Page 36 of The Highlander’s Savage Vow

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

" T here it is—the palace where kings have decided the fate of Scotland fer centuries," Ruaridh said quietly, his voice carrying a mixture of awe and apprehension.

Iona's hands trembled as she gripped the reins, watching the royal palace at Stirling rise from the Scottish landscape like a testament to power itself. "It's larger than I imagined," she managed, though her voice came out barely above a whisper.

Its ancient stones weathered by centuries of political storms seemed to loom larger with each hoofbeat, and she couldn't shake the feeling that that day might determine whether she would leave that place as Lady MacDuff or as a condemned traitor.

"Easy, lass," Ruaridh murmured beside her, though she could hear the tension threading through his own voice. "We're here tae tell the truth. Naething more."

Behind them, their escort of MacDuff warriors maintained formation, their presence both comforting and ominous. These good men had ridden hard for two days to bring them here, not knowing if they were protecting their future lady or escorting her to her doom.

The palace courtyard bustled with activity—nobles arriving for the Council, servants hurrying about their duties, guards in royal livery maintaining watchful positions.

But Iona felt every eye upon her, imagining whispered conversations about the MacNeill woman who'd brought scandal to the MacDuff clan.

"Stay with the horses," Ruaridh commanded their men as they dismounted. "Be ready fer anything, but dinnae interfere unless I give word."

Duncan nodded grimly. "Aye, sir. We'll be here."

Inside the palace, the weight of history pressed down like a physical force. Tapestries depicting royal victories lined corridors that had seen countless political intrigues, and Iona's footsteps seemed to echo with the ghosts of other petitioners who'd walked those halls seeking royal justice.

A steward in rich velvet appeared, his manner formal but not unkind. "Laird MacDuff? Her Majesty's privy council awaits ye in the audience chamber."

The audience chamber was smaller than Iona had expected but far more intimidating.

High windows let in streams of light that illuminated a long table where five men sat in judgment.

At their head sat the king himself—James Stewart, a man of perhaps fifty years whose iron-grey beard framed a face marked by the weight of ruling a fractious nation.

His dark eyes held the kind of intelligence that missed nothing, and even seated, his broad shoulders and erect posture commanded the room. When he gestured with his palm, it was with the controlled precision of someone accustomed to having his slightest gesture carry the force of law."

"Approach," a man in royal livery commanded.

Iona's legs felt unsteady as they walked forward, but Ruaridh's presence beside her provided an anchor of strength. They stopped at the prescribed distance and bowed, the formal courtesies feeling surreal given the accusations hanging over them.

A herald in the same royal livery as the one that asked them to approach, stepped forward, unrolling a parchment with ceremonial precision.

"Hear ye the charges brought before His Majesty's court," he announced, his voice echoing in the stone chamber.

"Ruaridh MacDuff, heir to Clan MacDuff, stands accused of knowingly harboring a traitor tae the crown, one Iona MacNeill, and of marriage contracted tae protect said traitor from royal justice. "

The Lord Chancellor, a thin man with calculating eyes and silver hair, leaned forward from his position beside the king.

"The accused woman, Iona MacNeill now MacDuff, stands charged with stealing clan secrets and selling them tae England's agents.

" His voice carried the weight of formal legal authority.

"How daes the accused answer tae these charges? "

"They are lies, Yer Grace," Ruaridh replied, his voice steady despite the tremor Iona could see in his clenched hands. "Complete fabrications created by Murray MacNab tae cover his own treasonous dealings."

The Lord Chancellor's eyebrows rose. "Strong words against a man who has served Scotland faithfully fer years. Ye have proof of these counteraccusations?"

"Peace, Chancellor," King James interrupted, his penetrating gaze fixed on Ruaridh. "I would hear this matter directly. The accusations touch upon treason—there are few crimes more serious against the crown."

Iona watched as the Chancellor bowed respectfully and stepped back. The king's tone was neutral, but Iona caught the warning in it when he asked, "Ye have proof of these counteraccusations?"

"Aye, Yer Majesty. Me wife can speak tae the truth of Murray's character and actions."

The king's gaze shifted to Iona, and she felt stripped bare under that royal scrutiny. "So this is the lady in question. Iona MacNeill, now MacDuff, accused of stealing clan secrets and selling them tae England's agents."

