In Freedom's Cause by G. A. Henty (children's ebooks free online TXT) 📕

“And he may not, you think,” Archie went on, “respect your promise for my life. If that be so, lady — and from what I have heard of Alexander MacDougall it is like enough — I beg you to give me back my surrender, for I would rather die here, sword in hand, than be put to death in cold blood in the castle of Dunstaffnage.”

“No,” the lady said, “that cannot be. Think you I could see you butchered before mine eyes after having once surrendered yourself to me? No, sir. I beseech you act not so rashly — that were certain death; and I trust that my uncle, hostile as he may be against you, will not inflict such dishonour upon me as to break the pledge I have given for your safety.”

Archie thought from what he had heard of the MacDougall that his chance was a very slight one. Still, as the young ever cling to hope, and as he would assuredly be slain by the clansmen, he thought it better to take the chance, small as it was, and so continued his march by the side of his captor’s palfrey.

After two hours’ journey they neared the castle of Alexander of Lorne. Archie could not repress a thrill of apprehension as he looked at the grim fortress and thought of the character of its lord; but his bearing showed no fear, as, conversing with the young lady, he approached the entrance. The gate was thrown open, and Alexander of Lorne himself issued out with a number of retainers.

“Ah! Marjory!” he said, “I am glad to see your bonny face at Dunstaffnage. It is three months since you left us, and the time has gone slowly; the very dogs have been pining for your voice.

But who have we here?” he exclaimed, as his eye fell upon Archie.

“It is a wandering knight, uncle,” Marjory said lightly, “whom I captured in the forest on my way hither. He fought valiantly against Murdoch and your followers, but at last he surrendered to me on my giving him my pledge that his life should be safe, and that he should be treated honourably. Such a pledge I am sure, uncle,” she spoke earnestly now, “you will respect.”

Alexander MacDougall’s brow was as black as night, and he spoke in Gaelic with his followers.

“What!” he said angrily to the girl; “he has killed four of my men, and is doubtless one of Bruce’s party who slipped through my fingers the other day and killed so many of my kinsmen and vassals.

You have taken too much upon yourself, Marjory. It is not by you that he has been made captive, but by my men, and you had no power to give such promise as you have made. Who is this young springall?”

“I am Sir Archibald Forbes,” Archie said proudly — “a name which may have reached you even here.”

“Archibald Forbes!” exclaimed MacDougall furiously. “What! the enemy and despoiler of the Kerrs! Had you a hundred lives you should die. Didst know this, Marjory?” he said furiously to the girl. “Didst know who this young adventurer was when you asked his life of me?”

“I did, uncle,” the girl said fearlessly. “I did not know his name when he surrendered to me, and afterwards, when he told me, what could I do? I had given my promise, and I renewed it; and I trust, dear uncle, that you will respect and not bring dishonour upon it.”

“Dishonour!” MacDougall said savagely; “the girl has lost her senses.

I tell you he should die if every woman in Scotland had given her promise for his life. Away with him!” he said to his retainers; “take him to the chamber at the top of the tower; I will give him till tomorrow to prepare for death, for by all the saints I swear he shall hang at daybreak. As to you, girl, go to your chamber, and let me not see your face again till this matter is concluded.

Methinks a madness must have fallen upon you that you should thus venture to lift your voice for a Forbes.”

The girl burst into tears as Archie was led away. His guards took him to the upper chamber in a turret, a little room of some seven feet in diameter, and there, having deprived him of his arms, they left him, barring and bolting the massive oaken door behind them.

Archie had no hope whatever that Alexander MacDougall would change his mind, and felt certain that the following dawn would be his last. Of escape there was no possibility; the door was solid and massive, the window a mere narrow loophole for archers, two or three inches wide; and even had he time to enlarge the opening he would be no nearer freedom, for the moat lay full eighty feet below.

“I would I had died sword in hand!” he said bitterly; “then it would have been over in a moment.”

Then he thought of the girl to whom he had surrendered his sword.

