Drostan, a Scottish Historical Romance, the Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle

by Gwyn Brodie

  Chapter Nine

  Later that night, while on her way back to her bedchamber from the garderobe, Isobel heard weeping coming from her mother's bedchamber. What had happened? She softly tapped on the door. "Ma?"

  "'Tis unlocked." She snuffled.

  Isobel entered the room and closed the door. "What has upset you so?" She sat down on the settle beside her mother.

  "Your father has just told me of his intention to betroth you to Marcus Anderson," she sobbed.

  "You were not aware of the arrangement?"

  She shook her head. "Nay. I must admit, I was surprised that he had kept something of such importance from me, as I've always been his confidant. He said you confronted him about the marriage, and are refusing to wed Marcus. I cannae say I blame you in the least, for when I look into his eyes, I only see coldness. I dinnae wish to see you wed such a man, and told your father as much."

  "Thank you for that. What did Da say?"

  "That 'tis a matter of his honor that you become Marcus's wife." She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

  Isobel wrapped her arms around her mother's shoulders. "Dinnae fash, dear mother. Drostan has a plan to keep me from becoming Lady Anderson."

  Her mother smiled through her tears. "Then 'tis true."

  "What is?"

  "You've finally fallen in love."

  Isobel had never heard her mother make a more profound statement. She nodded. "Aye, and Drostan is the only man I wish to have as my husband."

  "Dinnae hate your father. He loves you very much and had naught but your best interest at heart. You never chose a husband, and he felt 'twas he duty as your father to find you one."

  As much as she wanted to, Isobel refused to tell her mother about her father's gambling debt. She was already upset enough by the impending betrothal. "I could never hate him, but I cannae marry a man like Marcus only to preserve my father's honor. If you only knew what a cruel and heartless man he truly is." Isobel rose to her feet. "I'll leave you for now. Try and get some sleep, for the morrow is a new day." She gently kissed her mother's soft cheek and left the bedchamber, praying that her father would change his mind, not knowing what she would do if he did not.

  IN HIS BEDCHAMBER, the following afternoon, Marcus carefully placed the necklace on the table. 'Twas an excellent piece indeed, with three small rubies centered in an intricately etched gold medallion, dangling on a slender gold chain. Isobel would look lovely wearing it—just as the other Isobel had. Laird Fraser had promised Marcus and his father that the betrothal contract would be signed on the morrow. Then Marcus would be the one sitting beside her at the high table instead of that Mackintosh cur, Drostan. He placed the necklace inside his sporran and left his room to find her.

  As he stepped off the bottom stair, he spotted her heading into the gardens. "Lady Isobel?"

  She stopped and turned around. "Aye?"

  "I've something I'd like to give you." He carefully took out the necklace and held it up before her.

  "'Tis lovely, Marcus. But I'm afraid I cannae accept such an expensive gift."

  He clenched his teeth, stilling his rage at her outright refusal. Apparently, her father had yet to inform the wench that she belonged to him. "The piece would look lovely around your neck." Forcing a smile, he thrust it toward her.

  She took a step back. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll wear it to supper this evening, then return it."

  "Very well." He would accept her offer—for now. But after they wed, he would make her wear it often. As for tonight, he would at least once again have the pleasure of seeing it displayed against the creamy expansion of a woman's throat.

  AT SUPPER, DROSTAN took his seat beside Isobel. The lass looked breathtakingly beautiful in a forest green gown, with her hair fastened atop her head. The rubies in the piece of jewelry she wore around her neck emphasized the paleness of her skin "'Tis a lovely necklace you're wearing, and most unusual."

  She suddenly looked uncomfortable. "'Tisn't mine. It belongs to Marcus," she whispered. "He wanted me to have it, but I declined, which upset him—or so it seemed. To keep the matter from going further, I told him I would wear it tonight, then return it, and he agreed."

  Drostan frowned, noting the odd smile on Marcus's face as his gaze settled on Isobel's neck, remaining there throughout most of the entirety of the meal. Was this his way of declaring she was his?

