Jock was mesmerized by the dagger for a minute, then he looked up at Lyall again and realized that his threat had not been an idle one. Lyall’s eyes were as cold as granite. “Have you said all you came to say, Laird Stevenson?” he asked, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice.
“No,” Lyall answered, glowering at Jock from under his brows. He had sheathed the dagger, but kept his hand on the hilt ready for an instant strike. “I want to see your spy.”
Jock immediately called a maidservant to fetch Fergus, and a few moments later he appeared, his gaunt face looking even more corpse-like than ever. He bowed to Lyall, who bowed back out of habit, nothing more.
Lyall knew that no one could help the face that they had been given by God, but he could hardly bear to look at Fergus’s cadaverous features.
“Good day, M'Laird,” the man said politely. “I trust you are well?”
“Always well, thank you,” Lyall replied sharply. “I trust that you are too, since you seem to be deriving much satisfaction from following me around all day, and I have noticed that MY betrothed Ailith has not escaped your attention either.” He laughed inwardly as he looked at Fergus’s lantern jaw dropping.
“You are not very good at your job, my man, which is just as well, because it ends now. Right this minute. And if I see you again near any of my family I WILL KILL YOU. Do you understand?” he said the last words with heavy emphasis and waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. “DO YOU?” he roared.
“Yes, M'Laird,” the man replied fearfully.
“Good.” Lyall put on his cloak and bowed a farewell. “Good day, gentlemen,” he said politely, then he strode out of the castle.
The moment he was gone, Fergus and Jock smiled at each other, and Jock sighed with satisfaction. His terror in front of Lyall had been real—the Laird was a very intimidating man—but he knew something the Laird did not.
“Shall we begin?” Jock asked lightly, still smiling. He poured a tot of whisky for each of them. “Sláinte! To success!”
“Sláinte!” Fergus replied, his dark eyes burning. He could not wait to see Lyall again. Things would be very different then.
9
Kidnapped
Fergus had been busy. He had watched Ailith enter Lyall’s castle the night before, and had seen her coming out in the morning. He had watched them ride away with the soldiers and had seen the strength of the guard around her house, and when he reported back to Jock he was gleeful.
“I think we can do better than six!” he replied scathingly. “Call Findlay to me please.”
Findlay shambled in, smiling as usual. He gave a clumsy bow.
“Yes, M'Laird?” he asked eagerly.
“I need you to do something for me,” Jock said sternly, “something very important, and I need you to keep very quiet about it. It is a big secret, and you know what will happen to you if you do not keep a secret! Do you understand?”
“Aye, M'Laird,” he replied, his eyes wide and terrified. “I will dae onythin’ for ye.”
Jock gave him his instructions, and Findlay shuffled off to obey them. Jock turned his attention back to Fergus then said, “Do you think two dozen will be enough?”
“Against six?” Fergus asked in disbelief. “I think the odds are slightly in our favor, M'Laird.”
“I want her today, Fergus, so ask the Captain of the Garrison to organize it, will you? I have other things to do.”
Fergus gave a slight bow and hurried off. Jock smiled. He liked to be obeyed. He went to the fire and warmed his hands, smiling with grim glee. He was going to enjoy this. Revenge was sweet.
Ailith knew that she would have to go out that day to meet a ship at the harbor, but she was not too nervous since she knew that two of the guards were coming with her. The road into the village was a winding one, but very pretty, commanding a view of the sea and going through several stands of pine trees under which a mist of bluebells was still growing.
As soon as they entered the sunlight they saw heather growing in pink meads all over the hillside, interspersed with bright lemon yellow gorse, their colors singing against each other in a glorious cacophony.
Ailith stopped her horse to gaze at it and at the broad blue horizon of the sea. She never got tired of this view, even though she had seen it every day for most of her adult life. She was just about to urge her horse on when a leather-clad hand clamped over her mouth, giving her no chance to scream.
“Ailie,” said a familiar, sneering voice in her ear, “you look very pretty today. Is that for Laird Stevenson? Is he a good lover?” Jock took his hand away from her mouth and grasped her around the waist to lift her off her horse. She looked around to see where the two guards were, but they were lying immobile on the ground, and she had no idea whether they were alive or dead. Jock had dozens of men with him, all armed to the teeth, so he had made short work of them.
“I have not lain with him, Jock,” she replied angrily. “He is an honorable man who would never take advantage of me.”
“Why were you in his castle last night, then?” Jock asked scathingly. “Talking?”
“Not that it is any of your business,” she replied haughtily, “I was very upset when I left you, and I was scared to go home in case you were there waiting to waylay me. I was going to stay in the village but Lyall met me on the way and I told him what had happened. He thought I would be safer with him.”
“I am sure he did,” Jock replied sarcastically. “And I expect he thought he had gone to heaven—a beautiful woman like you in his arms.”
“I told you, we are not lovers!” she screamed at him.
He gripped her wrists so that she could not move, while his eyes gleamed with malicious triumph. “You are still a virgin?”
She stared at him. “Why does it matter to you, Jock?” she asked. “I am not going to marry you. I told you that. And I do not believe in curses.”
