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

by Gwyn Brodie

  "Get up and go inside," he ordered, not offering to help her to her feet—not that she wanted him to. "Cam, Dougal, get the horses out of sight."

  Were they being followed? They had to be. Why else would Marcus be acting in such an odd manner? Heart pounding, she prayed 'twas Drostan catching up to them.

  She struggled to her feet and staggered through the doorway, catching the hem of her shift on the splintered door. Yanking it free, she continued inside. The light of the moon flooded the small cottage, as most of the roof had long ago fallen in. And with what shutters there had once been having rotted away, vines had wound their way inside and covered nigh every inch of the stone walls. A blast of wind chilled her, and she drew her cloak tightly around her.

  Marcus shoved her into a corner." Stay here and keep quiet, or else you'll live to regret it," he whispered, his mouth pressed against her ear. Moonlight flashed off steel as he and the others drew their weapons.

  She held her breath as the sounds of horses drew closer, coming to a halt in front of the cottage. "Mister? Are you in there? 'Tis Irv, Gus, and Willie."

  "Aye," Marcus answered. "'Tis the three of us inside—and the woman. I'm most glad you found us. We need all the men we can get."

  The three dismounted and stepped inside. "We had to leave Inverness in a hurry. The Mackintoshes killed the rest of us."

  "How many of the Mackintoshes survived?"

  Irv snorted. "All of 'em, except for the one your men pitched in the coffin."

  "Damn them all to hell!" Marcus cursed, kicking a broken stool across the room.

  Isobel slid to the dirt floor, closed her eyes and softly wept for Drostan and their future together that may have been swept away like an autumn leaf in the wind.

  "We'll rest the horses for a bit longer, then be on our way," Marcus said, exiting the hut.

  Exhausted, she drew her legs up and rested her forehead on her knees. She was suddenly knocked backward, and a hand shoved up her shift. She tried to scream, but Irv caped his hand over her mouth.

  "Easy, lass. 'Twill be over with afore ye ken it," he whispered, his fingers inching up her bare thigh. "I've been hungering fer a taste since I first laid eyes on ye."

  She struck him in the chest with her fists as he settled himself between her legs.

  He captured her wrists in one hand while lifting the hem of his plaid with the other.

  With his hand no longer covering her mouth, she let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Marcus raced into the cottage with his dirk in hand. "Get your filthy hands off her," he roared, burying the blade in Irv's back.

  The outlaw grunted once, then collapsed on top of her, his warm blood soaking through her shift and sticking to her skin. Trembling, she managed to crawl from beneath the dead man and get to her feet.

  The other two outlaws lay dead near the door, with Cam and Dougal standing over them, their blades dark with blood.

  Cam chuckled. "The bastards never guessed what was coming."

  Dougal laughed, wiping his sword clean on the stomach of the man he had just killed.

  As the smell of death permeated the cottage, no longer was she able to control the nausea enveloping her. She vomited, depleting her body of the much-needed water she had earlier drank. Then the tears came until she wondered if they would ever stop.

  "Cease your sniveling." Marcus grabbed her arm and forced her to step over the bodies of those he and his men had just murdered.

  As they rode away from the cottage, she looked back over her shoulder, knowing the horror that lay just inside the doorway. If Isobel had ever harbored any doubts about what evil Marcus and his guards were capable of doing, she no longer did.

  BIRDS CHIRPED, AND red squirrels scampered in the trees as Drostan and the others continued to search for Isobel and the man who had taken her. They had only stopped for a short while the night before, as the horses had been in dire need of rest, and his concern for Robbie and Morgan, great.

  The morning had brought with it a feeling of overwhelming dread and the fear that if he did not find her soon, she would meet her end at Marcus's hands. He was a beast and one that deserved no mercy, just like he had given none to those whose innocent young lives he had taken.

  His father drew his horse up beside him. "Drostan, I ken you want to find Isobel as soon as possible, but the horses need to rest and quench their thirst, as it has been a while since they did."