  Isobel shivered beneath Marcus's penetrating stare and prayed he would soon look elsewhere. Why he wished her to have the necklace, she did not know. Perhaps 'twas because he still believed they would soon wed. She fingered the medallion, wishing she could remove it then and there. But if she did, there would be questions. She decided the only way to get through the meal was to ignore Marcus and force herself to eat at least a little.

  "Is something amiss, lass?" Drostan leaned down and whispered, and his love and concern were evident in his voice.

  She shook her head, then moved closer, needing the comforting warmth of his body to chase away the bone-chilling cold that had wrapped itself around her.

  AS SOON AS SHE LEFT the table, Isobel had removed the necklace and now waited in the corridor outside her bedchamber for Marcus to come upstairs. Once he did, she handed it to him. "Much thanks for allowing me to wear it."

  He smiled. "You looked most beautiful." He brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek.

  His touch repulsed her, and she forced herself not to hurry into her room. She opened the door and stepped inside. "'Tis late. I'll bid you goodnight."

  His smile suddenly disappeared, his gaze darkened, and he moved toward her.

  A wave of panic washed over Isobel when she realized he had wedged his boot between the door and jamb to keep her from closing it. Trembling with fear, she opened her mouth to scream, then heard footsteps.

  "What the devil is going on here?" Drostan demanded, his fists clenched at his side.

  Marcus smiled—if one could call it that. "Lady Isobel was but returning the necklace. I'll bid you both goodnight."

  Once Marcus had entered his bedchamber, Isobel grabbed Drostan's hand, drew him inside, and closed the door. "I'm so glad you arrived when you did." She fell into his waiting arms, trembling. "I was so frightened. A moment longer and I dinnae ken what would have happened."

  He closed his eyes and kissed the top of her head, holding her tightly against him, never wanting to let her go. "Dinnae fash, lass. I'm here now," he whispered hoarsely. He had realized Marcus's sinister intention the moment he saw him blocking Isobel's doorway, and his heart had slammed against his chest. The memory of the look of total fear on her face made him angry enough to want to run the bastard through with his sword. Knowing what might have happened to Isobel had he not arrived when he did, made him feel ill. "Once I leave here, lock the door and dinnae open it to anyone unless you're absolutely certain of who 'tis."

  She looked up at him and nodded.

  He kissed her, knowing with certainty that he loved her more than life itself and that he would protect her without hesitation until the end of his days.

  LATE THAT NIGHT, DROSTAN shoved aside the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled loudly. All night something had been nagging at him, hiding in the shadows of his mind and making him daft with trying to figure out what it was. After a few minutes, he left the bed, and barefoot, wearing naught, but his plaid loosely draped around his waist, he quietly made his way up to the ramparts. The loch below mirrored the full moon filling the sky, and Drostan's gaze settled there as he thought.

  Isobel was not the cause of his sleeplessness, though he worried Laird Fraser would not listen to his father and betroth her to Marcus anyway. If that should happen, Drostan would never allow her to wed the bastard—even if he had to take matters into his own hands.

  Neither was anyone in his family the reason sleep eluded him. They were all happy and in good health. Then what was it that had kept him awake? After spending the bett
er part of an hour on the ramparts, he descended the stairs, and returned to his bed, praying sleep would soon come. He had just shut his eyes when a voice inside his head brought him wide awake.

  The necklace, a gold medallion with three rubies, her father gave her when she turned sixteen summers, is gone. 'Twas fastened around her neck last night. I saw it there m'self.

  Drostan's breath froze in his chest. The necklace Marcus insisted Isobel wear to the supper meal precisely matched the description of the one taken from the dead Isobel's neck. Perhaps the jeweler had made several such pieces, but still, Drostan had to be sure. Naught could be done tonight but to try and get some sleep—which he very much doubted was possible with what he now suspected.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Drostan waited until everyone was in the great hall breaking their fast, before making his way to Marcus' bedchamber. Sometime before dawn, he realized that if Marcus was indeed the killer, he had taken the necklace from Isobel McDaniels, Mary Cameron's brooch, and perhaps items from the others as well.

