Текст книги "Highland Daydreams"

Автор книги: April Holthaus

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter 22

Standing in front of the tall wooden door, Lara swallowed hard. It was nerve-wracking enough having to speak to the queen, but speaking to the King created an entirely different whirl of emotions. The doors to the library were carved with tiny spiral designs, and looked more like a work of art than just a door. Lara thought that even the handle was too fancy for such a simple object. Nervously, she grabbed onto Bram’s hand, squeezing it tightly. Bram returned the grip with equal pressure.

“Ye will be alright,” Bram said, as he placed a soft kiss to her forehead.

All Lara could do was smile. She had never been so nervous in her life. As the guard turned the handle, he pushed the door inward. The bright light from the room lit the dark corridor. Inside, Lara could see her father with King Magnusson, who was standing by the window with his back towards her.

Dropping Bram’s hand before her father could see their display of affection, Lara slowly crept inside the room. As she stood in the center of the room, the guard excused himself and closed the door behind him. Lara looked over at her father. Seeing the anger painted on his face, Lara looked down, feeling like the ungrateful daughter she had been over the past two days. She had openly dishonored and defied him, and knew that her actions could have severe consequences.

Lara did not realize what she had done by coming here. It was because of her that Dermot had followed her here, and it was because of her that he was dead. What made matters worse was that she brought dishonor to her family, and was sure that the king would punish her and her father for her disobedience. She could do only one thing – ask King Magnusson to spare her family and her family’s name, and she would accept whatever punishment he saw fit.

“Yer majesty, my Lord. It is me that ye have quarrel wit, no’ my father or my brother. Laird Moray came here fer me, and I alone am responsible fer his actions here today. Fer that I know that I must be punished,” Lara said bowing to him.

Staring down at the floor, she did not dare raise her gaze, for doing so would show as much insult as if she were to tell the King he smelled of horse dung.

Eric kept his eyes fixed on the scenery below his window. He was taken aback by the girl’s words. Never would he have thought that William would have raised such an outspoken daughter. He took a sip of his whiskey and turned to face the bold lass standing in the middle of the room.

At the sight of her, he felt as if his heart stopped beating. His breath seized. Eric’s reaction caused him to loosen his grip on his tankard of whiskey. As if the room stood still, the mug crashed onto the floor and shattered. The sound of tiny fragments scattering across the wooden floor, echoed throughout the room. In the pit of his stomach, he felt an overwhelming sense of anger and sadness colliding within him like an angry storm. He felt cold, yet began to sweat profusely, and suddenly found it hard to breathe.

In a trembling voice, he murmured, “Margaret? But you’re dead!”

“Nay, my Lord, my name is Lara Fergusson. I mean, Lara Moray,” Lara quickly corrected him, though curious why he would believe she was his dead daughter.

Eric turned and looked at William. Lara did not mistake the look in his eyes. She could have sworn they turned as black as coal. Lara believed that his building anger was so great that his eyes could have turned burning red while smoke exhaled from his nostrils like a mighty dragon. But rather than a dragon, this was a beast of another kind. A tormented man.

“What sort of black magic is this?” Eric questioned as he stood towering over William.

William sat quiet and turned his head from Eric. Grabbing his collar, Eric lifted him from his chair and dragged him across the floor until he was pinned up against the wall. Lara gasped as her father was attacked.

“Who is she?” Eric asked, as he pressed his hand tighter around William’s throat. “Answer me!” Eric roared.

Gasping for air, William choked out, “Margaret’s daughter.”

Eric stood still for a moment, soaking in what William had just said.

“Liar! Margaret’s children were all stillborn. Only Maid Margaret survived past infancy.”

William coughed as he struggled to breath, “Nay. The lads were stillborn. The lass survived. Ye were so blind and foolish ye dinna deserve her. I loved Margaret. And if ye were nay in the way, she would have run off wit’ me to Scotland, no’ her sister Elsa. Once Margaret found out she was wit’ child, she refused to leave ye. It was because of her,” he choked out. “Lara was the reason why Margaret stayed wit’ ye. I could nay have Margaret, so I took from ye what ye held most dear. Yer child.”

“Why? Why would you raise her as your own?”

“Because I knew ye would need an heir. I never thought ye would find out about her.”

“My throne! You did all of this because you were after my throne,” Eric stated, acknowledging William’s true purpose for offering John as his vassal.

Eric then turned to Lara. Feeling overwhelmed with pity for her, he realized that she too had been lied to. He could not imagine what the lass was feeling or thinking. All he knew was that she was his daughter, and would make William pay for what he had done to them both.