  Drostan leaned over and patted Eachann on the shoulder. "Aye." He brought the stallion to a halt and dismounted, as did the others. The sound of a nearby stream reached his ear, and he led the horse down the steep bank. While the horse drank his fill alongside the other mounts, Drostan shoved his head beneath the cold water, washing away both the blood and exhaustion. He got to his feet, surveying his brothers and the guards. They all looked exhausted, but he was most concerned about Robbie and Morgan. He made his way to where they stood.

  "I appreciate the two of you coming along, but I dinnae wish either of you come down with the fever from your injuries."

  Morgan snorted. "You should take a look at yourself, big brother. You look like hell."

  Drostan grinned. "As do you and Robbie. Rest, and let me ken when you're ready to continue."

  Robbie smiled. "Now is as good a time as any."

  Drostan nodded. "Then let's go find Isobel."

  In a matter of minutes, they were back on Marcus's trail, which, according to Ailig, had been joined by three other horses at the crofter's hut a short distance ahead. He guessed 'twas the three scoundrels who had gotten away.

  When they reached the hut, he noted the numerous tracks, among them a small set of bare feet. He swallowed hard. Then something else drew his attention. He dismounted and went up to the doorway where a small piece of fabric flapped in the wind. 'Twas from Isobel's shift. He was certain of it.

  "She's still alive—or was when they stopped at this place," he shouted to the others.

  "Thank the saints!" Laird Fraser cried out.

  Drostan peered inside the cottage, the metallic stench of blood filling his nostrils long before his gaze fell first upon two men and then another. "I ken the whereabouts of the other three outlaws," he told them.

  "Where?" his father asked.

  "Inside the cottage, dead." He returned to the others and mounted Eachann. He feared Isobel had witnessed the brutal slayings and would have been shocked by what she saw. If only he could hold her in his arms and tell her all would be well. It had to be.

  Drostan had seen only eight summers the last time he had been to Hornridge Castle and was unsure of the distance. "Da?"

  "Aye?"

  "How much longer before we reach Anderson lands?"

  "The castle lies just over that second ridge, but still nigh half a day's ride."

  Drostan frowned. They needed to have brought more men, for once Marcus reached Hornridge, he would have reinforcements. "Is that the only way to get there?"

  The laird thought for a moment. "A river lies beyond that ridge we just passed. Crossing it would shorten the journey considerably, but with all the heavy rain we've had recently, 'twould be nigh impossible."

  "How much time would we save?" His heart raced at the prospect of finding Isobel sooner, rather than later.

  "Two, maybe three hours. 'Twould be risky. Some of us might not make it across."

  "I'll take Ailig and Taran with me. You and the others keep heading toward the castle. If we find the river treacherous, we'll turn around and catch up."

  His father studied him for a moment. "Very well," he reluctantly agreed. "Have a care."

  "Aye." He motioned to Ailig and Taran to follow, then turned around and headed back the way they had come.

  "Where are we going?" Ailig asked as he and Taran came upon his right.

  "Da said we'd reach Hornridge much quicker if we crossed the river, but it could be dangerous."

  "Dinnae fash. We'll find a place to cross." Taran tried to reassure him.

  Drostan
exhaled loudly. "I pray you're right."

  The roar of the rushing water was deafening long before they reached it, giving him second thoughts about putting his brothers' lives in peril. And once his gaze rested upon the raging river, he had made up his mind to do it alone, for he could not bear the weight of their deaths upon his shoulders, knowing he alone was the cause.

  "Once I'm across, go find the others and tell them I made it." He prayed he would—Isobel's very existence depended on it.

  Ailig frowned. "We'll be with you. No matter how much a warrior you deem yourself to be, you'll not be able to handle a hoard of Anderson guards alone."

  Drostan raised a brow. "And the two of you will be?"

  Taran grinned. "We would certainly even out the odds."

  Drostan smiled at his youngest brother's boldness. "Much thanks, but I'll do just fine."

  "You'll not be ridding yourself of us that easily, brother. You'll need our help," Ailig declared.

  Drostan grasped Ailig's shoulder. "I must go on this journey alone. And that's an order."

