The closer he got to the Buchanan land, the more violent his trembling became until he feared he would shake himself off his horse. But God took mercy on him. As he was resting under a huge oak tree just below the Buchanan holding, he spotted a horse and rider coming down the broken trail.
Now he had a dilemma on his hands. He didn’t know if the rider was friend or foe. Should he try to hide? No, the rider had already spotted him. Gelroy said a prayer and decided to hope for the best.
Lo and behold, it was Baron Geoffrey riding toward him. He made the sign of the cross in thanksgiving, and as soon as the baron was within shouting distance, Gelroy called out to him. He reminded him that they had met before at the abbey, nearly two years ago. Without mentioning the baron’s daughter, Gelroy asked the baron if he had been with the Buchanans. “It seemed to me you were coming from their land.”
“I was,” Baron Geoffrey answered.
“Do you know the Buchanans well?”
“We are distantly related, and though I had thought to pay my respects and not linger more than one night, a tragedy occurred. A warrior was missing. The men were out searching for him and were expected to come back to the holding yesterday but were delayed by a terrible rainstorm the night before. I had to wait for Laird Buchanan to return home.”
“Could the warrior’s name be Liam MacHugh?” he asked mildly.
“Aye. So you have heard what happened.”
“I’ve seen him,” he said. “He was brought to the abbey, the poor soul.”
The baron was rendered speechless. Gelroy took advantage of his condition.
“You’ll be getting a high place in heaven, even though you’re English, if you’ll go back and tell Laird Buchanan this news so that he can tell Laird MacHugh.”
While Baron Geoffrey was reeling from the information given so casually, Father Gelroy turned around and nudged his mount into a trot down the mountain.
“Wait,” the baron shouted. “You cannot go without—Is Liam still alive?”
Gelroy slapped his horse’s hindquarters to get it to speed up. Without glancing back, he called over his shoulder, “Oh God, I hope so.”
THE LAIRDS WHO LIVED IN THE NORTHERN HIGHLANDS were a prickly group. They were known to be unpredictable, unreasonable, and ungracious. They were also known to be savages upon occasion. Yet if Baron Geoffrey were to accuse any of them of these flaws, they would believe he was flattering them.
Aye, they were a peculiar lot, and no one, Geoffrey believed, was more peculiar or hardheaded than Laird Brodick Buchanan. Brodick didn’t have any problem letting Geoffrey know that, even though they were related, he still disliked him intensely because he was English. Since Brodick’s wife also happened to be from England and was Geoffrey’s cousin, Brodick explained very bluntly that he couldn’t come right out and say that he hated all the English, just some.
The rude laird also told Geoffrey that he didn’t want him stepping foot on his land, yet Geoffrey knew that if he honored the laird’s wishes and didn’t pay his respects when he was in the area—and every laird in the Highlands would know that he was—then Brodick would consider the slight a grave insult and would have no choice but to retaliate.
The baron had only visited once before, just after Brodick married Lady Gillian. He had been asked by his uncle Morgan to check on Gillian’s well-being. Morgan, Geoffrey’s father’s youngest brother, was a cranky, reclusive old man, who couldn’t believe that Gillian would be content living in the Highlands among the wild Buchanans. To Geoffrey’s surprise, he found Gillian not only content but quite happy. She could not have been more gracious to him, and her kindness more than made up for her husband’s hostility.
Although he would never admit it to Brodick, Geoffrey was impressed with him and his wife. They didn’t live in a fine castle but rather a small cottage no bigger than Geoffrey’s steward’s home. It was apparent that neither Brodick nor Gillian cared about impressing outsiders but, rather, concentrated on more important issues. Brodick’s sole duty was to protect his wife and his clan. Gillian’s duty, at the moment anyway, was to protect her unborn child. She wanted to attend Gabrielle’s wedding, of course, but from the moment she had informed Brodick that he was going to become a father, leaving their holding was out of the question.
The priest who had intercepted Geoffrey and given him the news about Liam MacHugh acted as though he had a pack of wild dogs on his tail. As soon as he had blurted out the news, he had turned and urged his mount into a full gallop and had disappeared into the trees.
