Page 11 of Shadow Music (Highlands' Lairds 3)

  Gelroy asked, “What if I were to tell you I cannot remember?”

  Colm let the priest see his annoyance. “You cannot remember lifting a man who weighs at least twice as much as you do? You cannot remember that amazing feat?”

  Gelroy bowed his head. He gave up trying to be clever. “I’m sorry, Laird, but I cannot tell you anything more. I have given my word to keep silent, and I must keep it.”

  Colm was furious. “Did you give your word to the men who tried to kill my brother?”

  “I did not, and I have no idea who those terrible men are. I would not hold their secrets unless they came to me in confession.” He hastily put his hands up. “And none of them did confess to me. I swear to you I know nothing about them. I don’t even know what happened to your brother. I only saw the result of the punishment they inflicted.”

  Brodick was distracted by the noise from the courtyard. A Buchanan warrior called to him. “There’s trouble below.”

  One of MacHugh’s men looked down at the people assembled below. “You should see this,” he told Colm.

  “Why do I care about the English and their troubles?” Brodick asked as he strode to the parapet.

  “Baron Geoffrey’s daughter is at the heart of the trouble.”

  GABRIELLE LED THE WAY TO THE COMMONS. SHE WAS DETERMINED to end this meeting and be on her way home as quickly as possible. The abbot followed as she hurried up the small knoll past the monks’ sleeping quarters and around the smaller chapel adjacent to the baking house. She was about to enter the commons through an archway when she noticed a woman standing in the shadows watching her. Gabrielle instinctively smiled and nodded a greeting, but the woman did not respond in kind. There was loathing in her expression, and her ferretlike eyes glowed with hatred.

  Gabrielle was so taken aback, she abruptly stopped. Although she had never met the woman before, she had a fair idea who she was. Such a vile reaction could only come from a Monroe. Her father had told her that most of the Monroe clan blamed her for their laird’s death. The ridiculous idea made no sense to her, and she considered saying something to the woman and pointing out that her attitude was most unreasonable, but before she could speak, the strange woman picked up her skirts and ran away.

  The abbot caught up with Gabrielle in time to see what had happened. “Do you know that woman?”

  “No, I don’t,” she replied. “She seemed most upset, didn’t she?”

  “Aye, she did. Upset with you from the look she was wearing on her face.”

  Gabrielle nodded. “She must be a Monroe because the Monroes dislike me intensely.”

  “Oh, no, Lady Gabrielle, that isn’t so.”

  “It’s not?” she asked, a bit relieved. The idea of an entire clan hating her was upsetting. “The Monroes don’t hate me?” she asked eagerly.

  “Oh, yes, they do. They most certainly do,” he answered matter-of-factly, sounding almost cheerful. “But you see, that woman isn’t a Monroe. I can’t recall her name, but I remember being introduced to her, and I believe she’s related to one of the barons. With all the strangers I’ve met in the past few days, I can’t keep all of them straight in my head. These English all tend to look alike.”

  Lovely, she thought. The Monroes’ hatred had spilled all the way down to England.

  “I won’t allow myself to be concerned about their foolish opinions.”

  The abbot gestured toward the passage into the courtyard. “Shouldn’t we continue on?”

  “Yes,” Gabrielle agreed. “But you needn’t come with me. I’m certain you have more important matters to attend to, and I don’t want you to waste another minute worrying about me. I prefer to face the barons alone.”

  She stepped through a short hallway and found herself in the middle of a dogfight. It was difficult for her to locate the two barons because the area was filled with people, everyone in the assembled crowd trying to shout louder than everyone else. It was pandemonium. Something urgent must be happening, she thought, to provoke such vehement arguing. She drew back into the shadows, waiting for the noise to die down.

  She searched the crowd for the two barons, and when she happened to look up, her breath caught in her throat and she nearly lost her balance. Liam’s brother stood looking down from the top of the wall. He now appeared even larger and more menacing than the first time she had seen him on the hill. It wasn’t just his size that made Colm MacHugh so intimidating but his rigid stance and his stony expression. He was the most fearsome man she had ever seen.