“It was a sweet face and a bright one,” he said; “a fairer and brighter I never saw. It is strange that I should meet her now only when I am about to die.” Then he thought of the agony which his mother would feel at the news of his death and at the extinction of their race. Sadly he paced up and down his narrow cell till night fell. None took the trouble to bring him food — considering, doubtless, that he might well fast till morning. When it became dark he lay down on the hard stone, and, with his arm under his head was soon asleep — his last determination being that if possible he would snatch a sword or dagger from the hand of those who came to take him to execution, and so die fighting; or if that were impossible, he would try to burst from them and to end his life by a leap from the turret.

He was awakened by a slight noise at the door, and sprang to his feet instantly, believing that day was at hand and his hour had come. To his surprise a voice, speaking scarcely above a whisper, said:

“Hush! my son, make no noise; I am here as a friend.” Then the door closed, and Archie’s visitor produced a lighted lantern from the folds of his garments, and Archie saw that a priest stood before him.

“I thank you, father,” he said gratefully; “you have doubtless come to shrive me, and I would gladly listen to your ministrations. I would fain intrust you, too, with a message to my mother if you will take it for me; and I would fain also that you told the Lady Marjory that she must not grieve for my death, or feel that she is in any way dishonoured by it, seeing that she strove to her utmost to keep her promise, and is in no way to blame that her uncle has overriden her.”

“You can even give her your message yourself, sir knight,” the priest said, “seeing that the wilful girl has herself accompanied me hither.”

Thus saying, he stepped aside, and Archie perceived, standing behind the priest, a figure who, being in deep shadow, he had not hitherto seen. She came timidly forward, and Archie, bending on one knee, took the hand she held out and kissed it.

“Lady,” he said, “you have heard my message; blame not yourself, I beseech you, for my death. Remember that after all you have lengthened my life and not shortened it, seeing that but for your interference I must have been slain as I stood, by your followers.

It was kind and good of you thus to come to bid me farewell.”

“But I have not come to bid you farewell. Tell him, good Father Anselm, our purpose here.”

“`Tis a mad brain business,” the priest said, shrugging his shoulders; “and, priest though I am, I shall not care to meet MacDougall in the morning. However, since this wilful girl wills it, what can I do? I have been her instructor since she was a child; and instead of being a docile and obedient pupil, she has been a tyrannical master to me; and I have been so accustomed to do her will in all things that I cannot say her nay now. I held out as long as I could; but what can a poor priest do against sobs and tears? So at last I have given in and consented to risk the MacDougall’s anger, to bring smiles into her face again. I have tried in vain to persuade her that since it is the chief’s doing, your death will bring no dishonour upon her. I have offered to absolve her from the promise, and if she has not faith in my power to do so, to write to the pope himself and ask for his absolution for any breach that there may be; but I might as well have spoken to the wind. When a young lady makes up her mind, stone walls are less difficult to move; so you see here we are. Wound round my waist are a hundred feet of stout rope, with knots tied three feet apart. We have only now to ascend the stairs to the platform above and fix the rope, and in an hour you will be far away among the woods.”

Archie’s heart bounded with joy with the hope of life and freedom; but he said quietly, “I thank you, dear lady, with all my heart for your goodness; but I could not accept life at the cost of bringing your uncle’s anger upon you.”

“You need not fear for that,” the girl replied. “My uncle is passionate and headstrong — unforgiving to his foes or those he deems so, but affectionate to those he loves. I have always been his pet; and though, doubtless, his anger will be hot just at first, it will pass away after a time. Let no scruple trouble you on that score; and I would rather put up with a hundred beatings than live with the knowledge that one of Scotland’s bravest knights came to his end by a breach of my promise. Though my uncle and all my people side with the English, yet do not I; and I think the good father here, though from prudence he says but little, is a true Scotsman also. I have heard of your name from childhood as the companion and friend of Wallace, and as one of the champions of our country; and though by blood I ought to hate you, my feelings have been very different. But now stand talking no longer; the castle is sound asleep, but I tremble lest some mischance should mar our plans.”

“That is good sense,” Father Anselm said; “and remember, not a word must be spoken when we have once left this chamber. There is a sentry at the gate; and although the night is dark, and I deem not that he can see us, yet must we observe every precaution.”

“Holy father,” Archie said, “no words of mine can thank you for the part which you are playing tonight. Believe me, Archie Forbes will ever feel grateful for your kindness and aid; and should you ever quit Dunstaffnage you will be welcomed at Aberfilly Castle.