He smiled a smooth, evil smile. “Oh, yes you are, my dear,” he whispered, “whether you like it or not.”
He turned her by forcing her arm around her back and pushing it as far as it would go. It was painful, but she gritted her teeth and said nothing. He let the arm go then forced her onto her horse again, then had one of his men tie her hands together.
“Where are we going?” she asked fearfully, her voice trembling.
“Somewhere pleasant,” Jock replied. “You will like it, I promise.”
When Jock said the words “I promise,” Ailith’s heart skipped a beat. She knew that wherever they were going, it would decidedly NOT be pleasant.
Indeed it was not. The cottage stood under a stand of dark pine trees. It was covered in moss and looked as if it had grown out of the forest floor. However, its stone walls were sturdy and it had a thick thatched roof which had somehow managed to survive the elements. It had only two windows, one on each side of the door, which were tightly shuttered and bolted from the outside. The thick wooden door had a huge bolt on it too, so that whatever—or whoever—was in there would have absolutely no hope of escape.
Hands still tied, she was led inside and stood next to the window, looking at it carefully. Not a chink of light escaped from around the shutters, and she realized that once the door closed it would be utterly dark. She shivered with fear and cold. Even though it was the end of summer and the middle of the day, the cottage was freezing.
There was a thin mattress with a blanket lying on the floor, which was covered in dirty straw, a bucket, and a few candles. She sighed with relief; at least she would have some light. Next to the candles was a jug of water, half a loaf of bread, and a bowl of thin porridge. Surely this could not be her only food for the day?
“Are you imprisoning me here?” she asked incredulously.
“Well, that is your choice,” Jock said quietly. “You may marry me and never have to stay in this place, or refuse and you will stay here till you change your mind.”
She was horrified. “Even if I could change my mind, how could imprisoning m
e help?”
He shrugged as if he did not even listen to her point. “Well, Ailie, if that is your choice of course I must honor your wish, but remember, starving to death is not an easy way to die.”
“Why do you not just seize me and force me to marry you?” she asked. “You are quite able to do that.” She tried to be appear calm but Jock’s words had scared her.
“And have a sullen, defiant wife for the rest of my life?” His tone was bitter. “Oh, no, my dear. I want someone quiet and compliant, and I will break your will as a horse is broken to a rider. You WILL wed me. You WILL love me.”
“You are a callous coward,” she said, and her voice throbbed with rage. “And a bully. I choose death over a life with you.”
“As you wish,” he bowed politely and left, and as the door closed behind him, engulfing her in complete darkness, Ailith felt more terrified than she had ever felt in her life. She swallowed a scream, not knowing if Jock’s men were there, then she heard voices coming faintly from outside. He had left guards behind him, and strangely, the thought made her feel a little better; at least she was not totally alone in this benighted place.
She felt her way to the candles and discovered there were six. She decided to ration them and only use them when she was eating and, hopefully, washing, although she had seen no water. The rest of the time she would have to pass by trying to find a means of escape.
Escape? she thought. That is impossible. She had seen four soldiers outside. He had presumably sent the rest home, but they could be summoned at any time. She wondered what Lyall would do when he found out she had disappeared. He would be devastated, she knew, but she could not think of any way he could find her, so it was up to her, Ailith, to find her way out.
By the next day, she had eaten all the food and had drunk all the water. She banged on the door and told them that she needed more, but there was no answer. An hour later, the door opened, and Ailith covered her face as she flinched at the unaccustomed daylight. One of the soldiers brought more bread and porridge and another jug of water, took away her slop bucket to empty it, and was about to close the door on her.
“Please may I have a little water to wash?” she pleaded. He avoided her eyes, shook his head, and shut the door with a slam. She heard the bolt and lock being applied from the other side.
If there was one thing Ailith could not stand, it was being dirty. They gave her just enough water to drink, but not enough to clean herself. It was one or the other, and she had to drink, so she stayed grubby. At night she wrapped herself in her cloak and the thin blanket and tried to sleep, but found it impossible.
The next day Jock visited again, chewing a chicken leg as he came in. Ailith’s mouth watered but she said nothing, and stood defiantly in front of him with her arms crossed.
“Have you changed your mind yet?” he asked. He waved his hand in front of his face and screwed his face up. “Ailith, my dear, you smell terribly!”
She shrugged. “They will not give me any water to wash,” she said flatly.
“That can be easily remedied,” he reminded her. “Marry me, Ailith, and all this will stop.”
“No.” The word came out like the crack of a whip. “Not if you were the last man on Earth.”
For a moment they stared at each other, but Jock looked away first. “You will regret saying that.” His voice was a low, mean growl. “Have it your own way. Stay dirty. Stay hungry. We shall see whose will is stronger.”
She could hear him chewing as he walked away.
10
The Search
Lyall was worried sick. He had gone to Ailith’s house in the evening, only for the maidservant to tell him that she was not there, and had not been seen since that morning. She had not been missing long, and could return at any minute. It could still be something perfectly innocent, but he felt instinctively that it was not, and he could see Jock’s hand in it.
“You did not see her with Laird McCauley?” he asked urgently. “Or Laird McCauley himself? Please, Mhairi, this may be important.”