"I never—" she began, then caught herself and curtsied deeply. "Yer Majesty, the accusations against me are false. I have never betrayed Scotland or any Highland clan."

"Yet ye did flee yer betrothal tae Murray MacNab under circumstances that suggest scandal," one of the privy councilors interjected. "Why should we believe yer protestations of innocence?"

Iona's throat felt tight, but she forced herself to speak clearly. "Because Murray MacNab attempted tae force himself upon me, Yer Majesty. When I refused his advances, he spread lies about me tae protect his own reputation."

Murmurs rippled through the councilors. The Chancellor held up a hand for silence. "That is a serious accusation, Lady MacDuff. Assault is a grave charge."

"Attempted assault, Yer Majesty. I fought him off." The words came out strong, just as she felt them. "But in doing so, I discovered something else. Something that proves Murray MacNab is the real traitor tae the crown."

"What did ye discover?" the king asked, his interest clearly piqued.

Iona glanced at Ruaridh, seeing encouragement in his green eyes. "I found correspondence in his study, Yer Majesty. A letter that proves he has been blackmailing Highland lairds and dealing with English contacts."

"Ye found correspondence," the king repeated slowly. "How exactly did ye come tae be reading Murray MacNab's private papers?"

Heat flooded Iona's cheeks, but she held the royal gaze steadily. "I was hiding in his study, Yer Majesty. After he... after his attack on me. I was too frightened and shaken tae leave immediately."

The king's councilors exchanged glances, and Iona could read the skepticism in their faces. Her story sounded convenient, exactly the kind of tale a guilty party might concoct.

"Convenient timing," the same councilor observed coldly. "Ye just happened tae discover evidence of treason while hiding from an alleged assault."

"It's the truth," Ruaridh said, his voice sharp with frustration. "Me wife has nay reason tae lie about?—"

"Peace, Laird MacDuff," the king warned. "Ye are in me presence. Moderate yer tone."

Ruaridh's jaw clenched, but he bowed stiffly. "Fergive me, Yer Majesty."

The king studied them both for a long moment. "The problem before us is simple. We have Murray MacNab's word against yers. He claims Lady MacDuff stole sensitive documents and fled justice. Ye claim he is a traitor who attacked yer wife. Both stories cannae be true."

"Murray presented forged documents," Iona said desperately. "Letters supposedly written by me that I never penned. Surely the court has ways of detecting such deceptions?"

"Perhaps. But Murray MacNab's evidence appears genuine, while ye offer only accusations and claims of hidden correspondence that may or may not exist." The king leaned forward. "Dae ye have any proof of these alleged treasonous letters?"

This was the moment. Iona felt the weight of the decision crushing down upon her. Across the chamber, she could see the skepticism in the councilors' faces, could feel their growing certainty that she was exactly what Murray had claimed—a desperate woman spinning lies to save herself.

She looked at Ruaridh, seeing the strain in his face, the way he held himself ready to defend her even if it meant his own downfall.

That man had risked everything for her—his clan's reputation, his standing with the crown, his very future.

He was prepared to lose it all rather than abandon her to Murray's lies.

He would sacrifice everything fer me. The least I can dae is match his courage.

"Aye, Yer Majesty," she said, her voice growing stronger. "I dae have proof."

Surprise flashed across Ruaridh's face as she reached into the hidden pocket of her traveling gown. The letter crackled as she withdrew it, the parchment worn from her careful handling over those many weeks.

"This letter was among Murray MacNab's correspondence," she said, approaching the royal table with careful steps. "Written in his own hand. It details his attempts tae blackmail Laird Campbell of Argyll."

The herald took the letter from her and placed it on a golden platter before presenting it to the king.

Iona watched his expression carefully, but it remained unreadable as he studied the parchment.

He handed it to his councilor, and a few of them huddled together to examine it, their whispered conversation too low for Iona to overhear.

One of them read aloud: "'Yer indiscretions with the English merchants are well documented, Campbell. Continue yer opposition tae me proposals in Council, and I'll ensure every laird in Scotland kens of yer treasonous dealings.'"

"This appears authentic," the councilor looked up, finally speaking. "The paper has the seal of MacNab, and it would be easy to confirm the handwriting."