  Taran snorted. "You're not the laird yet."

  "Then, as your brother, I plead for you to do as I ask." Drostan hoped they would listen to him.

  Ailig exhaled loudly. "Then, so be it. We'll get to Hornridge as soon as possible. See if you can keep your stubborn arse out of trouble until we do."

  Drostan grinned. "I'll do my best. Now, help me search for the best place to cross."

  After a few minutes of looking, they came upon a fallen tree, its upper half reaching almost to the center of the river. "'Tis as good a place as any, for the branches will give me something to hold on to, at least for a short distance. I'm a strong swimmer and should be able to swim the rest of the way."

  Hoping to keep Eachann calm, he spoke to him in a reassuring tone as he led the stallion into the water. With the reins in one hand, he held onto the branches with the other as he made his way across until there were no branches left. Then he let go of Eachann and swam, fighting against the dark frothy water as it sought to drag him and the horse downstream. He breathed a sigh of relief when the horse reached the shore without trouble.

  The undertow suddenly grabbed Drostan, snatching him below the surface like a hungry kelpie in the stories from his childhood. He struggled to free himself from its powerful grasp and was finally able to make his way back to the surface, coughing water from his lungs.

  "Drostan?" Ailig shouted fearfully.

  "I'm well," he replied hoarsely as he slowly regained his breath. He finally made it to shore a short distance downstream from Eachann and collapsed onto the wet ground.

  Ailig and Taran had followed him downriver on the opposite shore and were intently watching him.

  Drostan wrung the water from his plaid. "I'll meet you on the return journey—once I rescue Isobel from Marcus."

  Taran grinned. "Cocky badger."

  Ailig chuckled, then turned serious. "Are you certain you'll not allow us to go along with you?"

  Drostan shook his head. "Nay, especially not after the struggle I just endured. Now go." He hurried to fetch Eachann, praying he would find Isobel in time.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isobel's heart sank as Hornridge Castle came into view. It sat on a mountain of solid stone and appeared to be an impenetrable fortification. After a guard raised the portcullis, they rode into the bailey, where a young woman, somewhere in her mid-twenties, waited outside the castle. The keys hanging from her waist spoke of her position as housekeeper.

  "Welcome home, Marcus." The woman's gaze fell upon Isobel with great disdain.

  Marcus only grunted in response as he dismounted and dragged Isobel from the horse. "Catherine, see that Lady Isobel has a bath and find her some proper clothing before supper." He shoved Isobel toward the woman.

  Isobel stumbled across the bailey, wondering if she could convince Catherine to help her escape.

  Catherine's gaze narrowed. "Who is she?"

  "My soon-to-be bride," he said matter-of-factly, ignoring the surprise and confusion on Catherine's face.

  She glared at Isobel. "Come with me, m' lady." She turned on her heel and entered the castle, dashing Isobel's hope of gaining her help, for 'twas obvious she was in love with Marcus and thus Isobel was her enemy.

  There was naught else for Isobel to do but to go with the housekeeper inside, where the residents stood about pointing and whispering. Ignoring their gawking, Isobel followed Catherine to the second floor and into a bedchamber.

  "I'll have a ladies' maid assist you and find you something to wear," Catherine said, her gaze taking in the bloody, filthy, and torn shift Isobel wore. "As soon as I leave here, I'll have the servants ready your bath." She turned to go, but Isobel grabbed her arm and stopped her.

  "Catherine, please help me."

  She snorted. "Why should I?"

  "Marcus brought me here against my will. I dinnae wish to wed him—I'm already married to another, whom he has tried to persuade me is dead, but my heart tells me he's still alive."

  Catherine looked unconvinced, but she remained inside the room. "Go on."

  "I can see that you care a great deal for Marcus, and if you helped me to escape, I would be out of the way of whatever relationship exists between the two of you."

  She raised a brow. "I'm the housekeeper; he's the heir apparent to Hornridge and will one day become the Earl of Kinkirk. Naught could become of it, even if he did have feelings for me, which he doesnae. I'd seen nineteen summers when I came to Hornridge to work. I've been here for nigh on seven years, and Marcus has never taken a second look at me."

