of surrounded by a sea of death.
Three pallets lay against the far wall with linen sheets pulled up and over the heads of those who lay dead. On the opposite side of the room, four more pallets had been set up, three occupied by moaning female servants, and one by his steward.
Rhiannon dabbed at the fevered forehead of one of the women. "I am so sorry I called you Mistress Plague," the redheaded maid, Sophia, moaned. "My sharp tongue has brought a curse down upon this household."
"Shh," Rhiannon soothed as she smiled down at the woman. "You did no such thing. God's mercy will see you through this. And I do forgive you for any unkindness."
The woman clutched Rhiannon's hand. "'Tis more than I deserve."
The woman on the opposite pallet reached over and clasped Rhiannon's arm. "Please, you must send for a priest." She closed her eyes tightly for an instant before opening them again. "I'd like to take confession before I die."
Tears shimmered in Rhiannon's eyes as she gently stroked the woman's purple and black spotted flesh with a cool towel she'd dipped in a pail of water near the bedside. "We sent a message on to Glasgow not long ago, asking for someone to come. We've had no response yet."
"No one will come," the woman moaned.
"Even if they don't, I am certain that God will accept you or anyone here without last rites. The Church itself has made such reparations during earlier outbreaks of the plague where priests were not available."
Rhiannon sat back on her heels, wobbling slightly. Camden could see the dark smudges of exhaustion beneath her eyes, and yet she hardly took a moment to rest before rinsing her towel in the bucket and dabbing it over the black suppurations that covered the woman's body.
"Rhiannon," Camden called softly as he moved away from the doorway and into the chamber until he stood by Rhiannon's side.
"Don't come in here," she pleaded.
"I am already at risk." He stood before her, wanting more than anything to wipe the exhaustion from her face.
"Is there no way to stop this tragedy? Three have already died, and many more have fallen. I've had reports of warriors, servants, these women, and their children becoming ill. And that's just here at the castle. We have no idea how far this plague has reached. Can we not use the Stone to save them?"
"The bishop has the Stone."
"What?" Rhiannon gazed at him in shock. "How?"
"There's no time to explain." Camden reached for Rhiannon's hand, for the towel that dabbed futilely at the woman's body. He wanted her to understand what he was saying before he left. He did not want her to think he had abandoned her. "The men and I go to war against the bishop. We will return with all due haste."
"You are leaving?"
"I will return." His tone was fierce.
She nodded. "I understand."
Did she truly understand that he would never run from even this danger if it meant keeping her safe? He frowned at the glazed expression that fell across her face. Numbness had crept into her soul, protecting her mind from the complete horror of death and devastation that surrounded her.
Camden leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I will be back for you," he whispered with all the passion in his heart.
A spark of animation came back into her face. "I will be here."
He accepted her promise as he bolted out the door, urgency spurring him on. They had to hurry before this devouring beast consumed them all.
Rhiannon pushed past her growing fatigue and carried a tray laden with bread and cheese up the stairs from the kitchen to Violet's room. At the door of the chamber she paused, praying that the sickness had not spread to the young girl's chamber.
After knocking softly, Rhiannon pushed the door open and remained at the entrance. At the sight of Violet playing with her newfound friend, Rhiannon released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Violet was safe.
Violet glanced up at Rhiannon and smiled before she caught herself and arranged her features into a sour expression. "Why are you here?" she asked.
Undeterred, Rhiannon barely stepped into the room to set the heavy tray on a table near the door. "I brought all of you some food, and I ask a favor."
The maid set her sewing aside and rose from her chair.
"Stop," Rhiannon commanded. "Please, come no nearer to me."
The maid's face paled. "Why, milady?"
Rhiannon swallowed roughly. "Plague has hit the castle."
The maid gasped.
The children froze in their play. Even they knew the implications of that terrible word.
After a long pause, Violet said, "I can help. If you will only bring me the Stone."
"I would if I could." Rhiannon felt her shoulders dip as she explained what had happened.
"I was mad at you at first, for taking the Stone from me." The shield of aloofness around Violet dissolved as her eyes filled with tears. "I'm not mad anymore. I tried to protect you."
Rhiannon stared at the little girl, baffled. "What do you mean?"
Violet set her doll on the floor and rose, heading for Rhiannon. "I thought that if I—"
"Stop! I beg you. Come no closer. I could not live with myself if you became ill because of me."
The girl froze. Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in her eyes. "I thought that if I allowed myself to care about you, that you would be taken from me like my daddy and my mum. So I started pretending I didn't care."
Rhiannon felt a rush of sympathy at the child's logic, and how she'd tried to protect herself from further loss. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."
"How can you say that? The plague…"
"I am not going anywhere," Rhiannon said with such conviction she almost made herself believe the words were the truth. "Our lives were brought together for a reason."
Violet nodded. "Because God knew I'd need a mother."
