Page 17 of The Bells of Triumph (Highlands’ Lost Valley #3)

16

THE PRICE OF TREACHERY

F rom atop his horse, Campbell studied the MacKenzie Castle. He was wholly unimpressed with the dilapidated state of things, but he wasn't surprised. Vines had overtaken the entire eastern wall, eating into the stones and covering more than half of the windows. Shingles were cracked or missing entirely. The courtyard wasn't in much better condition, though it likely seemed worse due to the muddied state.

Just as he had made it into the courtyard, the rain had let up. That did nothing for the cold that had seeped into his skin. Campbell was miserable, there were no two ways about it. Between the ache in his bones and the pain in his leg, he was ready to get inside and down half a bottle of whiskey. The amber liquid would make him forget his pain and the cold, and then he would be able to sleep. The sooner he got this over with, the better.

“Laird Campbell,” MacKenzie greeted from the steps of the castle. “What an unexpected surprise.”

“It would nae be a surprise if it was expected,” he retorted dryly.

MacKenzie chuckled and shifted his feet, not quite meeting Campbell's gaze.

“I see ye have nae forgotten our deal.”

MacKenzie got several confused glances from his son and council, making Campbell grin.

“Ye will have to excuse me,” Campbell called out as two of his advisors helped him down from the saddle while a third offered him a crutch to hobble on, “I am nae quite myself today.”

“I have nae forgotten about ye, Campbell. As agreed, ye are always welcome here. It seems as though ye have been gravely wounded. What happened to the rest of yer leg?”

Campbell growled, irritated that the man didn't have enough common sense not to ask such pestering questions. MacKenzie wasn't in the position to be sly and coy. He had no right to make any kind of insinuations.

Stumbling forward, Campbell ignored MacKenzie and his foolish question. He would much rather answer the one everyone who had been listening was silently asking. A quick look around and Campbell was satisfied that there were enough soldiers in the courtyard, his own and MacKenzie's, to bear witness to MacKenzie's sins. And Campbell was all too happy to bring them to light.

“I am sure many of ye are confused about my presence here. It seems as though yer Laird has nae been forthright and honest with ye for quite some time.”

“Campbell, ye dinnae have to do this,” MacKenzie pleaded in a frenetic whisper.

“Ye see, this is nae my first trip to these lands. I made one many years ago in an effort to learn the truth of some rumors I had heard.”

“We can sort out another deal, Campbell. Please. I will give ye whatever ye want.”

As fast as his crutches allowed him, Campbell whirled around to where Laird MacKenzie now stood, a few steps into the courtyard. He lowered his voice into a menacing whisper that only the Laird could hear.

“Kneel then.”

“What?” MacKenzie asked, clearly confounded by the demand.

“Father, what is going on?”

“Ye said ye would give me whatever I want. I want ye to kneel. Declare that ye surrender yer lands and yer people to me. That is the price of my silence.”

MacKenzie opened and shut his mouth once, twice, then three times, frantically looking around.

“I cannae do that,” he finally answered.

Campbell shrugged, already annoyed with how long things were taking.

“Then ye leave me nay choice.”

He turned back to the courtyard, where dozens of pairs of eyes were on him.

“Ye see,” he called out to the crowd once more, “yer precious Laird MacKenzie, ” he mocked, “has betrayed ye all. Years ago, he made a deal to get more land. A deal with the English!”

Cries of outrage sounded from the MacKenzies.

“He is a traitor and deserves to be punished for his crimes!”

Pointing a finger, Campbell spun back to MacKenzie, who now wore a horror-stricken look on his face.

“Time to pay yer debt,” Campbell whispered.

Before another second had passed, Campbell unsheathed his sword and swung it at Laird MacKenzie. He didn't stop until the man's head fell from his shoulders and rolled to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood went everywhere, coloring the rain puddles red. His body fell to the ground next, landing at Campbell's feet.

“Even in death, ye still look like a coward,” Campbell spat.

“I will have yer head for that! Murderer!”

Campbell rolled his eyes as he looked from the decapitated body to the man who had shouted.

“Och, the ever-loyal son ready to fight for his beloved father. How pathetic.”

