Let Me Be Your Hero (20 page)

Only stay quiet while my mind remembers

The beauty of fire from the beauty of embers.

John Masefield (1878-1967),

British poet and playwright.

The Collected Poems of John Masefield

“On Growing Old” (1923)

C
laire’s defiance lasted three weeks before Lord Walter issued her an ultimatum.

“I have sent word to Giles to join us here. Ye have until the day he arrives to change yer mind. If ye do not marry him by the second day after his arrival, ye will be removed to the dungeon and there ye will stay, Countess, until ye die or marry.”

“I will not hand my inheritance over to ye.”

“Do not be so noble. Shall I remind ye that after your death one of yer sisters will inherit the title. Perhaps she will be more disposed toward marriage with Giles. Hear me well. I will not stop. Moreover, if I must throw each of yer sisters in the dungeon to suffer yer fate I will not hesitate to do so. I will warn ye
now, do not think ye can outsmart me. It is impossible.”

True to Lord Walter’s word, he took Claire to the dungeon three days after Giles arrived. She was taken down the narrow, damp steps that led to the portcullis beneath the main building, where the North Sea surged against the rock the castle was built upon. They were almost to the portcullis when he made a sharp turn, and she saw the prison cell. It was, as most dungeons are, small, cold and damp, with only one tiny window some twenty feet above the dungeon floor. It had literally been hewn from the rock. There was no wooden door, but one made of iron bars that let in the cold and moisture from the sea.

He left, without making any mention of food or water, taking the lamp with him, although he did gift her with the punishing sound of the iron door closing forever on the life she had known.

It was late afternoon, and the cell was now almost completely dark. He did leave her with a thin blanket, and a suggestion that she sleep on the musty straw piled in the corner. She was truly and completely alone, with nothing for company but the relentless sound of the sea hurling itself against the rocks.

She paced the small perimeter of her cell. The damp chill was already beginning to penetrate her very bones, and she drew the blanket over her and found it made precious little difference. She studied the damp walls, the tracks of moisture running down. Were these the tears of those abandoned souls who, like her, were condemned to such a horrid fate?

She had nothing to look at but the four dripping walls and the pictures of her sisters and Lennox Castle
sitting on the shores of Loch Lomond that she called up from her mind. When the sun went down, everything was black as pitch. She could hear the scurrying of night creatures, and the never-ending sound of the sea. All else was silence.

She walked and walked, and cried until her eyes were swollen and the tears would no longer come. She was exhausted and afraid to sit down for fear some rat, or worse, would come into her cell through the iron bars. Not long before daybreak, she moved to the iron gate and leaned her head against the cold bars. What had she and her family done to deserve this end? What would happen to her sisters and the members of the clan now that she was left to rot in this remote place?

She was given a meager amount of food the first week, although she barely touched it. She was like a caged animal as she paced back and forth, searching for some way out, while knowing all along that escape, save through death, was impossible. She realized she should have tried an escape long before now. They sailed fairly close to shore, and she could have jumped over the side. Swimming to shore would have been no problem for her, and once there, she would have had at least a chance of escape.

At some point during that first week in the dungeon, she began to keep account of the days by marking the stones with a rock. She knew that once the food stopped and she was given only water, there would be neither reason nor strength to make the mark. If there was a good side to all of this, she would not spend years incarcerated. She knew not how long she could survive without water, although she supposed it would not be more than two or three days.

The second week, she heard the sound of the rusty key turning in the lock, followed by the creaking of the hinges as the gate opened. Lord Walter came into the cell to give her what he called her last meal, before he informed her that for the rest of the week, she would only be given water every other day.

“The third week, the water will stop. You will receive nothing to eat or drink after that. Does marriage to Giles really seem a fate more grim than the one I have just offered ye?”

“Ye misjudge me, Lord Walter. Ye confuse my young age with stupidity. Do ye truly think I believe anything ye say? I am my father’s daughter. I am capable of looking beyond what ye present as the final stopping point, but I ken marriage to Giles would only be the beginning, and I would soon meet with an accident or, like my poor brother, be slowly poisoned to death. Once I am gone, ye will see that my sisters suffer a similar fate and then ye and Isobel will have yer hands on the Lennox wealth—that is, if Giles cooperates. If not, then I ken my dear cousin will join the rest o’ us in the grave.”

On the morning beginning the third week, Lord Walter paid her another visit and handed her what he called “Your last cup of water.”

