Page 1 of Bride takes a Scot

Chapter One

Castle Dungeons

Edinburgh, Scotland

March 1260

Clanks from ironbars, shouts from the prisoners, and pleas for help from the dying alerted Declan MacKendrick that the warden was making his rounds. For nearly three months, he’d been imprisoned in Edinburgh’s dreadful dungeons for the murder of his former father-in-law, clan leader, Alan Campbell, but it was a crime he hadn’t committed. During that time, he became accustomed to the stench of rotten food, and death, and God only knew what else existed in the dungeons beneath Edinburgh’s impenetrable fortress.

He awaited the opportunity to profess his innocence, but no one came to retrieve him for his sentencing. Declan expected the chancellor’s curia to tell him what the court had decided. He knew well enough that getting a fair trial was laughable and that his fate would probably be death by hanging. The sentence would be his cross to bear because murder was a heinous crime punishable by death. If someone wanted to imprison you or end your life, all they had to do was make an accusation. Bent sheriffs ruled lawless areas of Scotland and subjected anyone, even lairds, to their unlawful will. One of his enemies must have paid handsomely to have him detained. Yet he could think of noenemy or situation that would warrant such provocation besides the Campbells, whose laird he’d been accused of murdering.

Footsteps came closer and reverberated in the small corridor. The warder stopped before his cell and motioned to the other men standing behind him. “Bring him.”

The rattle and clinking of keys and creak of the door as it opened echoed off the long narrow hallway. Noise from the guards caused the other inmates to shake their chains and they shouted blasphemous words when they passed. Declan wanted to cover his ears as the noise jarred him but when they stopped outside his cell door, he shrank back against the wall.

He didn’t move when the men entered and approached. Given barely enough food to sustain him, and even less water, he’d weakened and couldn’t stand on his own. The jailers unlocked his fetters at his wrists and ankles and tossed them aside to land with a clank on the damp stone floor. They reached for him and forced him to stand, but his knees buckled, and he pitched forward. The men grabbed his arms and practically dragged him from the cell.

“The king wishes to see you,” the warder said. To his underlings, he clipped, “He is not to be harmed. Have a care because the king commanded that he not be injured.”

Why the king had sent for him perplexed Declan. Perhaps he wanted to hand down his sentence himself. Declan tensed at that. Would his life be ended on this day? If that was so, he had no regrets. His maker knew the truth. He lived with a wee bit of piety, and although his sins were many, he had not committed outright murder. If only he could convince Chancellor Inverkeithing of his innocence, he could save his neck from the noose. Yet he had no proof to sway justice to his favor.

Thoughts of his family entered his mind. Anguish filled him that he wouldn’t see his young son again, his siblings whom hepractically raised, and his clan. Declan prayed his clan wouldn’t mourn him long or be in chaos after learning of his death. But he relied on good men to keep order whenever he was away from his lands. Anse, his cousin, and commander-in-arms, would ensure all maintained order. His most seasoned soldiers, Trevor, Slone, and Lorcan, would see that the men protected their lands and clan. Silas, his stepbrother, would most likely be elected to lead the clan upon his death. That appeased him somewhat and reassured him that his clan was in good hands.

Corridors of stone walls and walkways led to the upper floors of the castle, where King Alexander made his residence. Although the young king still had two years before he reached his majority, he ruled over much of the kingdom with the aid of advisors. At a large wooden door that showed its age with cracking and discoloration, the warder knocked and waited. Someone shouted to enter, and he opened the door and motioned to his men to amble forward. The warder’s men held tightly to his arms and dragged him forward, into the king’s private domain.

A page holding a flagon stood at the end of a scarred wooden table flanked by more chairs similar to the one he’d been directed to sit in. At each place was an empty goblet, just waiting to be filled by that page, who stood staring at Declan with wide, rapidly blinking blue eyes.

Declan imagined he probably looked dirty and disheveled, and very much like the murderer he was accused of being. He wondered what would happen if he spoke to the lad and then decided not to in case he spooked him even more. Instead, he let his gaze travel around the room, taking in the faded tapestries lining the walls, the large hearth with its smoking embers, and the side table holding parchments, ink, and quills.

As he sat in wait for Alexander, he eyed a plain goblet that sat before him and wished it was full as a deep thirst taunted him.But he wouldn’t be so forward to ask the page to fill it and risk possibly irking the king even more.

Declan took a deep breath to settle himself. What he wouldn’t do to see his beloved Highlands again. He missed its frigid climate, barren stretches of land and hills, pristine lochs, and forests of towering pines. Most of all, he’d missed the fresh air and the solitary cottage he’d stolen away to when he needed a wee bit of respite from his needful clan. He didn’t have time to ruminate further because the king himself entered the room.

Alexander strode into the chamber a moment later and approached the table where he waited. The page hastened to fill Alexander’s goblet, which sat next to a stack of parchments on the tabletop. The tall king reached his place at the table with a quick stride, and as he sat, he pressed back the wavy reddish locks of his hair and then rubbed his eyes. Alexander appeared as weary as Declan felt. The page moved to stand by the king’s chair and waited for his master’s direction, but Alexander shooed the lad away. Declan was astounded when the king reached across the table and handed him the goblet.

“Drink, you must be thirsty.”

Declan’s hand shook as he held the goblet to his mouth. He didn’t want to appear weakened to his king, but his health had deteriorated in the last month. The ale tasted sour, so he only took a few small sips, enough to wet his throat. With nothing in his stomach, he was sure he’d retch if he swallowed a gulp like he wanted.

“MacKendrick,” Alexander said and leaned to grab a stack of missives from the table behind his chair. He tossed them onto the table in front of him and they spread across the wood. “These are proclamations from your clansmen and women declaring your innocence and demanding your release. Their pleas arrive daily. I’m inclined to believe them, but I must hear from your mouth that you did not murder Allan Campbell.”

“I did not murder him.” Declan’s voice rasped from disuse. “He was my wife’s father. Why would I kill him?”

The king nodded. “I know not how you came to be in the dungeon or who accused you of his murder, but you will not return. When I heard you resided there, I disbelieved what you were accused of because I know you to be an honorable man. I am aware of your troubles with the Campbells, but I find it hard to believe you would murder your dead wife’s father. This matter is closed as far as I’m concerned.”

That was a great relief, and Declan let the tenseness of his shoulders ebb. He had many questions, but it was best he allowed the king to speak and not cause his affront by being too forward.

“Your freedom, though, will come at a cost.”

Declan should have known the king would demand recompense. He considered what the man wanted in return for his freedom, what had happened in recent months, and how his aid might benefit his sovereign. But he hadn’t been privy to political matters since being behind bars, and what wealth he had he wasn’t about to share with the king unless he had no other recourse.

“I am innocent, and of course, Sire, I wouldst gladly repay ye for your benevolence. Ye have only to state your need.” He waited for the king’s demand.

Alexander stood and rounded his table, striding to the window casement with his hands clasped behind his back. He peered out where Declan could see the castle grounds that butted the courtyard, and the two large turrets flanked the gatehouse before turning back to him. The king appeared apprehensive. Whatever Alexander wanted certainly caused his uneasiness.

“As you know, I am not on good terms with the Highland clans. I mean to change that, and so I would like you to marrya woman from the south. It has long been my hope to unite our lands and marriage will afford me to bring my people together.”

Bollocks, Declan thought, there it was, the price of his freedom. Alexander had no care about the unity of his people. There was something greater that he hoped to achieve. Declan wasn’t dim-witted and could almost smell the pile of cosh Alexander was dishing out. He suspected Alexander hoped to infuse his army with Highlanders and Lowlanders.