The man rushed forward, his sword drawn. But it wasn't worth Campbell's effort. He was bored by this already. With a wave of his hand, two of his soldiers stepped forward, intercepting him. One disarmed the man while the other ran a sword clean through his chest.

No one said a word as the red-coated sword was pulled back out. Something warm splashed on Campbell's face, near his eye. With disdain, he wiped it off and then rubbed his hand on the shirt of whoever was standing closest.

Moving through the shocked crowd at a snail's pace, Campbell left everyone in suspense. His men were ready to attack if given the order. But Campbell had other ideas in mind. He hobbled to the front steps, where Laird MacKenzie had stood only moments before. As he searched the crowd, he was pleased to find that none of the MacKenzie men would look him in the eye. They were all too frightened to meet his gaze.

“Allow me to make one thing clear,” Campbell said, addressing the crowd, “MacKenzie Castle, this clan, these lands—they are all under siege as of this moment. They are mine.”

A handful of MacKenzie guards flashed up looks of shock and anger. Campbell made mental note of their faces, ready to squash any insubordination. He would have thought beheading their Laird and killing the heir would have been enough, but he was never one to shy away from enforcing his power when needed.

“This does nae have to be difficult. In fact, I will do my verra best to make it simple for you. I will give ye all two choices. The first is death. Those who dinnae wish to join me, step forward, and you will be dispatched quickly. This is the only time I will offer ye a painless death.”

He waited for a moment, letting his implied threat blanket the men in front of him.

“Yer second choice,” he finally continued, “is to join me.”

Campbell shifted his weight on his crutch, irritated by its presence. Despite all that was happening, he had been unable to forget, even for a second, his leg. The fact irritated him to no end. A bottle of whiskey was growing more and more enticing the longer he stood.

“I dinnae need to tell ye the facts ye have already heard. My grandfather, a Celtic king, taught me all there is to ken about leading an empire, and that is what I intend to do. It will be nay surprise to ye that my destiny is to overtake Murray Castle once and for all. Join me and become part of the greatest force these Highlands have ever seen. Together, these lands will fuse with Murray lands and join my own clan. We will stretch from shore to shore. There will be none who can bear to stand against us.”

He spoke faster and faster, getting caught up in the thrill of his plans. The taste of victory lingered on his tongue, teasing him, taunting him for more.

“Join me and watch as I transform these Highlands into a clan, a kingdom the likes of which has never been seen before.” He panted as a cold sweat ran down his temples. “Those are yer choices, lads. Join me and live, or refuse me and die. I will give ye a minute to consider.”

Trying to collect himself, Campbell turned his back to the crowd and smoothed the strands of hair that had fallen into his face. Wet and cold from the rain, his hair didn't want to stay in place well, as water dripped from the ends of the strands down his back. The water turned his muted brown, straggly hair into an almost black color that shined against the reflection of his crown. Even that felt off kilter on top of his head. While the ornament typically made him feel powerful and in control, right now, it felt like it was squeezing his head. He was too overwrought to seem in control. Campbell sniffed and wiped at his never straight nose. Pushing down the pain, ignoring the throb in his leg, Campbell sucked in a breath that was more shaky than steadying. But it was the best he could do. His patience was gone as the cry for warmth from a bath and a glass of whiskey grew louder in his mind.

Spinning back around, Campbell searched the crowd once more, this time with a much more stern look on his face. He was in no mood to wait around even a second longer than he already had.

“What will it be?” he demanded.

The men looked between each other, trying Campbell's patience. He spun the sword in his hand around, getting ready to wield it.

“Well? Shall I give the order?”

His own men looked like they were itching for the chance to start a fight. Their bloodlust nearly rivaled his own. Campbell made to move forward and that was all it took.

Nearly stumbling over himself, the first man crashed to his knee with his chin tucked and head bowed. The next man followed suit until an entire wave of soldiers was kneeling on the ground, their eyes on the mud, effectively pledging their allegiance to him.

“That is what I thought.”

“Let me out!” Caitria cried hoarsely. “Please, someone. Hear me! Dinnae forget about me.”

Her voice broke in anguish. She hadn't realized that she was locked inside. In all likelihood, her door was always locked, she had merely never tried to open it before. Before, it didn't matter if she couldn't get out or if someone forgot about her.