  The laird next to him was also a daunting figure. She recognized him as well. This was the wild Buchanan.

  Concerned that she would lose what courage she had if she continued to stare at the two Highlanders, she turned her attention back to the fighting throng in front of her.

  Suddenly one man noticed her, then another and another, and within seconds a hush had fallen over the crowd.

  Baron Coswold spotted her before Percy did. He bowed low and held out his hand to bid her to come forward.

  “Lady Gabrielle, it is so good of you to join us. We’ve met before in King John’s court. I’m sure you remember me, don’t you?”

  Gabrielle didn’t acknowledge Coswold’s question. She simply looked at him and waited for him to explain the purpose of the meeting.

  “I speak on the king’s behalf,” he stammered, unnerved by her silence.

  She walked toward him, and the baron silently cursed himself for the devil pact he had made with MacKenna. What had he been thinking? How could he give her to another man? Since he’d last seen her, she’d grown even more beautiful.

  Everyone remained quiet as the lady made her way to the center of the courtyard.

  Colm MacHugh had been watching the melee unfolding below him with both amusement and disgust. What asses the English were, arguing over who had the right to speak. When the screaming suddenly subsided, he wondered what could have quieted their absurd tirade. And then he saw her. She moved through the crowd with her head held high and her hands at her sides.

  Baron Percy broke the silence. “My lady, I can see you don’t remember Coswold,” he said, a snicker in his voice. “We have also met before, when you were presented to King John.”

  Percy knew better than to ask her if she remembered meeting him, for he had the feeling that he would get the same cold, silent response she’d given Coswold.

  “And Coswold is mistaken,” Percy continued. “He doesn’t speak on the king’s behalf. I do.”

  The statement was the spark that once again ignited the fiery argument.

  Coswold waved a document in the air. “I have a writ signed by King John giving me his power to decide your future. Percy’s writ is no longer valid. The date marked by the king, later than Percy’s worthless paper, proves that I am in charge.”

  Percy wasn’t about to let the woman slip through his fingers. “As is his habit, Baron Coswold speaks nonsense. I have already decided that since Laird Monroe is dead, you will return to England with me. We shall let King John decide your future.”

  Coswold turned to Percy. “Everyone here knows what you’re planning. You plan to wed the lady before you leave the abbey, but she isn’t going anywhere with you.”

  “I will have her!” Percy screamed.

  Gabrielle could hardly believe her ears. Were they both mad? They sickened her. How dare they fight over her as though she were a piece of meat thrown to ravenous dogs? She knew she couldn’t be that important to either of them. Nay, it was Finney’s Flat they were after. Both barons wanted the valuable land.

  Several MacHugh and Buchanan men joined their lairds at the wall to observe the commotion in the courtyard, but Colm’s gaze was fixed on the woman at the center of the storm. He wondered what was going on inside her mind. Gabrielle hid her feelings well. Her regal bearing and her composure impressed him.

  Coswold clapped his hands to regain everyone’s attention. He then turned to the group of men behind him, gave a quick nod, and said, “I’ll sett

le this here and now.”

  The crowd parted, and Laird Owen MacKenna stepped forward. He nodded to several men as he passed them. Looking up at the top of the wall, he saw MacHugh and Buchanan watching him, and stiffened in reaction.

  “Look who just crawled out from under his rock,” Brodick said. “It’s our old friend.”

  “The arrogant swine,” Colm scoffed.

  Baron Percy did not know Laird MacKenna. “Who is this man who dares to interrupt this proceeding?”

  “I am Laird MacKenna, and I have agreed to marry Lady Gabrielle and accept her dowry. From this day forward, Finney’s Flat will be called Glen MacKenna.”

  Coswold wore a smug look. “Aye, Finney’s Flat will be yours.”

  Up above, Colm reacted with a start. “The hell it will.”

  Brodick straightened. “No, we can’t let that happen.” He looked at Gabrielle and wondered why she hadn’t protested the barons’ high-handed methods. Was she flattered or insulted? If she were anything like her father, she was railing inside, Brodick thought.