  Isobel had no idea what to say and decided 'twas better not to say anything. "Will you help me? I only wish to be with Drostan."

  The housekeeper's eyes widened. "Drostan Mackintosh? He's your husband?"

  Isobel nodded. "Aye, he is. Why?"

  Catherine's entire demeanor changed, and she smiled. "My father was Malcomb McNab, the Laird of Hunterglen Castle, until his death seven years ago. As I was an only child and female, my uncle was the heir apparent. Upon my father's death, he became the laird and could hardly bear to look at me. While the earl was visiting, my uncle told him I needed a place to live and work as I was no longer welcome there. With my mother having died when I was but a child, I was well used to running a castle. Kinkirk was kind enough to take me on as his housekeeper, as his own of thirty years had recently passed away in her sleep. The day he left Hunterglen, I went with him, taking only the clothes on my back, as my uncle had seized all my beautiful gowns for his own daughters."

  Isobel's eyes filled with tears. "I'm so sorry, Catherine. Your mannerisms and speech told me you had grown up in a castle."

  She smiled. "Now, I'll tell you how I met your husband. I was a lass of fifteen summers when my clan attended a gathering of the clans. There must have been at least a hundred or more clans in attendance that year, for brightly colored tents filled the entirety of the glen and beyond. One day, while picking bluebells near the loch, I fell into the water and sank like a stone, for I never learned to swim. I fought my way up, screaming for help, but the pipers were playing nearby, and no one heard my pleas. When I went under the third time, I'd given up all hope of living. Then a pair of hands grabbed me, dragged me back to the surface and onto the bank. Those hands belonged to Drostan. He had been out searching for his brother when he saw me floundering in the water. The gathering lasted another three weeks, and during that time, we became the best of friends. Your husband holds a special place in my heart, and he always will."

  Tears filled Isobel's eyes and spilled down her cheeks. "I'm so glad you told me about that. Drostan is a good man."

  "Aye. I'll help you, but you must do as I say," Catherine whispered.

  Isobel nodded, thankful the housekeeper had agreed to help her escape.

  "After you've bathed and dressed, 'twill be time for supper. Dinnae make Marcus angry, else 'twill be hard to get you away from him, as he'll wish to punish you for
your misdeed."

  Isobel smiled. "I promise to be on my best behavior."

  "Good. I'll go find you something to wear, then arrange for a lady's maid and a bath as well. Marcus will be most displeased if you're not ready on time." Her gaze fell on Isobel's swollen face. "It saddens me to see how Marcus has mistreated you."

  "How did you ken 'twas him who hit me?"

  "Catherine snorted. "I've been on the receiving end of his rage myself more than once throughout the years."

  Isobel nodded. "'Twas Marcus, who ordered Drostan's death at the hands of his men. They claimed they killed him and put him inside a coffin. I pray they're lying through their teeth. There are things you should ken about Marcus. Once you hear them, I'm certain your feelings for him will change drastically."

  Catherine frowned, dragging her teeth across her bottom lip. "I pray Drostan yet lives, so the two of you might have many happy years together."

  "Much thanks."

  The housekeeper headed toward the door. "I'll return here once supper is finished and listen to what you have to say. Hopefully, by then, I'll have figured out a plan of escape." She opened the door and left the bedchamber.

  Isobel's stomach growled as she sat down on the edge of the bed. At least she would shortly be able to quell her hunger. If all went well, she would soon be free of Marcus. If not, she could very well end up dead.

  BY THE TIME DROSTAN reached Hornridge Castle, gloaming had blanketed the land. Torches had already been lit along the thick curtain wall, illuminating the darker areas and the men guarding them. He entered the edge of the wood and dismounted, tethering Eachann out of sight of any guards who might be patrolling the castle grounds. If he could get inside the castle wall, he would stay hidden until the inhabitants fell asleep, then enter the stronghold and find Isobel. He prayed Marcus would not force her into his bed before he could free her. Drostan's hands curled into fists. If he did, he would kill the bastard without a second thought.