An odd kind of peace settled over Rhiannon at the young girl's words. "Promise to stay in this room? All of you?" She searched each of their faces for agreement.
"We promise," Violet stated for them all.
Convinced that they would do as she asked, Rhiannon returned to care for the sick and dying.
Camden cupped his hands around his mouth and blew a hoary breath to warm his fingers as he waited for his men to surround the bishop's house. He wanted all exits covered before they attacked the bishop and his men. The bishop would surrender the Stone before the battle was through.
Dawn began to lift the gloom of night and give shape and substance to the bricked walls of the bishop's borrowed home. Tension knotted the muscles of Camden's back and neck as he waited in the cold that seemed to soak through his heavy layers of clothing to scratch wet, icy fingers up and down his spine. He was well-armed for this attack, with two daggers strapped to his chest, a claymore against his back, and his curved sword strapped to his side. All within reach and deadly, should the bishop choose not to cooperate.
It did not take long for his men, twenty-five heavily armed warriors, to surround the house. They waited in the growing light of day for the order to strike.
They were loyal, every single one of them — loyal to him not because of his politics or his religion or even his wealth, but because they were family. Their dedication, even Orrin's, warmed his spirit as he drew his curved sword and signaled for the charge to begin.
On his signal, half of the warriors charged into the house, while the other half waited outside for men who might try to escape. The bishop's forces were small, but powerful. That they'd stripped them of their cannon gave Camden a measure of comfort as he dismounted and charged through the door that his warriors had just knocked off its hinges.
In less than ten minutes, the bishop's men had been shredded by Scottish steel. Some men lay dying, surrounded by their own blood while others lived, cursing, moaning—their faces gritty masks of fear.
Camden led the charge into the inner chambers of the house. They servants cowered as they drew near, waving Camden's men through the corridor. They stopped abruptly at the sight of the bishop himself, sprawled on the floor in the middle of the hall.
Inside the nearest chamber, a young woman lay upon the floor, her face and neck covered with a red rash. The plague had struck here, too.
"Go get some horses from their stable," Camden ordered the warriors who had followed him into the room. "We'll take those who are living back to Lee Castle."
"What about the plague?" Orrin asked. "We are all exposed. Our only hope now is to find the Stone and pray its magic works on us all." Camden knelt beside the bishop's body.
"Help me turn him over."
Together, they rolled the holy man onto his back and saw the red rash that dominated the bishop's neck and face, evidence that he had fallen to the plague. "No one, not even he, deserves to suffer such an illness," Camden said. "He'll die soon without our help."
Orrin thrust his hands boldly into the folds of the man's priestly robe. "The Stone has to be here somewhere."
"Move away from him," a female voice called from behind Camden. "You aren't going anywhere with my son."
Camden twisted, looked across his shoulder at an old woman. Her shoulders were hunched and her body appeared almost skeletal beneath her linen nightrail. In age-spotted hands she held a slim dagger, aimed directly at Camden's back. Her gnarled fingers had turned white beneath the force of her grip. But the woman was old, and by the look of her sallow and spotted skin, none too healthy. Several dark black spots appeared as shadows on her torso. But one of the open wounds on her neck appeared as though it had started to heal.
"Mistress Berwick?" Camden asked calmly as he remained hunched next to the bishop's body. "Both you and your son have the plague. He will most likely die soon unless we take him back with us to our castle for treatment."
"He will be fine," she said. Her hand shook under the strain of holding the weapon erect. "The man is holy."
Camden glanced at Orrin, then slowly turned to face her. He hoped that his movements would distract her as Orrin continued to search through the bishop's clothing for the Stone.
"Even holy men can fall beneath the gauntlet of the plague."
The woman turned a pasty white. "He is a man of miracles. He will heal himself. He healed me."
Camden shook his head. "The only miracle here is that you are both still alive." He slid closer. "Your son did not heal you, milady. But something did. You appear to be one of the rare people who has fallen to the plague, then lived."
The old woman frowned. "What could you know of healings? You are no man of the church."
Camden stepped closer. "Nay, I am not. But I do know about healing people. I can make you completely well, like the young girl you used to be.
The dagger wobbled in her hands. "My son is the miracle worker. Not you." Her gaze dropped to the bishop's body. "Get away—"
Camden leapt at her, knocking the dagger from her hands. It tumbled to the floor. A heartbeat later he caught the woman in his arms, steadying her.
"Leave my son alone," she wailed.
"I found it," Orrin announced, in a triumphant voice. He clutched the Stone in his hand, allowing it to dangle from its silver chain.
The older woman twisted in Camden's arms, fighting him with more vigor than he had expected, further proof that she was indeed recovering from the dreaded disease. He set her free, not wanting to cause her harm.
She ceased her writhing and dropped to the floor beside her son. "Wake up, Harold." She pushed against his shoulder. "Show these men that you are mighty, indeed."