Lara shook her head. “It can nay be true,” she whispered so quietly that only she could hear. Lara wanted to cover her ears; she could not stand to hear any more of it. Her own family had betrayed her. Her father, her mother. She only wondered if John also knew the truth, or if he too had been just a pawn in this game.

“William Fergusson,” Eric growled, “You have committed treason and kidnapping and are to be condemned to death. By sunset tomorrow you will be hanged by the neck until life has been taken from you. May God save your wicked soul, for ye are bound for hell!”

Lara stood stone silent for several moments as the guards carried her father out of the room. She felt as if her whole world had spun out of control. Everything had been a lie. What was she to do now? With teary eyes she glanced up to the king, her father. She could feel the weight of his stare. His eyes were the same silvery grey as hers, and he too had the raven-black hair that matched her own. It all made sense. She never questioned why she looked so different from her mother and father, both of whom had bright red hair. But it was all because her father – or the man she thought to be her father – had kidnapped her from her real parents. Had she known, had there been any clue, she would have… Lara’s mind went blank. ‘S’truth, she didn’t know what she would have done.

Without a word, Lara turned and ran out the door. Running past the guard and up the flight of stairs, she ran into John and Bram, who were sitting on the top step drinking a tankard of ale. Noticing her distress, Bram quickly stood and wrapped his arms around her before sitting down next to her on the top step.

“I heard what happened to yer father. Are ye alright?”

Lara said nothing, but shook her head. She was anything but alright. He was he only thing in her life that was real.

“I swear to ye, I dinna ken,” John said, lifting her chin to look at him. “How,for all this time, did he and mother keep that secret from us?”

“I dinna ken. Oh, Brother, it was all our father’s doing. He lied to everyone. The King has sentenced him to death.”

“I should have known. I am sorry, Lara. I should have protected you better. I should have been a better brother. He committed many crimes, and he deserves what is coming to him. His greed almost destroyed everything. He is a vicious mon, Lara. Do no’ pity him.”

“The treasure!” Lara exclaimed, and backed out of Bram’s embrace.

“What?” John curiously asked.

Suddenly, Lara began to pace back and forth murmuring to herself.

“It all makes sense. There was ne’er any treasure. Dinna ye see? It was me, all along. I am the treasure he received from the Norse King. It was me! That is why nay one had ever seen it. It was right before their eyes.”

Bram looked at Lara thoughtfully. Perhaps there was justice in the world. The treasure was not a chest of gold, as Dermot had believed. It was something more precious than any amount of coin or jewels. It was a beautiful, black-haired bairn with sterling grey eyes, the heiress to the Norwegian throne. Dermot had held the treasure, had unknowingly thrown it away, and then had died trying to get it back, still not realizing the truth of what he sought.

John’s face turned grim. “I want to see him.”

“Ye cannae see him. The king had him escorted to the dungeon. He said that father… William… was to hang by sunset tomorrow,” Lara cried out.

“Then I will ask the king myself,” John said, as he stood and began walking down the hall.

Lara ran to his side.

“What about yer coronation?”

“It will have to wait.”

“I would like to join ye,” she asked.

“Are ye sure ye want to do that, lass?” Bram asked.

“Aye. I must do this. I need to do this,” she responded.

The three of them walked down to the library. The door was open and there was no guard in sight. Inside, Eric was sitting at his desk, with Queen Isobel by his side. He looked up when John stepped inside the wooden door frame.

“Yes?” Eric said looking back and forth between them.

“Yer majesty. I wish to see my father. I want to hear from his own lips what he has done, to me, to my sister,” John asked in a sincere tone.

“Please,” Lara asked, stepping within view of the king.

Eric’s heart softened looking into Lara’s eyes. She looked so much like her mother. It had been almost ten years since his wife Margaret had passed. The good Lord had taken her the day their daughter Maid Margaret was born. Eric had thought that when the Lord took Maid Margaret home with him to heaven that the Lord was punishing him. He’d repented his sins every sermon, once a week during the holy day, though he feared God could not hear him. But now, here, standing in front of him, was proof that the Lord had listened to his prayers. No longer did he feel like Job, as the priest had taught him.

“I will grant you permission, but the visit will be supervised, and you will no’ go alone.”

John bowed. “Thank ye.”

Looking back at Lara, he said, “Had I known, I would have…” but Lara stopped him before he could finish.

“I know ye would have.”

Offering him a sincere smile, he sat up and hugged Lara in a warm fatherly embrace. Even though she had only known him for one day, she knew that he loved her as much as a father could ever love a daughter. As for William, the man who’d raised her and her brother John, she did not know what was to come of him as his fate rested in the king’s hands.

“My Lord, I hope you still consider accepting John as yer vassal. He is a good man, and will make a great king. Do no’ punish him fer our… I mean, fer his father’s doings.”