The little red-haired woman was trembling with fear. “Naw, M'Laird. I havenae seen naebody.”
“If you do, please tell her that I have been looking for her,” he pleaded. “I am worried for her.”
“I will pray for ye, M'Laird,” Mhairi said, wringing her hands together. She had never seen Laird Stevenson looking like this before, and now she was desperately worried too.
Lyall did not want to make a fool of himself by accusing Jock without cause, so he made as many enquiries as he could amongst friends and acquaintances, then returned to his castle. He was too worried to eat, so he drank two glasses of wine and a cup of valerian tea, and managed to sleep fitfully till dawn, when he hastily grabbed some bread and cheese for breakfast and headed out to look for Ailith, but not before ordering twenty of his best men to scour the surrounding countryside and speak to estate workers and tenant farmers.
As the day wore on and he had asked dozens more people, he began to feel a deadly anger and hate boiling up within him. He was absolutely sure that this was Jock’s doing, and it was that feeling that drove him towards Jock’s castle almost without his own volition. Lyall was desperate to see Ailith; she had become as necessary to him as the air he breathed, and he could no longer imagine life without her.
Taking two of his men with him, he rode towards Inverleith Castle. When he reached the courtyard and asked for the Laird, Jock came out to meet him, smiling pleasantly. “Laird Stevenson!” he greeted him, bowing low and smiling. He put out a hand to grasp Lyall’s but he batted it away, glowering at Jock. Lyall took a step forward and Jock tried to hold his ground, but Lyall was too big and intimidating, especially now that his eyes were smoldering with rage.
“Where is Ailith?” he growled.
“I have no idea!” Jock replied, sounding hurt. “She has ended our betrothal and I am no longer in contact with her. I have not seen her for days.”
“I do not believe you,” Lyall ground out. “You are a coward and a liar, and I think you know exactly where she is.”
“Laird Stevenson,” Jock said grimly, “you are welcome to search every inch of my castle, but only if you speak respectfully. You are not on your own property now!” It seemed he was determined to make Lyall eat humble pie and at that moment Lyall would have kissed Jock’s feet if he had to.
“You are right, M'Laird,” he said, sounding as sincere as he could, “I apologize.”
Jock stared at him with a smug little smile on his face. “I accept your apology, Lyall,” he said at last.
The use of his first name was a sign of disrespect, since they were not friends, but he kept his mouth firmly shut. He knew what he would find—absolutely nothing. Jock was too clever for that, but he had to try. He ordered his men to go with the servants who knew the castle inside out, but he knew in his heart that Ailith was not here, and anyway, there could be hundreds of tiny hiding places they could omit without his knowledge. If Ailith were in the castle she was being very carefully hidden, and the garrison was too strong for his own men to free her.
It took them seven hours to get around the entire castle, from the dungeons and underground storerooms to the topmost turrets where there were small guardrooms and storage for weapons. Lyall tried to get inside his enemy’s mind and think where Jock would hide Ailith, but his mind could not work the same way as his enemy’s; he was simply not devious enough.
At last, exhausted, they finished their search. They were all hungry, although no one complained, but in an unexpected act of kindness Jock sent Lyall’s men to the kitchen for a bite to eat. They went eagerly, and Jock called Lyall into his study.
“Glass of wine, M'Laird?” he suggested, holding up the carafe.
“Thank you, no,” Lyall replied. “I still have more to do today and I want my mind to be clear.”
“Do you not think you are panicking too soon?” Jock suggested. “She may have gone to visit a friend.”
“We had plans fo
r last evening,” Lyall frowned at him. “She would have let me know—unless she was unable to.”
“So, you are having a relationship?” Jock asked smoothly. “How long has this been going on?”
“That is none of your business,” Lyall replied.
“Since before she broke off our betrothal?” he raised his eyebrows curiously.
Once again Lyall stood up and glared at Jock, mesmerizing and intimidating him with his hostile stare.
“Yes,” Lyall answered. “It was the reason she ended things with you, but I have not bedded her, if that is your next question. I kissed her, that is all.”
“I suppose I must believe you, since I cannot prove it,” Jock said, shrugging, and trying to conceal the anger that had flared up inside him at Lyall’s words. “But it is no longer any concern of mine. Goodnight, Laird Stevenson, and good luck in your search.”
The two men scowled at each other in mutual antipathy for a minute, then Lyall turned on his heel and left, with no idea of what to do next.
Jock watched him as he strode away, filled with an evil sense of triumph. Let him go tramping all over the Highlands; he stood no chance of ever finding Ailith. Jock McCauley was going to marry Ailith Galloway, and together they would build an empire. Once they were married he would not be the callous creature he was now—that was only a means to an end. He would be a loving, attentive husband and father to their children, and no curse would ever fall on them. He rubbed his hands in glee at the thought of it. Ailith McCauley...what a beautiful name.
Ailith only knew that it was nighttime because the chatter from the guards outside stopped. They were meant to take shifts, staying awake and keeping watch in turns, but that never happened. After their evening meal they drank themselves insensible, so it was the only time Ailith could try to find an escape route.
Highlander’s Devious Ally (Scottish Medieval Historical Romance) Page 6