Ashblane's Lady

A young, uncertain demand given without weapon or strength. Holding her breath, Madeleine waited for reaction.

‘Get out.’

Not a knife through the ribs then, or a fist against the thin bones of Jemmie’s face. Reciting a prayer of thankfulness in her mind, she watched as her sister was taken from the chamber. As the door shut behind the group, Ullyot began to speak.

‘You have one who would vouch for your character, it seems, Lady Randwick, though many would say you are a whore and a liar known throughout two kingdoms for your loose ways and dark magic.’

She made herself smile. ‘I have been incarcerated at Heathwater for the past ten years, my Lord.’

‘Hardly incarcerated, my Lady, for your exploits at the Castle are chronicled well by those who have enjoyed your favours.’

Unexpectedly, she felt herself blush bright red. Angry at doing so, she stood and walked to the window.

Why was he here? And alone?

‘How many retainers does your brother keep at Heathwater?’

Her relief was visible. He was here to find out about Noel’s fighting capabilities?

‘A thousand,’ she lied, knowing the number to be almost twice that.

‘A thousand without the retainers of Harrington?’

She knew the question was not lightly asked and looked away. ‘My brother has not the numbers your domain yields, sir, though there is a certain safety implicit in depending on others.’

‘How so?’ His eyes were instantly alert, the mark on his cheek below puckered badly in the harsh dawn light.

‘The Ashblane soldiers are weighty in number. Too weighty, I have heard it whispered. Royalty likes to have strong men on the edges of their land as a first defence against invasion, but, when they become too powerful, any king is apt to worry.’

He laughed, the sound threaded with such ill-hidden arrogance it could only denote a man truly at ease with his own capabilities. ‘If you want to help your brother, I would advise you not to lie.’

‘Because my betrayal would yield him a quick death as opposed to a slow one?’ She thought of Goult trapped in the middle of a battle, but he ignored her question and posed one of his own.

‘Your page, Jemmie. How important is he to you?’

For a second Madeleine thought she might faint. Indeed, she grasped at the sill beneath the window and closed her eyes, every single thing she had ever heard about the Laird of Ullyot suddenly true. He had neither soul nor heart nor honour. And he was clever. She could barely believe the turn this conversation had taken. Had he guessed?

Desperately she faced him. ‘If lives are to be traded, Laird Ullyot, I would prefer to barter my own.’

‘Would you indeed, Lady Randwick? And I wonder why that might be the case?’

She dared not speak again. What was it he wanted of her? Everybody wanted something.

‘Now, how many? What are the numbers?’

‘Three thousand.’ She did not look up as she recited the re-tainers and their strengths, careful not to leave out the Western allies. She was truthful with the demands of number. With her sister’s life at stake and a Laird renowned for his lack of leniency, Goult would just have to take his chances.

‘Thank you.’ The words were as bleak as his eyes as she watched him. Slate grey. The colour of a lake before rain. Pale. Unreadable. Distant. For a moment she felt disorientated and exposed.

‘The safety of my clan is paramount to me, Lady Randwick, and I will do anything to protect it. Anything. Remember that and ye may yet live to be reunited with your beloved Heathwater.’

She nodded because he expected it and watched him leave.

Heathwater…beloved?

If she could burn the castle down herself she would, and if Noel was caught in the flames with Liam Williamson then all the better for it. The ghosts of ten years of hatred floated dangerously near and she closed her eyes against the screams of her murdered husband as the tightness in her chest caught her. Groping for the chair, she sat down. Not here. Not now. Not again. First she must get Jemmie to safety. And after that…

She would pray that the black Baron of Ullyot would scourge Heathwater from the earth on which it stood, leaving nothing for her ever to remember it by. And no one.

Alexander strode to the chapel. The candles burning in the vestry lit his passage as he crossed to where Ian lay. Lifting the plaid blanket away, he ran a finger in the sign of the cross over a cold forehead and pinched the salt in a dish on Ian’s stomach to the four corners of the room. ‘A charaid. May the Devil be far from your soul and your journey into Heaven sweet.’ With care he rearranged the rondel dagger tucked into the sleeve of his dead friend’s jacket, pleased to see that someone had thought to clean the blade and sharpen it. ‘I swear ye will be avenged,’ he whispered into the dawn. ‘I swear it on the soul of the Virgin Mary and the blood of our Lord.’

Our Lord?

How long was it since he had prayed? Crécy? Alexandria? Cairo? He looked up at the vaulted ceilings and across to the portraits in gold of the Holy Family that hung against the far wall. Adam Armstrong was a devout man and his chapel reflected this. A small likeness of the Virgin Mary caught his fancy, for she had hair the same colour as Madeleine Randwick’s. Shaking his head, he cursed abducting her, cursed the porcelain sheen of her skin and her fire-red hair. He should leave her with Armstrong to send back to her brother. Hostages could only harm Ashblane and he was always careful as far as his castle was concerned. And yet he knew he would not do it.

‘Why can I not just leave her here?’ His whispered question seemed like a shout. Lord, to be even considering taking her? Protecting her?

‘I think she has cursed me, Ian. I think she has used her magic and cursed me.’ The blood in his arm beat loudly and he felt hot. Sick. Cursed.

Breathing out, he pulled up the sleeve of his jacket to get a better look at the wound at the elbow. Angry lines of dark red scoured the skin and tracked upwards, the pain surprising him. Even in Cairo, with his face slit open from cheekbone to temple, he had felt better.

He knelt and genuflected, holding his right arm against his side so that no movement jolted it. And when he had finished his prayers of deliverance he made his way out to the waiting soldiers, hoping like hell that his dizziness was a temporary condition and that he would not slide from his horse before he again saw the battlements of the Ashblane keep.

Chapter Three

They had been travelling north-east through the damp of a rising drizzle for three hours, the hooves of hundreds of horses making such a sound that any enemies thinking to engage a force of men this size had long since vanished. Madeleine rode in the middle of the column with Jemmie at her side, and as the red and gold banners of the Ullyot clan swirled about them and the cold numbed the skin on her face, she wondered how much longer they would ride.

Finally the wide valleys of the Esk lay before them, tree berries bold and the branches covered with flaming leaves, and beyond, the deeper green of a forest. Jemmie seemed stronger after a night’s rest and Madeleine’s own wound stung less now, the throbbing of the night giving way to a softer ache. Ahead of her Quinlan reined in his horse suddenly and bid them to halt and she felt Alexander Ullyot’s presence before she saw him, bathed in a coat of dust. She could tell that his arm hurt him by the angle at which he held it. His wounds required more than the poultice his physician had laid upon him and the healer in her surveyed his symptoms carefully.

Already he sweated.

The beat of his heart had quickened as well. She could see it in the pulse at his throat.

‘We will build camp here for the night. The Liddesdale Forest is dangerous to stop in and we will’na make the other side by nightfall.’ He shielded his face as he scanned the sky and Madeleine had the impression of him reading both time and weather. As he looked down their eyes met, flinted silver less sharp now as the first waves of deep infection assailed his body.

Little time left, she thought and dropped her glance. He would be beyond her help by the morning.

‘You are comfortable?’

His question made her start, as did the full frown on his brow.

‘Pardon?’

‘Do ye have all you need?’ His glance went to her breast. ‘I could send my physician.’

‘No.’ She bit at her bottom lip to stop saying more and looked away. Already he was leaving. She felt as much of a murderer as her brother.

Quinlan dismounted and stood ready to help her down and she laid her hand upon his sleeve. ‘I would thank you for your help last night.’ Her gaze flicked across to Jemmie. It had been Quinlan who had brought Jemmie to her wrapped in a blanket.