"Trace any business correspondence ye have with MacNab and compare the handwriting now," the king ordered grimly.

Silence fell over the chamber like a shroud. The implications were clear—this was not the letter of an honorable Highland laird, but of a man who traded in secrets and threats.

"Repeat the circumstances in which ye obtained this letter." the king asked, his tone sharper now.

Iona's heart hammered against her ribs. "I willnae tell a lie, Yer Majesty. When I was hiding in his study after his attack, I kent that if I could prove his true nature, people might believe me about what he'd done. So I searched through his documents in his desk."

"Ye admit tae theft?"

"Aye, Yer Majesty. I stole that letter." She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. "But I would dae it again. Murray MacNab has been using such correspondence tae manipulate Highland politics fer his own gain, while presenting himself as a loyal servant of the crown. "

The king was quiet for several minutes, studying the letter and then looking between Iona and Ruaridh. Finally, he spoke.

"This evidence suggests that Murray MacNab may indeed be guilty of the crimes he has accused ye of committing, Lady MacDuff. Blackmail of fellow Highland lairds is a serious matter, and if he has other such correspondence..."

"There were more letters, Yer Majesty," Iona said quickly. "This was only one of many I saw in his study. I thought one would be enough."

"Then we shall summon him fer further questioning." The king's expression had hardened considerably. "If Murray MacNab has been playing false with the crown while accusing others of his own crimes..."

Relief flooded through Iona so powerfully she swayed on her feet. Ruaridh's steadying hand found her elbow, and she could see the pride and gratitude blazing in his green eyes.

"The charges against ye are dismissed pending further investigation," the king announced. "Ye are free tae return tae yer lands, though we may call upon ye again as witnesses when Murray MacNab faces justice."

They bowed deeply, neither trusting their voices to respond without betraying their overwhelming relief.

Outside the audience chamber, Ruaridh pulled her into a stone recess, his hands framing her face as he searched her eyes.

"Why?" he asked quietly. "Ye said ye wouldn't present the letter. What changed yer mind?"

Tears she'd been holding back finally spilled over. "Because I saw what ye were willing tae sacrifice fer me. Yer standing with the king, yer clan's reputation—everything. I couldnae risk ye losing all of that when I had the power tae save us both."

He kissed her then, fierce and grateful and full of love. "Ye magnificent, brave lass. I thought I'd lost ye fer certain when they questioned yer story."

"We're nae out of danger yet," she reminded him, though she allowed herself to lean into his strength. "Murray will face justice, but he'll ken it was our testimony that brought him down."

"Let him come," Ruaridh said grimly. "After taeday, I dinnae think he'll find many Highland lairds willing tae support a proven blackmailer."

Outside the castle doors, Iona felt the full weight of their victory settle over her as the afternoon sun warmed her face. They had walked in under accusations of treason and emerged vindicated, but the relief made her legs unsteady.

"Duncan," Ruaridh called to their waiting captain, his voice carrying both exhaustion and relief. "Ride hard fer home. Tell me faither the charges against us have been dismissed - we're free tae return. The king will investigate Murray MacNab further based on the evidence we provided."

Duncan's weathered face broke into a broad grin as he took in the message.

"Thank God and all the saints!" he exclaimed, his relief evident.

"We feared the worst when ye went in there, me laird.

The lads will be overjoyed - we've been prayin' fer yer vindication.

" He turned to Iona with a respectful bow.

"Well done, me lady. Ye must have showed real courage in there. "

Iona could only smile up at Duncan, seeing the relief she felt reflected in his own eyes. He was already mounting his horse, eager to carry word of their triumph. "I'll have this news tae the castle before nightfall. The clan will celebrate, I can promise ye that!"

They rode from Stirling as the sun began its descent toward the horizon, their MacDuff escort surrounding them with obvious relief.

But as the royal palace faded behind them, Iona couldn't shake the feeling that while they had won that battle, the war with Murray MacNab was far from over. Men like him didn't accept defeat gracefully—they planned revenge.

Still, for the meantime, they were free, they were together. And as Ruaridh's hand found hers as they rode, she allowed herself to hope that their love might be strong enough to weather whatever storms still lay ahead.