  After making certain no one was about, he opened the door and slipped inside. Time quickly passed as he searched every nook and cranny of the bedchamber and found naught. His mother would soon send one of his brothers to fetch him, and he needed to get back to his bedchamber as quickly as possible.

  Drostan turned to leave when a ray of sunlight flashed off a ceiling beam near the window. He climbed onto a chair to find a black leather pouch with its contents spilling over, and he poured out the rest. The items consisted of an emerald bracelet, two mismatched hair combs, the ruby necklace, two rings, Mary's brooch, and several jeweled hairpins. His blood ran cold. Had the unidentified items belonged to the other murder victims? He quickly left the pouch the way he had found it, then hurried back to his bedchamber. He had but closed the door when a knock sounded.

  "Drostan?" Ailig called out from the corridor. "Ma sent me to fetch you. Are you unwell, or is your lazy arse still in bed?"

  Drostan grinned, then opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. "Neither." He lowered his voice. "After we break our fast, I need the four of you to meet me at Creag Iolaire."

  His brother frowned. "Is something amiss?"

  "I'll need your help to find out for certain."

  Ailig nodded. "We'll be there then."

  When Drostan took his seat beside Isobel, she looked over at him at smiled, and his chest tightened. "Morn, lass."

  "Good morn."

  As he tore off a chunk of bread, he glanced down the table at Marcus. The corners of his mouth were slightly upturned as he sipped on his ale. The day before, when Isobel had worn the necklace, Drostan had thought it had been her he watched. He now realized, 'twas the ruby necklace fastened around her neck the bastard's sick gaze had been fixated on. Had he been thinking of the other Isobel, of how he had taken her innocence along with her life, leaving her on the wet street, exposed for all to see? Though it was summer, Drostan shivered as if it was a cold winter's day.

  "Drostan, are you not going to break your fast?" His mother's brow was creased with worry.

  "I was about to do just that." He generally had a hearty appetite, but not this morning. But to keep his mother from sending for the healer, he forced himself to eat a few bites of cheese and bread, then finished off his heather ale.

  "Might we go for a ride today?" Isobel took a sip of ale as she waited for his answer.

  He smiled. "Of course. I've some business to attend, and then I'll come find you."

  "'Tis such a lovely day, I'll most likely be in the gardens." She returned to her porridge.

  This time when Drostan looked Marcus's way, he found him glaring at him, his arms folded across his chest, his meal all but forgotten. If Marcus was indeed the killer, how could he sit there as if naught had happened, pretending he was a normal man, instead of the brutal beast who had sent to the grave one young woman after another?

  DROSTAN HAD BEEN WAITING but a short while when his brothers arrived at the stone circle. They dismounted and joined him on one of the two logs in its center. "Once I've told you of my suspicions, I've a favor to ask of all of you. But first, I need you to promise that what I'm about to say will go no farther than this circle of stones until I get to the truth of the matter."

  "Dinnae fash. What you say will be kept between us." Ailig looked at the other three, and they nodded their agreement.

  Drostan exhaled loudly. "I fear we may have a murderer amongst us."

  "Who?" Morgan frowned.

  "Marcus Anderson."

  Ailig snorted. "I ken you cannae stand the bastard, nor can any of us for that matter, for what he did to you when you were but a lad. But what makes you think he's a murderer, and who has he murdered?"

  "I believe he's the killer of all those young women."

  Robbie's eyes widened. "You think he killed my Mary?" He jumped up from the log, his hand on the hilt of his broadsword. "I'll run the bastard through!"

  Drostan frowned. "Robbie, you agreed to keep this within the circle until I ken the truth. What if I'm wrong, and Marcus is not the killer?"

  Robbie nodded and sat back down.

  Ailig folded his arms across his chest. "You must have reasons for your suspicion. What are they?"

  Drostan took a deep breath, then began. "This morn, Marcus's face had scratches on it, and he's wearing a ring on his right hand. I've seen two of his victims, and each had a cut on their neck left by a ring on the killer's right hand."