Caitria slid to the ground, her fingers still clutching the doorknob in a hopeless attempt to will it open. Her entire body was leaning against the door, though her head bobbed forward. She was too weary to even bother holding that up anymore.

“My lady,” a voice echoed down the hall.

She was so desperate for someone to save her that she had taken to imagining the voice. She even thought she heard the sound of a key sliding into the lock, turning it to open the door.

“My lady,” the voice called again just as the door shifted against her frame.

“Is someone there?” she questioned, picking up her head, though trying not to get her hopes up.

“It is Hamish, my lady. Please, let me in.”

Caitria scrambled to get off the floor as fast as she was able. This time, as she yanked on the doorknob, the entire door came flying into the room, leaving a startled Hamish standing on the other side. She furiously wiped at her face, hoping to hide any traces of her tears.

“Why were ye on the floor? What is going on?” the older man asked as he hurried into her room. “Never mind that now.”

Shooing her away from the doorway, he peered out into the hallway before shutting and locking the door. He motioned for her to stay quiet and then led her to the farthest corner of the room.

“What is all this about, Hamish?” she questioned, her mind racing.

“It is yer father, my lady. Campbell has killed him. Yer brother is also dead. Campbell has claimed our clan as his own. He has sieged the castle and demanded we all pledge our allegiance to him.”

While she was shocked at the news, she didn't bother feigning grief over the loss of her family. They had never been particularly kind to her, treating her more like a used rag to throw away rather than a daughter or sister. Her father had been a cruel man, taking his anger for the world out on her. If she allowed herself a moment of honesty, she would find that she was relieved they were gone. But that didn't explain Hamish's panicked state.

“What do ye mean Campbell has sieged the castle?”

“I mean just that—he waltzed in with his army and took over the place. It will nae be long before he comes looking for ye. Ye cannae be here when he does.”

Caitria blinked in surprise as she struggled to take in everything the faithful servant was saying.

“Why? Why would he come looking for me?”

“He wants to ensure that nay one can lay claim to the clan. Ye are the last MacKenzie in this castle. He will nae leave ye alive.”

Hamish then raced to her wardrobe and pulled out her cloak along with an extra dress, her pair of boots, and some thicker stockings than the ones she was currently wearing.

“Here, take these. Ye will need them on yer journey.”

He foisted the clothes at her before turning back to the wardrobe and rummaging through it. While his back was turned, Caitria looked at the pile of things in her hands and then back at the servant.

“Where will I go? What will I do?”

Tears threatened to escape her eyes once more, but she fought down the feeling as quickly as it rose.

“Ye will go to Seamus.” Hamish finally turned back around, this time with a leather satchel in his hands. “He is the only one who can help us now.”

Caitria felt paralyzed as Hamish continued to work, stuffing her extra clothes in the bag.

“Ye have heard the destruction and havoc Campbell has had on the Murray lands. He will do the same to us. I doubt it will take him verra long at all to bring us all to ruin. He must be stopped before it is too late.”

“But why must I go to Seamus?”

Her voice shook, but it was not fear of Campbell or even fear of the journey ahead of her that caused it. Rather, she was terrified at the prospect of seeing her son again. It was the thing she wanted most in the world, yet now that she had the chance, she found herself unable to move towards it.

“He has an army of men who are willing to stand against Campbell. And the lad is one hell of a fighter, if he was able to take Campbell's leg. He can help us. Ye must go to him and tell him what has happened. Ye must convince him to save us.”

Hamish's conviction stirred something in her. For the first time in ages, she felt as though she had a purpose. There was something she could do to help, something she could do beyond withering away in her rooms.

“I will need my boots,” she told the servant by way of answering.

Moving with haste, Caitria laced up her shoes while Hamish checked the hallway.

“We will have to move quickly and quietly. I can get ye as far as the clan borders, and then ye will be on yer own.”

She nodded, hoisting her bag over one shoulder and across her body. Waving her through, Caitria followed Hamish through the castle. They took a roundabout way down the servant's halls and through hidden doorways, never making a sound. She was sure they would be caught the entire time they moved. After all, she had been caught every other time she had tried to escape MacKenzie Castle. But this time would be different. It had to be different.

By the time they made it to the stables, Caitria felt like a new woman entirely. A spark of hope was growing in her, one that she thought had died a long time ago.