“As you are my daughter, I will consider your request.”

As Lara and John walked out into the hallway, Eric clenched his fists so tightly that he could have broken the bones of his fingers. With built up anger, he punched the stone wall behind his desk. He felt as if he could destroy everything in the room. Isobel cautiously stepped towards him.

“When I first saw her, I knew. She looks so much like you and Margaret.”

Eric turned away from her. He could not bear to be reminded of the truth. How could he have a daughter of ten and seven? How could he have been so foolish in trusting William? The man he befriended. The man he trusted. The man deserved to die for what he had done.

“Go to her, Eric. You must speak to her.”

“She doesn’t know me. She doesn’t even know who she is,” he snapped.

“Give her time, Eric. She has been through much, and it will take time for her heart to heal. But you can start with today. Go to her,” Isobel encouraged him.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Isobel gave him a soft smile, and gently pressed her hand to his shoulder.

“You have given the greatest of speeches before battle to your men, inspired your men to follow you. I am sure that when the time comes, you will know what to say. Say what is in your heart, my love, for no truer words can be spoken.”

Chapter 23

Standing at the dungeon door gave Lara shivers down her spine. Haunting memories of a dark cell she had once endured caused the tiny hairs on her arm to stand on end. She would demand that William speak the truth and she would show him no mercy and have no pity for him.

John pushed his way into the dungeon and rushed over to the bars that imprisoned his father.

“Ye traitor,” John said, and spit into the man’s face.

William lowered his head, but kept his eyes firmly on John. Wiping the spit off his face, he replied in a cold tone, “I did it fer ye, ye eejit, ye fool. Ye would have been nothing if it were no fer me. I gave ye everything.”

“I never wanted it,” John growled.

Lara stepped up to the bars next to John. She had so many questions she wanted to ask, but she already knew the answers. She looked into his heartless eyes. They held no emotion, no regret, no sadness, and no fear. It was then that she knew he’d never loved her. Lara met his gaze, and for several long moments just stared at the bastard, silent and motionless. He was not worth the wrath of her words, nor did he deserve the dignity of explaining himself. She wanted him to know that from this day forth she would never think of him again. She would not mourn his death or pray for his soul. Souls like his did not belong in the glory of heaven. Lara turned and walked back out the door of the dungeon and back into the hallway.

“’Twas a brave thing ye done, lass,” Bram said, walking up behind her.

“I am just glad that it is over.”

Bram placed his hands against Lara’s cheeks. As he bent down to kiss her John interrupted them.

“Well, if ye two are quite finished, we have a coronation to attend, aye?” John boasted.

Lara and Bram laughed at his enthusiasm.

The church held more than one hundred attendees. Everyone was dressed in their finest attire and sat quietly in the pews of the massive church. The nave was full of people, and the aisles were beautifully decorated with flowers of all kinds. The priest stood before the altar dressed in a white robe with a golden girdle tied around his waist. Around his shoulders was a red and gold stole with images of the cross stitched on each end. His headwear was also decorated in jewels, with gold trim around the base. Lara thought it looked very much like the crown that King Eric had worn. The King, who stood next to him at the altar, was draped in a massive fur cloak. With his sword by his side, he stepped up to stand next to the humble priest. John knelt before them. Eric held out his sword and gently tapped each of John’s shoulders as the priest spoke words in Latin which Lara had trouble understanding. Thankfully, Bram translated the words for her by whispering in her ear.

The words the priest spoke sounded more like a sonnet or a poem, and even though she did not understand the words, they sounded beautiful and majestic. After the priest had finished, he draped a green stole over John’s shoulders. He then, with both hands, lifted a jewel-encrusted gold crown that was resting on a red velvet pillow and slowly placed it on the top of John’s head.

After the deed was done, the priest announced John as Norway’s new young king. Lara knew that until the death of King Eric that John would not exist as sole king just yet, but the co-title would give him most of the same rights and privileges. John had told Lara in the garden that once he became king, King Eric’s condition would be publicly announced to his people and John would then have full rights to the throne.

The very thought of Eric’s illness saddened Lara. She knew that they had little time together before his health truly declined. Having not known he was her real father until now, she did not want to miss any opportunity to get to know him. She had so many questions about who her family was and where she had come from.

The ceremony went on for most of the afternoon and into the evening hours, followed by a grand feast in the gathering room. Bram sat next to Lara on the dais at the high table, along with King Eric, Queen Isobel, and John. Never had he felt so out of place and uncomfortable. He was a Highland warrior, and here he was sitting in front of fine linens and fancy tableware. This was nothing like Dunakin. At home they had nice things, but nothing to this extreme.

