The Rogue of Islay Isle (Highland Isles) Page 16

  The French captain glared at him. “I questioned a helpful fisherman when I landed, and he told me how a woman had washed ashore in a small boat two weeks ago. That she was taken into Dunyvaig Castle.”

  “No MacDonald would give a pirate information,” Errol said, his voice strong. “Not without coercion.”

  The side of the captain’s mouth crooked upward. “Your peasant has come to no mortal harm. Now…” he said, glancing around the room. “Where is Madeleine?”

  “Who is she?” William asked. Cullen cut his uncle a glance that would have shredded a younger man. “She came through here,” William said, his gaze level with the captain’s. “We have no desire to bring the wrath of England to our shores, so we sent her away, but who is she?”

  The captain stared hard at William, his features drawn like he was attempting to anatomize the old man’s words for truth.

  Cullen’s mother stood beside William. “The girl had a rope tied about her neck.” She frowned fiercely. “Were ye the druisear who did that?”

  Broc made a noise in the back of his throat, and Farlan coughed at his sister’s foul Gaelic curse. The Frenchman sniffed, pulling himself up tall. “Madeleine Renald is dangerous. Even bound, she was able to escape my ship in the middle of a storm.”

  “How is a lass, who weighs hardly nothing, dangerous?” Broc asked. “She might have pointy knuckles for punching, but that’s about it. Or are Frenchmen afraid of lasses?”

  Captain de Fleur sucked hard on his teeth, the noise loud in the quiet room. “She’s been taught to manipulate men of the highest rank, raised from girlhood to seduce and tease and make men bend to her will.” He swiped his hands about while he talked. “She can slice any woman with her sharp remarks until the girl bleeds to death from weakness. Taught to observe minute details, she will learn everything she can about you and use your faults and secrets to her advantage. She will lure you in with her clever mind, to maim you politically and possibly physically. Unless that is, you are the king of France.”

  “Francis,” Cullen said, his muscles flexing.

  “Of course. Madeleine belongs to him. He gave her a set of pearls, a gift for his new courtesan.”

  “The woman who washed ashore here was not Madeleine Renald,” Cullen said with succinct clips.

  “Non?”

  “Nay. The woman was a virgin.”

  Captain de Fleur’s nostrils flared. “Of course she was. She’s the king’s virgin. Raised for his pleasure alone, the illegitimate daughter of the dead king, Louis XII. She was kept a virgin for him and trained in the erotic arts. But she ran away like a coward with his gift of pearls the night before she was to be given to him.” His voice rose higher with each sentence. “Are you saying that Madeleine is no longer a virgin?”

  Heavy silence stuffed the room. Cullen stood on a battlefield, staring into the eyes of his hated enemy. “A woman, alone,” Cullen said. “Raised in perverse servitude, who managed to escape from the French court and again from your bloody rope to jump overboard into a storming Atlantic sea, has more courage than your bastard king.”

  The words tipped the Frenchman and his crew member into pulling their swords. Cullen was ready. With a flick and thrust, Captain de Fleur’s sword skittered across the floor, and Cullen pressed the point of his claymore into the man’s throat. Errol held the crew member in the same manner. Behind them, Broc and Tor yanked the men’s hands.

  “Ye have a dungeon below?” Tor asked.

  “Aye,” Cullen answered.

  “There is a reward for her return,” de Fleur continued. “The king has sent folios, penned with her likeness, to the nobility of Europe to find her.” De Fleur’s lips quirked upward, his eyes narrowed. “I will be a rich man for returning her.” He shrugged. “Perhaps slightly used.” He set the tip of his tongue on his bottom lip, sliding it along as if anticipating the taste of Rose’s skin.

  Cullen’s sword clattered as he dropped it, his fist swinging around to slam into the French bastard’s jaw. The sound of bone cracking made one of the ladies behind him gasp, and the Frenchman slumped to the ground. “See that he finds a puddle of rat’s piss to rest his aching head in,” Cullen said and gestured for Broc to lead the way as Tor lifted de Fleur under his arms to drag him to the Dunyvaig dungeon.