Claire took the water and watched how the Belgian lace beneath his velvet doublet fell to his knuckles. His hands were pale, long and thin, and a shiny new gold ring encircled the middle finger. His finery, she knew, was bought with Lennox coin. “Ye have wasted no time in spending money that isna yours. I may not live to see it, but be forewarned, ye willna get away with this. And when yer punishment comes, I hope it is sufficient
to equal all the misery, suffering and pain ye have dealt my family.”

“Yer bold insolence will be yer ruin, and it is wasted on me. I prefer my women weak and compliant. Drink up, for ’tis the last water ye will receive, unless ye change yer mind,” he said.

Claire drank thirstily and handed him the cup. “Lord Walter, I grow weary of yer oily tongue. I will thank ye kindly to hie yerself away from my presence, and then ye may go to the devil who fathered ye.”

He backhanded her and she was knocked backward, where she struck her head on the stones. Dazed, she dropped to her knees. He put his foot on her shoulder and shoved her backward, so that she fell to the floor. She could feel the trickle of blood from where his ring cut her lip. “And so, God has recorded yet another cruelty ye shall be punished for.”

She could see a million threats in his cold eyes. Yet, he surprised her when he threw the cup against the stones in the wall, where it clattered and fell to the floor. This time, he called out to a guard to open the iron gate.

Keys rattled and the lock was turned. With a scraping sound, the gate was opened. Before he stepped through, Lord Walter said, “Yer death is o’ yer own doing and the sin rests upon yer own head. ’Tis a cross ye must bear alone. I accept no responsibility. I offered ye a way out.”

“Aye, and I ken God will be meekly abiding by yer declaration. Yer days are numbered, Lord Walter, and I wouldna want to be in yer shoes. And now, I will be offering ye to remove yer despicable presence from my sight and let me meet my maker in peace, so that I may
give a personal accounting to Him of yer many misdeeds.”

After he was gone, she looked at the bright shaft of sunlight streaming through the opening high overhead. She could hear the cry of seabirds and the pounding of the waves against the boulders below. The smell of the sea was fresh, and although the air was mild, Claire shivered from weakness.

Her life was a gift from God, and it would end by reuniting her with her creator. She picked up a chalky rock and went to the pile of straw in the corner. She dropped to her knees and drew a cross on the stone, going over the lines again and again, until it was a few inches wide.

Beneath it she wrote the words
ne oublie.

There, on her knees, in front of her makeshift altar, she prayed for deliverance. If that was not forthcoming, she prayed that God would see to her sisters, and that Fraser would somehow know she truly never stopped loving him.

“I ask ye to let him know that the words on my tongue were never in my heart. And if it be possible, I pray there will be forgiveness from him for the wrong I did him. I ask for forgiveness for being too young, too inexperienced, and terribly foolish for trusting Isobel. I pray my death will cancel my guilt.”

Her last prayer was for the end to come quickly.

Claire wanted to face death bravely, but fear gathered like dark clouds, rumbling and churning within her. She did not want to die like this—alone and isolated in her imprisonment. Her prayers were a comfort, and she had no qualms about her afterlife and the peace she would find. To die as ten thousand of
Scotland’s finest and brave men did on the battlefield at Flodden Field was as powerfully moving as it was tragic. To die as she would die, lying on a bed of straw in a place occupied only by the creatures that crawled here was ignoble and lonely. Such a death came at the end of hope.

She reached inside her bodice and pulled out a thin gold chain threaded through a golden band. She removed the ring and looked at the engraving inside, where the Lennox clan motto, I’ll Defend, was engraved.

It had been her mother’s wedding ring, and when Claire and Fraser married, it became her wedding ring. Fraser had added his own word to the inscription…
thee.
He followed that with the Graham clan motto,
Ne Oublie
, do not forget. Completed, the inscription read I Will Defend Thee, Ne Oublie.

She put the ring on her finger. Because of the weight she’d lost, the ring was too loose, so she wound a damp piece of straw around the shank of the ring so that it fit more tightly. She curled her fingers into a fist and she lay down on the straw, pulling the thin blanket over her. She did not take her eyes from the cross, but continued to stare at it the rest of the day, while she prayed continually.

When the sun reached its zenith and began its descent in the blue Scots sky, Claire closed her eyes and dreamed…as always, of Fraser.

The hour is come, but not the man.

Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832), Scottish novelist.

The Heart of Midlothian
(1818)

J
amie dismounted and walked up the slope of the hill where Fraser stood near the edge of the trees. “It is there,” Fraser said, “just as we hoped it would be.”

Jamie looked toward the castle hugging the cliff on the edge of the North Sea. “Aye, it looks like it was described, and the location is the right distance from Wick. It has to be Kalder.”