During the meal, Bram and John talked about uniting the Highland Clans and other politics, but his mind never left Lara. Underneath the table, he slipped his hand into hers. Rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, he stirred, wanting to touch more of her. He prayed that this night would end soon so that he could be alone with her. After this evening, he would ask for Lara to be his wife, and together they could return to the Highlands.

The corners of his mouth twitched at the thought of what his brother Rory and cousin Ewan would think of him as a married man. Had someone told him that one day he would find the love of his life and marry he would have told that person that he would rather roll ‘round in cow dung than be tied down to only one woman. Thankfully, he’d never made that bet.

“It is good fortune that my sister found ye and brought ye here. I have a proposition for ye. I want ye to stay here and lead my army,” John graciously offered.

“That is verra generous of ye, My Lord, but my place is home among my clansmen.”

“We are among friends; ye can call me John. Come, join me fer a drink so I may convince ye to stay!”

“Forgive my ignorance, but I dinna think ye can persuade me, e’en wit yer finest whisky,” Bram smiled in return.

“Och, only a fool would turn down such a noble position. At least join me fer the bloody drink,” John interjected.

Bram looked to Lara.

“Tis fine. I will be here when ye and my brother return. I had hoped to speak to King Eric and Queen Isobel, mayhap now is a good time to do so,” Lara said.

Bram followed John down a long winding corridor, then down a flight of stairs at the end of the hall. The stairs were narrow, and reminded Bram of the staircase at Dunakin Castle that the servants used when cleaning and bringing up buckets of water to fill the tubs. The stairs led to a cellar room, where cartons were stacked along a wall and shelves were filled with bottles.

“Whisky!” Bram exclaimed, as he picked up one of the dusty bottles to examine it.

“Aye. The inhabitants of the castle store their best wine and whisky down here. They were distilled by the local monks. They only serve the watered down jugs to their guests, and keep the strong and rich-tasting ones fer themselves. It’s cool down here, so it makes the stuff taste even better,” John explained, as he grabbed one of the dusty bottles of whiskey and opened it, taking a big swig.

“When do ye hope to return to Scotland?”

“I had planned to return soon.”

“Ye have been a great service to my sister. Tis too bad ye will nay reconsider my offer. I am sure ye will be sadly missed,” John said, as he picked up a heavy red bottle from the shelf.

“Truth is, I wish to marry her.”

“Marry? Well, that does change things a bit.” John cocked his head to the side. “Shh…did ye hear something?”

Bram quieted his movements, listening for the sound John had referred to. Turning around to look at the other end of the room, Bram heard a shuffle. Before he knew it, he was hit over the head with a hard object. He took one step forward to regain his balance before everything turned black. Bram fumbled and went crashing down onto the cold dirt floor.

Lara sat on the edge of her chair for several long moments before speaking to her father. Looking at his features, she could see many similarities to her own.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she tapped him on the shoulder to gain his attention.

“My Lord, I was wondering, I hoped to…” Lara stuttered. Even though he was her father, he was still a King.

“Lara, I had hoped to speak to you as well. Will you join me?” he asked, standing up and holding his arm out to her.

Lara hesitantly took it and folded her arm around his. Together, they walked to the library.

“Lara, ye are heiress to the throne of Norway. It is both your duty and your right. This is your home now if you wish to stay.”

Lara smiled and replied, “I wish it verra much. I have so many questions to ask I just dinna ken where to start.”

Eric sat down on the chair adjacent to her, and regaled her with stories about his past, her mother and all of the events that led up to now. He explained that his illness was an untreatable lung ailment, and that the healers believed he had little time left; a year, perhaps two.

“Lara, ye are my legacy. When I perish, I know that my blood runs through you, and because of that I will live on forever.”

His bittersweet words brought tears to Lara’s eyes. Eric stood from his chair and gathered Lara into his arms, wiping her tears away. Her whole life, this was all she’d ever asked from the man she thought was her father. To be loved as a father should love his daughter.

Lara returned to the great hall, waiting for John and Bram to return. But hours had passed and there were still no signs of them. John was a gambling man, and had been known to drink himself into a stupor, so it was plausible that they were out somewhere doing something reckless. But what didn’t make sense was that no one else seemed to know where they were. As King, he would have guards on watch for protection. Would John really be naïve enough to go off alone?

Much like a rabbit, Lara nervously began eating a slice of apple, taking several tiny bites at a time. She wasn’t even hungry, but she needed to fidget with something to distract herself, and the apple was the only object she could find. Had she her needles and thread, she could have stitched an entire tapestry in the time that she waited. Finally, Lara stood and thought it best to wait upstairs in her chamber. Perhaps they would come for her there.