  Only when they were gone from the great hall did Cullen turn toward the stage, as did everyone else left in the room. Rose stood hidden in the long brown robes and beard of the shepherd beside the manger. Swathed in the voluminous costume, she sank to her knees with incredible grace, sliding off the beard and headdress so that her thick braid could be seen down her back. Before the Christ child of wool, lying in the straw-filled manger, Madeleine Renald bowed her head in prayer.

  …

  Rose rested on her knees, head bent. Mon Dieu. She whispered a litany she remembered now in French. A prayer for help that she’d murmured over and over back at the Château d’Ambroise, back when her mother trained her to be the royal prostitute. It all came back to her now, waves of memories rushing within her mind. Vibrant colors, caustic laughter, gold and pearls, whispers and leers, shadows and the heart-hammering feel of being the prey in an elaborate, richly decorated labyrinth.

  Dizziness assaulted her, and she sat back on her heels. She had fled after witnessing her mother pleasuring the king, teaching her what would be expected of her the next night. Madeleine had taken the pearls to pay for her escape. Desperation spurred her out of the palace while everyone slept off their debauchery. Slipping within the predawn shadows, like the wraith she nearly was, Madeleine had removed a single pearl from the necklace to pay for passage on a ship. She didn’t care where it would take her, as long as it was away from France, her mother, and the king. But once they had set sail, she’d realized her jeopardy with Captain Henri de Fleur. Her only protection from rape was the admittance that she belonged to the king.

  She jumped slightly at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. “Rose.” Cullen’s voice pressed tears into her eyes, and she squeezed them shut tighter. Please God, let me fade away right now.

  “Lass,” he said, his whisper rough like the caress of his battle-worn hand. “Ye are safe now.”

  But she wasn’t. Not from the knowledge of what she was, what she had been trained to be. Not from the stares of a room full of people. Not from the fact that she had no home, and her only family had wanted to sell her to a king for a necklace of pearls and a bed in a palace.

  “I think she’s in shock,” Charlotte said somewhere near. “Joan, we need a brew.”

  “Certainly. Ava, do ye think lemon balm?”

  “Definitely,” Ava whispered. “And sleep.”

  “I don’t know what you called that captain, but he’s that one hundred times over,” Grace said, her tone furious. Her tone dropped. “Poor thing.”

  “Ye should cut his ballocks off, Cull,” Mairi said.

  “Mairi,” Joan said.

  “Do ye not agree?”

  “Of course, I agree, but that’s not something for ladies to discuss,” Joan said.

  The hushed conversations wove around Rose as she held herself kneeling on the floor. The words stopped making sense as she let desolation weigh hard over her shoulders. Feeling consciousness start to slip away, she fell forward.

  Instead of the jarring impact of hitting the wooden stage, strong arms caught her, lifting her up and pulling her against a hard chest. She floated along as Cullen issued orders to those in the room. “Water…stir the fire in my room…lemon balm…broth…” Words she couldn’t latch onto as her mind filled with memories.

  “Wake up, Rose,” Cullen said, leaning over her, and she realized she now rested on a soft bed. She blinked, staring upward. Worry bent Cullen’s brows, his eyes desperate. As she focused on his gaze, he inhaled long and ran a hand up the side of his face to rake through his hair. “Thank God.” He cupped the side of her head, pulling her braid from the back of the tunic, working the material up to release her from the heavy costume. He l
ifted covers over her chemise and bodice.

  “I am sorry,” she whispered. What must these good people think of her? What must Cullen? She was nearly a courtesan, had all but become what her mother told her she must be. Her face pinched as she watched his hands move with purpose. He poured her something and helped her sit up against the headboard.

  “No worries about the pageant,” he said. “We all know how the story ends.” He put a cup up to her lips and tipped it gently. “Only a sip.”

  The whisky slid down her throat, slaking a smooth trail of fire to her stomach. She took a second sip, and he pulled it away. She exhaled the smooth whisky fumes. “Not the pageant,” she said.

  He sat on the bed next to her. “I know, Rose.” The sound of the name he’d called her made the tears push forward, one pearling out on her lower lid.

  Beatrice had been right. She wasn’t worthy to be treated like a lady at Dunyvaig. “I am Madeleine Renald, the king’s virgin, a whore to the throne.”

