“Do not despair, son,” he whispered, though his own tears wet his face and dribbled into his mouth.
Even if those men returned with the ransom, Clive would have to send the gold straightaway to Carlisle in compliance with the king’s order. He had intended to keep it all for himself, since Earl Seoras had been slain little more than a week ago, while Clive had been allowed to leave the MacDougall fortress with his life.
He had gone there to report that a letter of ransom had been sent to Wexford, and had been invited to stay for a feast and witness the execution of some recently captured prisoners as the evening’s entertainment—but unbeknownst to Seoras, Robert the Bruce himself had been among them! The feast Clive had anticipated had become a battle, with Seoras killed by one of his own warriors and the rescued king naming a new baron to the fortress, Laird Cameron Campbell.
A new baron that had shown mercy where William would have granted none, and permitted Seoras’s courtiers that had survived the bloodbath to leave unharmed—Clive among them.
Clive had sat beside his cot and recounted the entire tale, rubbing his hands with glee at the thought of pocketing all the gold, while now he must be crying into his ale!
“Guards! I must speak with Laird MacGodfrey!” William cried out as loudly as he could muster, though the effort cost him with a piercing stab of pain that stole his breath.
Would the promise of more gold arouse Clive’s greed and get him to agree to a plan to save Daran? Aye, he might swear to it and then send out the letter across the Irish Sea and still do nothing to help them, but William could pray, too, that Clive’s conscience might be pricked now that he was dying…
“My son, come closer,” William whispered to Daran, who had stilled his weeping to stare at him in surprise when he’d shouted for the guards. “Keep your voice low so they won’t hear us. I have a plan that might save your life—”
“Only me, Father? What about you?”
William shook his head as Daran scrambled closer, his son appearing as nervous as a rabbit as he glanced at the cell door and back to him.
“I’ll not live to see Carlisle, but youmustlive to take your place as the head of our family. The responsibilities will be great, and the first thing you must do is attend to Aislinn. You know that I arranged her betrothal, and she would have been wed before we sailed if Lord Butler hadn’t been delayed by Wicklow rebels causing havoc on his lands. She wasn’t happy about the match, the headstrong chit, but Lord Butler will be able to control her. A stern man, ten years older, with a firm hand—aye, that’s exactly what your sister needs—”
“Papa, Aislinn’s not in Wexford, but here in Scotland! I should have told you, but you’ve been so ill and I knew it would only distress you, forgive me!”
William stared in disbelief at Daran and tried to sit up, but he cried out in pain and fell back upon the cot, a terrible intuition gripping him.
“Mayhap she’s dead, aye, I’ve feared it all along,” Daran babbled on, clutching at his hand. “When I tried to run to the ship, she was there on the beach with Finnegan and a few others—her sword drawn though he held her back—”
“A sword?”
“Aye, I hardly recognized her with her hair cut so short—”
“Her hair?”
“Aye, like a man’s, and she wore a tunic and trousers, but then I was struck upon the head…”
As Daran fell silent, rubbing the spot that still pained him, William felt such fury that he almost forgot his agony.
Aislinn had stowed away! God help him, was she somewhere in this dungeon? Her captors thinking her a youth if she was dressed like a man, for surely they wouldn’t have considered her otherwise, with her slim build and long limbs.
Damn his daughter, what could she have been thinking? She was a young woman, not a warrior! She should have been safe at home and occupied with thoughts of a wedding and gowns to be made and a household to run when she became a wife, William’s intuition making him lay the blame squarely at Finnegan’s feet.
If his captain had stood beside Aislinn on the beach, then he must have known she was aboard ship and hadn’t told him! Yet if Finnegan held her back, he must have known, too, that she would have been killed like so many others. Had Aislinn foolishly believed that she could wield a sword against seasoned soldiers? What madness had come to plague him during these final days of his life?
Groaning, William turned his face to the wall even as a key grated in the lock and a guard pushed open the door.
“William, you called for me? Daran, what has happened? Has your father grown worse? I’ll send for the healer—”
“No healer!” His voice rasping to his ears, William turned back to face Clive, who wiped his mouth with a cloth as if he had just rushed from a meal.
Even with such news as he’d received about King Edward’s edict, the man’s gluttony never abated. As stout as a barrel, and standing no higher than Daran’s shoulder, his son having jumped to his feet, Clive looked from him back to William.
“So we’re bound for Carlisle and the executioner’s block,” he spat out, cursing the day he had allowed Clive to influence him to come to Scotland.
“Aye… and there’s naught I can do, William. I was going tae come and tell you, but my supper was ready—”
“How many of my men are yet alive to accompany me and Daran in the morning? Six, seven?”
“Five now. Another died last night from his wounds.”