  MacKenna approached Gabrielle with a warm smile. She didn’t return the smile. She seemed to be looking through him, and MacKenna thought she must be overwhelmed by all the attention she was receiving. After all, she was about to be married to a powerful laird. Aye, far more powerful than poor dead Monroe could have hoped to be. And MacKenna was much more handsome. Women liked attractive men. Perhaps her good fortune just hadn’t sunk in yet.

  “Laird MacKenna and Lady Gabrielle will be married before this day ends,” Coswold called out.

  Another shout from behind the throng of people interrupted his proclamation. “MacKenna, you have no right to her. I am Harold Monroe, and I will soon become laird of the Monroe clan. It is my duty and my right to marry this woman. My right by primogeniture.”

  The throng stepped aside to let him through. Gabrielle recognized the man. He had been with the spiteful woman at the funeral.

  As Monroe made his way to them, MacKenna challenged him. “You are not the firstborn son of Laird Monroe. He had no sons. You, therefore, cannot claim primogeniture.”

  “I am his brother’s firstborn son,” he shouted. “And since my uncle is now deceased, I claim Lady Gabrielle and Finney’s Flat for myself. From this day forward, the land will be called Glen Monroe.”

  Coswold was determined to take control again. “You can demand all you want, but you aren’t getting her, nor are you getting Finney’s Flat.”

  “Glen MacKenna,” MacKenna corrected. “As of today, it’s Glen MacKenna.”

  “What deceit is this?” Percy hissed at Coswold. “What kind of a pact have you made with this man? Does he know you want her for yourself?”

  “You are a fool, Percy, a damn fool.”

  Neither one was going to get her, Coswold had realized. He’d given up the possibility of marrying Gabrielle. The king had put one obstacle after another in his path, and as lustful as Coswold was for Gabrielle, he wanted the gold every bit as much. Aye, he lusted after the treasure. And so he had made his deal with MacKenna. The laird would get her and the land, and in return Coswold would have access to her. He was convinced she had knowledge of St. Biel’s treasure, and, whether with charm or with torture, he would get it out of her.

  Fortunately for him, Percy didn’t even know the treasure existed and neither did MacKenna or King John. MacKenna was such a greedy pig, he hadn’t shown any curiosity when Coswold insisted that he be able to see Gabrielle whenever he wanted. All the laird was interested in was controlling Finney’s Flat.

  Coswold wasn’t worried that MacKenna might not live up to his part of the bargain. If necessary, Coswold could summon enough soldiers to destroy the entire MacKenna clan.

  Harold Monroe wasn’t about to go away quietly. He had to scream to be heard over the chaos that had erupted. “I claim the right to marry the lady and be given Glen Monroe!”

  Everyone in the crowd seemed to have an opinion and decided to express it.

  Coswold raised his hand for silence. The command was ignored.

  “Quiet, everyone! Baron Coswold wants quiet now so he can be heard.” In an attempt to be helpful, Henry Willis, one of Coswold’s henchmen, shouted the demand from directly behind Coswold’s back. He added several obscene curses as well when the crowd didn’t immediately obey.

  At the sound of Henry’s voice, Coswold flinched, then whirled around to glare at the offender.

  “Do not scream in my ear,” he demanded.

  Henry gritted his teeth. He didn’t like being corrected in front of an audience, and he especially didn’t like disappointing the baron. Coswold was his liberator. He’d liberated him from a trip to the gallows, and Henry idolized him, for the baron had given him an identity and made him an important man.

  Henry knew what he was. In appearance he certainly wasn’t much to look at. He was a wide-necked brute of a man with a flat face, small ears, and thick lips. His eyes were no bigger than two beads of perspiration. His hands were big though. Big and strong. Perhaps because he knew he was so unattractive, he wore a perpetual sneer.

  He made up for his unpleasant appearance with his special talents. He could snap a man’s neck quicker than he could drop to his knees, and he would do so without any provocation or a moment’s remorse. There were only a handful of men in the world he feared, and Coswold was one. Henry knew that Coswold used him and his cohorts, Cyril and Malcolm, to do his unpleasant work, but they were well-paid and given respect by the baron’s peers.

