Page 130 of The Speed of Lightning
Birdy rolled her eyes.Nothing—only that he doesn’t look a seafaring hermit anymore. More the sea-raider. Menacing. Intense. Young.
Léo’s mouth flattened as if someone had watered his wine. “I get the point. We all see him.”
Calum shrugged, embarrassed. “I just shaved the beard.”
Hector beckoned him closer. “Glencripesdale. It’s outside the Wolf’s defenses, for a northern assault. Half a day’s march fromport. We’ve two options, siege or infiltration. Neither appealing. Birdy scouted all last night in the area—look at this.”
Hector pulled Birdy’s sketch from the corner of the table and spread it flat in the center. Calum scanned the lines, his heart sinking.
Birdy’s finger tapped the rough strokes of charcoal.Caterans are east of the Loch.Here—she pointed to a dense copse southeast of the castle,the ground is boggy. No caterans, but near impassable for an assault. This path is the only way forward, but it is too treacherous for any kind of organization. It isn’t close enough for a stealth attack either.
Eoghan rubbed his chin. “Darkness won’t even help. Around the base of the castle there’s nothin’ but barren hills. Nowhere to hide.”
David grunted. “Then a siege may be the only way.” The door banged open so hard the table rattled. Cold air rushed in with Lachlan MacLean as he stumbled through, clutching a torn missive. His breath came quick, chest heaving as if he’d just run the entire length of Mull, the color drained from his face. “She’s been tried. Freya—Freya has been tried.”
It took Calum several seconds to grasp what he’d heard. “What are you talking about? Rory’s taken her for bride.”
Lachlan shook his head, breath ragged. “No. Queen Marjorie fled last night to bring us word. The new council put Freya on trial. Rory tried to force her into marriage, but it could not stand. They… made her surrender Garmoran. She believed they’d grant her and Aoife’s freedom in return.” He swallowed hard. “Instead Rory betrayed her—as the Storyteller. And Cota Liath with her. He’s imprisoned now, beside her. Marjorie says they’ve been cruelly handled.”
Cold shock gripped Calum, his body torn between paralysis and the urge to bolt for Ardtornish that instant. He forced his voice steady. “What was the verdict?”
Lachlan thrust the paper into Calum’s shaking hands. “Death.”
John Mór surged to his feet, outrage shaking his voice. “Madness! She is our half-sister!”
Lachlan nodded. “Aye. Mhairi and Marjorie are distraught. Marjorie risked everything to bring this to us. She has cast her lot with ours.”
Calum’s heart lurched, blood draining from his face as he read the neat, merciless script:
Whereas Freya Anna MacLean, convicted of high treason for the distribution of seditious stories and appeals for the king’s overthrow, is adjudged to death, to wit by decapitation, according to the statute, law, and custom of the realm of the Kingdom of the Isles. You are commanded, immediately upon receipt of this writ, to cause her head to be struck off on the public green at Lochaline…
Fear and panic locked Calum in a mind-numbing state of helplessness, and he wavered on the brink of passing out. “Immediately after receipt—have they done it? Is she—please God, she isn’t?—”
“Tomorrow at dawn,” Lachlan said hoarsely, raising a second paper. “Cota Liath bears the same judgment.”
Madness and grief boiled in his chest, burning up his throat until he loosed a feral scream. He shoved Lachlan aside and lunged for the door. “He will die—Rory MacDonald will die?—”
A force struck him like a battering ram, driving him hard to the floor. He twisted, lashing out, breaking Hector’s grip as he clawed his way to the door. His fingers brushed the latch before Iain, Léo, and David dragged him down, pinning him to the cold stone.
David forced his head flat against the flagstones. A tear slipped free. He shuddered, bellowing in agony, strainingagainst the weight that held him. “Let me up—curse you, let me up!”
“Lightning.” David’s voice was iron. “Get hold of yourself.”
Lachlan backed away a few paces, drawing a shuddering breath. “You cannae reach Rory, Calum. Even if you wanted to. He left last night—after his marriage. He’s taken his wife to his new lands in Garmoran.”
Murdoch backed along the wall, his face ashen. “What wife?”
Lachlan hung his head, a hand passing over his face.
Murdoch’s voice began to rise. “What wife, Chief MacLean?”
Lachlan swallowed. “Aoife.”
Stricken, Murdoch shook his head. “No. Not of her own will. It can be undone. Just as Calum’s was to be undone, we can bring her back, we can go to England, pursue a dispensation there.”
Lachlan folded the papers, his eyes misted. “You’re right. It wasn’t her will, MacFadyen. The Wolf gave her in repayment for the broken betrothal. They were wed by the Abbot of Iona and the marriage was solemnized and finalized before their departure.”
The word ‘finalized’ struck Murdoch like a stone. He lurched, his hand seizing the edge of the table until his knuckles whitened.