  The shadow of anger captured Cullen’s features, and he closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw working. When he opened to look at her, he leaned in, breathing deeply. “Ye became Rose the moment ye decided to escape the palace.” His thumb rubbed across her bottom lip. “Brave and strong. Ye are Rose.”

  He was so handsome, his sensual mouth saying her name. She yearned to kiss him but worried he’d retreat. She would drown in pain if he pulled away. But Cullen leaned forward to kiss her, soft and gentle. Following her slowly as she rested back against the headboard, he stroked her hair, breaking the kiss to lean his forehead in to hers.

  “King Francis has made me the hunted,” she whispered between them. “I will be found and forced back. If not by Henri de Fleur, then by another. He thinks me too valuable to give up. Of royal blood, a virgin schooled in the arts of passion.” She shivered at the memory of the crazed look in the king’s eyes that night, how he’d called Madeleine’s name as he mounted Claire. He’d hungered for her but waited, not wanting to spoil his fantasy of deflowering her at the ball.

  Cullen held her head gently so she couldn’t turn away. “I gave ye my oath to protect ye, and that hasn’t changed.”

  Panic still plucked at her heart, making it pound. She clasped his wrists, her fingers circling him. “Cullen,” she whispered. “Make me less valuable.”

  He pulled back to search her gaze. “Less valuable?”

  She swallowed. “Take what the king desires. I would choose to whom I give my maidenhead, and I choose you.” The words were out. Cullen had heard them. She stared into his eyes, their blue darkened to black in the dim light. “I choose you.”

  The door behind Cullen opened, causing him to drop his hands from her head, but she continued to hold his wrists and his gaze.

  “Lemon balm and some broth,” Charlotte said. “Oh goodness, ye’re awake. Thank the good Lord. Cullen, out of the way.”

  Cullen withdrew, and she had to drop her hold on him as Charlotte bustled close. “Ye’ve had a shock.” Rose sipped the warm, tart liquid that Charlotte thrust into her hands. Cullen moved to the hearth, stirring the fire, so she couldn’t see his face. What did he think of her? Did his mind wander over all that she’d witnessed, where she’d learned what they’d shared in bed the other night? Even though she was a virgin, she was far from innocent.

  “All of it,” Charlotte instructed with a nod. She sniffed the other cup. “I don’t think whisky will help.” She shrugged. “Well, maybe.” She took a full swallow herself. “Aye, it could definitely help,” she murmured.

  “Cull?” Broc appeared in the open doorway. “The bastard’s already awake.” Broc glanced Rose’s way and bobbed a nod to her before looking back to Cullen. He held out a parchment. “He had this on him.” Cullen took it, fury hardening his features. “The folios he mentioned.”

  Charlotte peered over his arm at the missive and at Rose. “’Tis her likeness.” She blew air into her cheeks and released it. “With pearls around yer neck,” she said to Rose.

  “Give back the pearls,” Rose said. “I never wanted them, but had no means to pay my way.”

  “Of course,” Charlotte said, rushing to her. She sat on the bed and pulled her into a hug, pressing Rose’s face into her ample chest. Charlotte patted her back. “Poor thing.” She released her. “Ye’ve been through so much.”

  “What should we do with the captain and his man?” Broc asked. “He’s yelling up a storm down there. Says that if he doesn’t return, his crew will send a missive to the English at Oban, which says the MacDonalds are traitors to the English crown. And if the English don’t attack us, his crew will.”

  “Put everyone on alert,” Cullen said. “I want guards along the wall and villagers ready to run to the keep if anyone is spotted coming from the water or across the moor.” Cullen strode to the door. “Have Donald arm every lad over the age of twelve. And let anyone who wishes to sleep in the castle bring their pallet.”

  Errol appeared in the doorway. “My father and Farlan want to talk with ye below. Tor and Hamish are planning for war, and Garrick is rounding up his men.”

  Cullen looked to Rose. “I have to go.” Rose’s stomach twisted. All of this, because of her. Guilt and shame squeezed together inside her, and she blinked to keep the tears inside. She gave a small nod, and he strode out the door.