Geoffrey headed back to the Buchanan holding, but Brodick wasn’t happy to see him again so soon. He certainly wasn’t in the mood to put up with another social call.
The laird was an intimidating sight as he stormed toward Geoffrey. Tall and muscular, he was fair-haired and battle-scarred, and he wore a scowl as black as night. His first in command, a fierce warrior named Dylan, followed in his laird’s wake. Then two more warriors joined the procession.
Geoffrey rested his hands on the pommel of his saddle and waited for Brodick to reach him. The laird’s greeting wasn’t pleasant, but then Geoffrey didn’t expect it to be.
“I thought I was rid of you, Baron.”
Geoffrey ignored the insult. “Liam MacHugh is at Arbane Abbey.”
His announcement took the scowl off Brodick’s face. “Is he alive?”
The baron quickly recounted what the priest had told him, and when he was finished, Brodick asked, “What in thunder does ‘I hope so’ mean? Liam’s either alive or he isn’t.”
“He must have meant that Liam was alive the last time he saw him,” Geoffrey suggested. “You’ll tell Laird MacHugh?”
“I will.”
Brodick turned around and walked away from Geoffrey, dismissing him. He was barking orders to his men. He would go with MacHugh to the abbey. There was no doubt in his mind that Colm MacHugh would stop at nothing to find out who had done this to his brother. If God was merciful, Liam MacHugh would be alive when they got there.
WHILE GELROY HAD BEEN WORKING UP THE COURAGE to make the trip to inform Liam’s family of his whereabouts, Gabrielle had been filling her days with social obligations and preparations for the wedding. In the late of night she would leave her chamber to look in on Liam while he slept. Her guards stood watch at his door. Father Franklin explained to his patient when he finally opened his eyes that, even though the abbey was a sanctuary and was therefore considered holy ground by all good, God-fearing men and women, he wasn’t going to take any chances that a heathen might sneak in and do Liam further injury. He told Liam that Lady Gabrielle had arrived for her wedding with a contingent of guards, and he had asked for their help. In his weakened condition, Liam didn’t protest. He was aware that they were watching over him, but he didn’t speak to them, and when they spoke to one another, it was in a language that Liam had never heard and couldn’t understand.
ONCE LIAM WAS CONSCIOUS, Father Gelroy announced that he would be leaving to deliver his message, and he set out the following dawn. He returned at nightfall. When he knocked on Gabrielle’s door, she was happy to see him, but she was surprised that he had returned from his important errand so quickly. She made him comfortable in a chair on the balcony, offered him refreshment, and then took her seat across from him.
“You are well, Father?” she asked.
“I am,” he replied. “And you, milady?”
“I am most well,” she replied, “but I am quite curious. May I ask, how were you able to complete your errand in such a short time?”
“I rode hard and fast,” he boasted.
A servant stood in the doorway with a tray. Gabrielle motioned to her, and she offered a goblet of cool water to the priest. Father Gelroy thanked her with a smile and a nod and then took a hefty drink.
“Was Laird MacHugh overjoyed with the news about his brother? Was he relieved?”
“I imagine he was overjoyed and relieved,” he answered. “You see, I didn’t go to the MacHugh holdi
ng. I thought it would be more prudent…yes, prudent,” he repeated, “to go to the Buchanan holding and give Laird Buchanan the news so that he could have the honor of telling Laird MacHugh. The Buchanans are allies of the MacHughs, and their holding is much closer to the abbey.”
“I see.” Gabrielle folded her hands in her lap and asked, “And was Laird Buchanan overjoyed and relieved with the news?”
“I imagine he was,” he said a bit sheepishly.
“You don’t know?” she asked, thoroughly confused.
He cleared his throat. “As it turned out, I didn’t need to go all the way to the Buchanan holding. Your father was just leaving their land by the only safe route, and I was able to intercept the baron and give him the joyful news. I’m certain he was happy to tell Laird Buchanan.”