“Take that one,” Hamish told her, pointing to a golden mare.

They each worked to saddle their horses. Every few moments, Hamish would peer around the stable walls, checking for anyone who might give them away. The third time he checked, there were footsteps. Caitria's heart sank, knowing that they had been caught before they had even made it out of the stables. She could tell Hamish was thinking the same thing from the slump of his shoulders.

“What is—och. Hamish,” the stable master pushed into the stall. “What are ye doing? Campbell will kill ye for this.”

“Someone has to get word to Seamus. Lady Caitria is our only chance.”

The two men exchanged meaningful looks for a moment or two before the stable master sighed.

“Then we must hurry. Campbell is having the castle searched as we speak.”

Relief coursed through her as the man came to help her with her horse. Between the three of them, she and Hamish were saddled and ready to go in a matter of minutes. This time, it was the stable master leading them out of the barn and towards the main road.

“Dinnae follow the road through the clan. Campbell's soldiers will be looking for ye that way. Go past the village, then head west until ye find the river. Then all ye will need to do is follow the river north until ye reach the bridge. Dinnae stop for anything.”

Caitria took in every syllable of Hamish's instructions, committing them to memory as though she didn't already know the way to Murray Castle.

“Are ye ready?”

“Aye.”

Kicking their horses into a run, Hamish and Caitria blazed out of the stables. She kept her body low, near the neck of her horse, pushing her faster and faster. Behind them, beyond the sound of the thundering hooves, Caitria could hear Campbell's men shouting after them.

“Keep going, my lady! Faster! Go!”

She didn't look to where Hamish was riding beside her, but rather, kept her eyes centered on the trees. As long as she could make it to the forest, she knew she could get away.

“Ye there! Stop!”

Something flew by her face before falling a few feet in front of her horse. An arrow. They were shooting at her. She looked up in horror, glancing behind to see half a dozen of Campbell's soldiers close behind.

“Dinnae look! Ride faster. Look ahead!”

Hamish kept shouting even as his own horse slowed.

“I am warning ye…” one of the guards behind her called.

But she kept going, hearing Hamish's words echoing in her mind. Another arrow flew by her face, while a second passed her elbow. She dug her heels into the sides of her horse, determined to make it to the trees.

“Are ye coming, Hamish?” she blurted out over the sound of her horse's hooves against the soft ground.

But her servant didn't answer.

“Hamish?”

A groan was the only reply. Caitria turned in her seat, searching for Hamish. She found him several yards away, clutching his side. Pulling up on the reins, she started to turn to help her friend. Blood poured from in between his fingers and down from the corner of his mouth. Campbell's guards were fast approaching him and his horse. Hamish made no effort to speed up or keep going, though he shouted to her one last time.

“Dinnae stop, my lady! Save us!”

Tears streamed down her cheeks even as her horse continued forward. She watched in horror as Hamish turned his horse around and rode straight into the group of guards, inflicting as much damage as he could, trying to slow them down. It worked for only as long as it took one of the guards to pull out his sword and ran it through the servant's chest. His body slid from atop his horse and landed on the ground with a hard thud. Caitria was horrified to see that there were still two guards chasing after her.

Refusing to let Hamish's sacrifice go to waste, Caitria spun back around and kicked her horse to go faster and faster.

“Ye can do it, girl,” she whispered to the mare. “Get us out of here.”

Her horse whinnied in response, as if she understood what Caitria was asking of her and was ready to do it.

The distance between them and the forest got smaller and smaller, until Caitria knew they would make it. Without knowing the land, the two Campbell guards would lose her in a moment. She only had to ride for ten more seconds—nine, eight, seven. Caitria panted, not allowing herself to feel relieved just yet. Five, four, three. She sat up a little higher and rubbed her horse's neck, encouraging her to keep going.

“We're almost there, lass. We've almost ma?—”

Her breath was stolen from her as fire erupted in her side and spread across her whole body. Caitria all but collapsed on the back of her horse and tried to breathe.

“Keep going. Faster,” she urged the mare through pained cries.

Every step made the burn worse, but Caitria didn't dare stop them. She wouldn't stop until she reached Murray Castle, even with an arrow in her side.