  Charlotte picked up the folio and brought it to the bed. “It doesn’t do ye justice,” she said, handing it to Rose. Black lines of ink wove together to form a face and slender neck down to the top of her breasts. Decked in the pearls with an up-braided coiffeur, Madeleine Renald held a teasing smile that she’d practiced in her mirror since she’d been a young girl. The artist had taken her likeness from a portrait Claire had commissioned that had won Madeleine an invitation to court. At the time, Madeleine had been excited with the anticipation of making her mother happy and leaving their small country estate for the grandeur of Le Blois. One could see it in the tilt of her chin.

  The original portrait showed a light in her eyes that added to the enchantment she’d felt at the time. But in this ink rendition, the eyes were empty of emotion, blank, giving her a poppet-like appearance. Récompense was listed under the sketch, followed by a sum much larger than the pearls were worth. It made her nauseous.

  Charlotte sighed and indicated the picture. “At least ye know who Madeleine Renald is now. She is alive and protected by the chief of the MacDonalds.” She nodded deeply, obviously trying to make Rose feel better.

  “Merci,” Rose said, her voice sad. “But this woman…” She shook her head and indicated the picture. “Look at her eyes.” Charlotte took the ink drawing from her to study it while Rose turned her gaze to the flames eating away at the dry peat in the hearth. Rose breathed deeply against the rapid beat of her heart. “That girl is no more. Madeleine Renald is dead.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What are ye going to do?” William demanded as Cullen trudged into the great hall. Tor’s family sat near the hearth, talking softly.

  The Yule log lay there, unlit. The musicians and pageant players had left, as well as the young warriors to see about arming the village. Tor and Hamish waited with Cullen’s uncles, their stances and frowns indicating a desire to spill blood. It matched Cullen’s own fury. Strong emotion warred within him. Fury and a need to protect, both of which were stronger than he’d ever felt before.

  “Ye have the Maclean strength behind ye, Cullen,” Tor said.

  “We can’t fight all of France,” Farlan said, rubbing his beard. He cursed low and crossed his arms.

  “The English could,” William said. “They could capture that ship out there waiting for their captain. Ye must hand over de Fleur to Captain Taylor.”

  “De Fleur will reveal who Rose is,” Cullen said. His mind struck out at idea after idea. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wasn’t giving Rose up. The very thought of losing her made his blood pump harder through his body, readying him for war. “The man tied a rope around Ros
e’s neck, meant to drag her literally back to hell for a prize.” His eyes lifted to Tor. “He cannot talk if he’s dead.”

  “Hear, hear,” Broc added. “I think we should cut his ballocks off first like Mairi suggested.”

  “Hear, hear,” Mairi echoed from the hearth while Joan flapped her hand at her.

  “Your first duty is to protect Dunyvaig,” William said with a sigh and rubbed at his forehead. “Giving a Frenchman over to Captain Taylor will secure Islay’s safety. We tell Taylor, like de Fleur, that Madeleine is gone. We can hide her away.”

  “Would the French king really spend such resources to find a girl?” Farlan asked, his arms opening wide, bushy brows raised. “When she isn’t found right away, another girl will catch his eye. ’Tis the way with kings.”

  “Ye must act quickly,” William warned.

  “And look past personal desires,” Farlan added. “The MacDonald must put his people and their safety before his wants.”

  Blood lust ran like a deluge through Cullen’s body. His uncles’ resistance added to the flood. He wanted de Fleur to suffer like Rose had at his hands. He looked to Broc. “Tie a rope around his neck and string him up from the rafters in the dungeon where only his feet can touch. To keep his life, he must stand until we figure out what to do with him.” Broc nodded and walked away with Hamish by his side.

  “Broc,” Errol called and tossed him the large cell key. Broc caught it out of the air.

  “Cullen,” William snapped. “Ye will bring the force of France and England down on us if we don’t act before de Fleur’s letter reaches Taylor. If the English know the French ship is here, and ye let de Fleur go for fear he will expose your woman, Taylor will think we are in league with them.”

  Farlan blustered. “I knew ye’d bring the end to Dunyvaig. Ye are exactly like your fa—”

  “I will find a solution,” Cullen yelled. “I am The MacDonald.” He drew his sword. Before him stood his uncles, but he saw only the rope burns that had cut into Rose’s slender, fragile neck, her eyes filled with fear. “I have not forgotten my oaths.” But at the moment, his oaths to protect Dunyvaig warred with his oath to protect Rose.