“If we only had some idea how many men he has,” Fraser said.

“Let’s see if we canna get a wee bit closer, so we can get some idea what we are up against,” Jamie said.

“We will need to wait until after the gloaming, for the distance between here and the castle is mostly free of trees and offers us no place to hide.”

When darkness finally closed in, they motioned to the men, twenty-five of the Grahams’ best and most-seasoned to move forward. With Fraser and Jamie
heading, they moved ahead until they were close enough for Jamie and Fraser to secret themselves among the boulders where they had a good view of the castle.

It was the perfect vantage point, for they were higher than Kalder Castle, which afforded them a good view of the keep and the bridge over the inlet where the sea curved around the back of the castle.

There did not appear to be a great many men present, but they knew there was always the possibility that a larger number than what they were seeing were inside in the barracks. “If only we could see the barracks, but it must be on the level beneath the one we see,” Jamie said.

Suddenly Fraser realized something. “We can see the stables,” he said.

“Aye, but what… Of course! If we can see how many horses they have, we should have a good idea how many men are present.”

After two hours lying on their stomachs, trying to see and count by the light of the torches gleaming from the castle walls, Jamie said, “I feel comfortable with the last number we calculated.”

“Forty-seven?” Fraser asked.

“Aye, and twenty-five o’ our men, added to the element o’ surprise, and I feel confident we will rout the bastards and find yer lass.”

“That is the part what worries me,” Fraser said, “for there is no doubt in my mind that Lord Walter wouldn’t kill her the moment he realizes they are under attack.”

“We need to make certain ye are one o’ the first ones within the castle walls so ye can find her before he realizes we are here.”

With that, they moved back to their men and outlined the plan, and then they began to move toward the castle.

As they approached the bridge, they looped around to the left side, where a thin strip of land could be walked over, so the bridge could be avoided. The wind was up and blowing in over the sea. When combined with the cold spray that rose up when the waves crashed against the cliff it rendered the air perishingly cold.

By the time they navigated their way and were within the walls of the castle, the keep was almost deserted. “I think the main body is having dinner, which is a stroke o’ luck for us,” Jamie said, and he waved at Niall and Calum to bring the men forward.

Tavish, who had scouted ahead of them, returned. “There are only four men I could see on the outside. Two near the stables, and one standing guard by the main door to the castle. I have a pretty good idea that the dungeon must be on the lower level, where it can be accessed from above as well as from the sea. There is one guard standing by the stairs that go down toward the porticullis. It is my guess that it also leads to the dungeon, which is where he is probably holding her.”

Jamie nodded. “All right, when we move in, we will take care of the guards in the courtyard, while the main body o’ men will enter the main part o’ the castle. While this is happening, Fraser will go down those steps and pray all the way that is where the dungeon is, and that Claire is there.”

Jamie moved back to his men and lay the plan before them, and then he moved back to where Fraser waited.

“Tavish, Calum, Niall and I will enter with ye. Ye can take the guard by the steps that lead beneath the castle, while we take care of the others. The rest o’ the men will enter the castle.”

Without a sound, they moved in. Without looking back to see where his brothers were, Fraser crept behind the stables and closer to the guard standing by the iron gate in front of the steps that led downward.

He picked up a pebble and tossed it against the castle wall. When the guard looked to the left where the sound came from, Fraser slipped behind him and quietly cut his throat.

He found the key to the gate on the dead man, and just as he stood and slipped it into the gate, a great shout arose behind him, which was followed by the sound of swordplay.

He opened the gate and started his descent, when one of Lord Walter’s men suddenly appeared out of nowhere, his sword drawn.

Fraser, by virtue of being on the steps below the man, was at a definite disadvantage, but after several minutes of swordplay, his adversary made a bad decision to lunge and Fraser’s sword caught him in the chest.

Fraser grabbed a torch from the wall and took the steps at a fast pace, then saw just ahead what had to be the dungeon.

Above him, the sound of battle rang out and he knew the main body of Grahams had encountered Lord Walter’s armed guard. He withdrew the ring of keys he had taken from the guard above, and found the key that fit the dungeon door.

He was praying mightily that he would find her here, and alive.

Claire was awakened by the sound of battle above her, and she lay there listening to the clang of swords and loud shouting, interspersed with the occasional whinny of a horse.

She had no idea who was fighting Lord Walter’s men but felt it must be some neighboring duke or earl, for she was certain no one knew of her whereabouts. For that reason she had ruled out the chance of rescue from the very beginning.

She heard the gate being opened and she turned her head.