  Henry heard Malcolm snicker and shoved an elbow in his side. Since Coswold was still glaring at him, Henry said, “I won’t be yelling again, but Baron,” he continued in a rush to redeem himself, “maybe if you used force, you’d get them to do what you wanted.”

  Coswold was exasperated. “We had to leave our weapons outside the gates, remember? Oh, to have my sword now. I’d run it through Percy just to shut him up.”

  “I’d be honored to run him through for you,” Malcolm blurted. The hireling only came to Henry’s shoulder and had to push his way to the front so he could be seen by the baron.

  “What if you were to bring more of your people inside the abbey? Even without weapons they’d be giving Percy a message of how powerful you are. Besides, look at those Highlanders strolling in here as if they owned the place. I lost count, there are so many of them,” Henry said.

  “They aren’t important and have no interest in this proceeding. I certainly have no interest in them. Now both of you be quiet while I finish this. I have no need for more of your suggestions.”

  Both Malcolm and Henry bowed their heads. “Aye, Baron.”

  Percy strained to hear the conversation between Coswold and his men, but the clamor of voices surrounding him drowned them out. When Coswold turned back to him, he screamed, “You will not decide anything!”

  Percy screeched like a trapped bird, Coswold thought. “I have already decided her future.”

  Percy’s face turned bloodred. “I want her and I will have her.”

  Gabrielle had had enough. She couldn’t bear to hear another word from either of these repulsive men.

  “May I have your attention?”

  Gabrielle had not raised her voice, and only a few men standing near her heard what she said. One of them yelled, “The lady is wanting your attention, Baron.”

  Coswold and Percy both turned to her. MacKenna stood between them. All three smiled at her like starry-eyed suitors.

  “Which baron do you wish to address?” Percy cooed.

  “Both.”

  Everyone eagerly waited for her to speak. She would surely choose one over the other, and Coswold was confident that she would obey the king’s writ and abide by his decisions. Percy held the same view, confident she would place her future in his hands.

  “Yes, Lady Gabrielle?” Coswold said.

  “There seems to be some confusion here,” she began.

  “Aye, with all the shouting Percy’s doing,” Coswold interrupted.

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  “Let her speak!” someone from the crowd shouted.

  “All right. All right.” Coswold nodded. “You were saying, milady?”

  “I believe I can settle this dispute. You see, I will not marry anyone today.”

  “But I have agreed to marry you,” MacKenna said, staggered by her refusal.

  “Yes, but I have not agreed to marry you.”

  His mouth dropped open. He was astounded and turned to Coswold for help. “Can she refuse?”

  “She cannot,” he snapped. “Don’t be difficult, Gabrielle, for I speak on King John’s behalf…”

  Gabrielle was weary of their pompous declarations. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that fact several times now.”

  Did she mock him? Coswold’s eyes narrowed. He couldn’t be certain. She looked so angelic, and there was no bite to her voice.

  “Baron Coswold is mistaken. I speak for the king,” Percy insisted.

  She turned her attention to him. “So you have also said countless times. May I ask both of you a question? Where was my father while all of these decisions were being made?”

  No one would answer.

  “Did you wait for my father to leave to carry out this obscenity?”

  “Obscenity?” Coswold roared. “How dare you speak to me in such a way.”

  Percy was just as outraged by her attitude, and MacKenna looked like he wanted to strike her, but she held her ground and budged not one inch.

  MacKenna considered grabbing Gabrielle by her arm and forcing her to his side, but he looked up and saw MacHugh and Buchanan still watching. Best not touch her, he decided, for he had no wish to make a scene. For the time being, he was forced to treat her with courtesy. Later, he promised himself, when he had Gabrielle alone, he would show her how to be respectful.

  “Lady Gabrielle, I am afraid this isn’t your decision to make,” Percy told her.

  “I agree.”

  Coswold and Percy glanced at each other. “You agree?” Coswold said. “Then why this fuss?”

  “It isn’t my decision. It’s my father’s. It’s his right to decide my future, certainly not yours.”

  “Are you refusing…” MacKenna began.