  "I saw that myself on Mary's neck," Robbie said through clenched teeth, barely controlling his rage.

  Drostan nodded. "But the primary reason for my suspicions is that the necklace Marcus insisted Isobel wear to supper last night is identical to the one taken from the dead girl in Queensferry. An old woman who knew her described it in detail. 'Twas a gift from her father, and the lass never took it off.

  Morgan shook his head. "I'll admit 'tis strange, but perhaps that necklace only resembles the other."

  Drostan raked his fingers through his hair and narrowed his eyes. "There's more. I was late breaking my fast this morn because I was searching Marcus's bedchamber."

  "Searching it for what?" Taran asked, his brows raised in question.

  "I didnae ken what, I thought that perhaps if Marcus was the killer and took the necklace from the dead lass, then maybe he had taken something from the others as well."

  Ailig leaned forward in anticipation. "You found something, or else we'd not be here."

  He nodded. "Hidden on a beam, I came across several pieces of jewelry, as well as hair combs and pins."

  Shock and surprise showed on his brother's faces.

  "Drostan?"

  "Aye, Robbie?" He already knew his brother's question.

  "Was the brooch I gave to Mary there?"

  "It was."

  Robbie's hands clenched into fists. "Then you have all the proof you need."

  "Damn the bastard!" Morgan cursed Marcus. "We'll turn him over to the constable in Inverness."

  Drostan shook his head. "'Tis not that simple, Morgan. Without further proof, Marcus could simply claim he purchased the lot from a hawker, or even that he found the leather pouch and the items were inside. We need to find out two things. To whom the other items belong, and if Marcus was in that particular area when the murder occurred. I ken he was in Edinburgh when the McDaniels body was found for I saw him in the inn the night before, and he was at the ceilidh which both Flora and Mary attended, and their bodies were found but a short distance from Willowbrae."

  Ailig looked at the youngest three. "My guess is this is where he asks us for the favor."

  Drostan grinned. "You guessed correctly. What I want you to do is go to where the murder of a young woman took place and find out what, if anything, was stolen from her upon her death. All were from families of good means, and they will have paper and quills available. Have them draw what was taken best they can. Tell them it will be compared with any items the killer may have with him upon his capture and
then returned. No use in contacting the Camerons, nor the McDaniels. We have all the information from them we need. When you return to Willowbrae, I'll enter Marcus's bedchamber once again and use the drawings to find out to whom each item previously belonged."

  Robbie slapped his knee. "When do we leave?" His younger brother reminded Drostan of himself. Never one to sit still when he could be doing something and, in this case, catching Mary's killer.

  "On the morrow, after breaking your fast. When I return to the castle, I'll speak with Da about sending several guards along. By splitting up, you'll cover more ground and return to Willowbrae much quicker. Robbie, you'll go with Morgan and Taran with Ailig. Check with Flora McBean's family first. Give them our condolence and tell them this is our way of helping catch the beast who murdered their daughter."

  Ailig raised a brow. "And pray tell, what will you be doing while we're away?"

  Drostan frowned. "I'll be keeping Lady Isobel away from Marcus. The lass is in need of my protection."

  "Aye. We all ken how you'll be protecting the lady. Remember, we saw the two of you kissing beside the loch," Ailig teased.

  Ignoring his brothers' snickering, Drostan got up from the log. "Much thanks for what you're about the do."

  Morgan frowned. "If Marcus has done what you suspect, then his deeds must be brought to light, and the bastard turned over to the proper authorities."

  Drostan nodded. "Aye, and he will be." He mounted and headed back to Willowbrae. As he neared the castle, Marcus and the two Anderson guards who always seemed to be at his side rode out of the keep. If they saw Drostan, they made no indication. At least, for the time being, Isobel was safe, he could not say the same about the other young women who lived nearby.

  He had promised her a ride earlier, but first, he needed to speak to his father about the guards. Drostan had no intention of telling him about his suspicions—not yet. More proof was needed before he presented his father with such a notion, even though Drostan suspected he already knew the truth. He urged Eachann into a run and raced across the moor toward the castle.