It seemed to Gabrielle that the priest had made a simple errand quite complicated. His fear of Laird MacHugh was most unreasonable. After all, the priest had good news to relay to the laird. Why would he worry that the man would do him harm?
“Yes, I’m certain he was,” she said.
“Your father should be here soon now,” he remarked.
“I’ll be happy to see him. Perhaps he will go riding with me in the countryside. I don’t wish to complain, but I would love to leave the abbey for a little while.”
“The countryside is crowded these days,” he said. “There are envoys from many countries who have arrived for the wedding. Several barons from England have set up camp here. And as you know, when they travel, they bring all the comforts of home. I have heard that one tent is as big as our church. Your wedding to Laird Monroe promises to be a grand occasion.”
“I’m amazed they would travel this long distance for the ceremony,” she said.
“This is an important event for many people,” he explained.
Father Franklin interrupted with a hard knock on the door. As soon as the servant bid him enter, the priest rushed into the chamber. When he saw Gelroy, he came to a quick stop and motioned for him to join him.
“It appears Franklin’s wanting a private word with me. I think I know what this is about. I missed noon prayers,” he explained. “And I imagine he’s wanting to give me a good lecture.”
A moment later the two priests were in deep discussion, whispering back and forth. Gabrielle’s attention was drawn to the commons below. She leaned over the railing and saw a priest running and shouting to two others coming out of the chapel, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying. The commons quickly filled with men, and all of them seemed highly agitated, waving their arms and shaking their heads. A few priests made the sign of the cross, knelt down, and began to pray.
Something terrible had happened.
“Lady Gabrielle?”
Father Gelroy begged her attention. The look on his face didn’t leave any doubt. The news was bad.
Her mind raced with dark possibilities. Was it her father? Had something happened to him? Dear God, please, no.
She forced a serene expression and waited for one of the priests to explain.
Gelroy nudged Franklin. “You tell her.”
“It’s Laird Monroe, milady. He cannot marry you.”
“Of course he can’t marry her,” Franklin muttered.
“He cannot?” she asked, trying to understand.
“No, milady, he cannot,” Gelroy blurted. “He’s dead.”
IT WAS A PITY HE DIDN’T HAVE TIME TO MAKE THE MURDER look like an accident. It would have made his life so much easier. He had considered the possibility of suffocating Monroe, but a dying man could very well summon the strength of ten when he was fighting for his life. No, suffocation was too risky.
And so was drowning. What if he were a stronger swimmer? Or a screamer? One loud shout could bring him help. Drowning, he had decided, was also out of the question.
He had considered several other methods that would pass for accidents, but he eventually ruled all of them out. Some were too complicated, others relied too heavily on strength and timing.
In the end he had settled on using a knife. A sharp blade was a quick and easy kill. Unfortunately, no one would ever believe it was an accident. How could anyone accidentally fall on a knife five or six times? It took several good thrusts to kill Laird Monroe.
He had killed before, but never like this. Because of his position of power he would usually give such an unpleasant duty to someone else. But this was different. He didn’t dare trust anyone else with this onerous task. He had to do it alone. It was the only way to make certain the trail wouldn’t lead back to him.
Fortunately Monroe had become complacent in recent years. He didn’t take care like he should, and his followers had become just as lax in their guard. They didn’t expect trouble because their laird didn’t have enemies. How could he? He never took sides with one clan against another, and he never wanted more than what he already had. The laird had absolutely no ambition and was as lukewarm as old bathwater.
The laird never varied his routine. Every night just before sundown he took a long stroll, no matter what the weather, no matter where he was staying. He always walked alone.
Crouching in the darkness and waiting for Monroe had been uncomfortable and tedious, but once the rustle of leaves told him Monroe was coming, he gripped his knife tightly and patiently waited for the perfect time to spring.
It was unfortunate, but it was unavoidable. Laird Monroe had experienced a very unpleasant death.
THE FUNERAL MASS WAS SAID IN THE ABBEY’S NORTH chapel. Many of the Monroe clan had been on their way to the wedding when they received news of the laird’s sudden demise, and their happy journey of celebration had turned into a mournful and somber procession instead. Several Highland lairds attended the funeral, but many more would have ridden the distance to pay their last respects had they known about Monroe’s death. The ritual—one day after his death—had to be hurried due to the unusually warm weather and the rapidly deteriorating condition of the body.
The English weren’t welcome, though it was doubtful that any of the barons would have wanted to sit and listen to the priest extol the virtues of the dead man. He was, after all, a Highlander, which in their view made him inferior and not worthy of their prayers.
Baron Geoffrey of Wellingshire and his daughter, Lady Gabrielle, were the only exceptions. The Monroe family allowed their presence because the lady had been pledged to marry their laird. She was allowed to hear mass with them, but she and her father were seated in the last row. Although there was plenty of room, no one would sit next to them.
Gabrielle didn’t expect special consideration. She was thankful that she was given the chance to pray for Laird Monroe’s soul. Her father and others held the laird in such high regard and praised him because he was such a good and kind man. Why would anyone want to harm him? His murder didn’t make any sense. Robbery wasn’t the motive, for nothing had been taken from his body. His gold ring and jeweled dirk were still on him when he was found. Was he killed just for the sport of it?
Her mind wandered, and she thought about Liam MacHugh and the terrible men who had made him suffer so. How could one man treat another with such depravity?
Mass ended and Monroe’s body, wrapped in white linen, was carried out. Gabrielle kept her head bowed as the procession of mourners filed from the chapel. She happened to glance up once and noticed that most of them were glaring at her as they walked by.
When the last couple, a young man with an older woman, reached her, they stopped. Gabrielle could feel the woman’s piercing eyes, and she raised her head.
“Go home. You have no place here,” the woman hissed. Her words spewed out like poisonous venom.
The young man quickly took the woman’s shoulder and gently turned her toward the procession. “Come, Mother, my uncle wouldn’t want anger.”
Gabrielle’s face burned. She had never heard such contempt before.
As they slowly made their way down the aisle, the man turned to give Gabrielle a sympathetic smil
e.
Her father laid his hand on her arm to keep her from standing to leave. “We’ll wait until the Monroes are gone,” he cautioned. “That woman was Laird Monroe’s sister. I think it would be best that we not follow them. There could be other insults.”
“Why would they want to insult me?” she asked incredulously.
“The Monroe clan has decided that you are the reason their laird is dead.”
She stared at him as though he was speaking nonsense.
“They hold you responsible for their laird’s death,” her father restated.
She was appalled. “They think I killed him? How could they think such a thing?”
“You misunderstand, Gabrielle. They don’t think you stabbed him, but they do believe that if their laird had stayed home and hadn’t agreed to marry you, he would still be alive. Monroe and his followers were camped in a nearby glen the night he was murdered, and since he was on his way here to the abbey to marry you, they believe you caused his death.”
“But that’s ridiculous.”
He patted her hand. “Yes, it is. Don’t let their foolishness bother you.”
She straightened. “I can withstand their insults. I’m not so weak that I would fall apart over a cruel word or two.”
“You have tender feelings, daughter, whether you will admit it or not.”
The door opened behind them, and Stephen stepped inside. “It’s safe now. The Monroe mourners have left, and the baron who was waiting at the door has returned to his camp.”
Her father nodded. “Then we can go. Come, Gabrielle. Your guards will escort you back to your rooms.”
“Stephen, what baron was at the door?”
Her father answered her. “Percy.” He stepped into the aisle and moved back so Gabrielle could walk in front of him.
“I don’t understand why he came for the wedding? He isn’t your friend or ally, and I doubt he knew Laird Monroe,” she said.
Her father sighed. “I should have explained this a long time ago. Percy says he was sent by the king’s command to witness the ceremony, but I’m sure he had other motives. I had thought to shield you. Baron Percy and Baron Coswold are two very manipulative men who will stop at nothing to get what they want. I had hoped that once you were married they would give up their obsession.”