Kidnapped by a Rogue, kindle

by Margaret Mallory

  “I’ll have the witch put to death for her false prophecy,” George said.

  “Her prophecy was true,” Finn said. “As it turned out, the lad belonged to one of the Sinclair families who still live on Orkney.”

  “How is it that you survived?” George asked, and slapped him on his shoulder, which George could damned well see had been badly cut in the battle.

  Finn clenched his teeth to keep from wincing.

  “Can’t ye see the poor man is injured?” Mary chastised her son, then she turned her gaze to include her grandsons. “Unlike the rest of ye, Finlay sailed to Orkney to fight at your chieftain’s side.”

  Finn felt a wee bit guilty that she credited him with loyalty to her husband when he’d only done it for the promise of lands.

  “I’m chieftain now,” George said, his eyes burning bright as he looked down at his mother. “You’ll not speak that way to me again.”

  “Grandfather’s attempt to take Orkney was a foolish quest that did nothing but waste the lives of Sinclair warriors and invite our enemies to attack us here at home in Caithness,” Barbara said. “We remained here to protect what is ours.”

  “Come, Finlay,” Mary said, and took his arm. “Let me tend to those wounds.”

  He gritted his teeth with the effort not to lean on the elderly woman and topple them both as she led him up the stairs to one of the bedchambers above. His leg and the cut across his shoulder hurt like bloody hell.

  Mary sent for food and drink, which he wolfed down while she cleaned, sewed, and bandaged his wounds with an expertise born of practice. When she was done, she helped him into a clean shirt that belonged to one of her grandsons.

  “Ye ought to stay in bed for a few days to let these wounds heal,” Mary said.

  Remaining with the Sinclairs seemed the worst of the bad choices before him.

  “I’d like to,” Finn lied, “but I ought to let my family know I’m alive before news of the battle reaches them.”

  Mary did not contradict him, though they both knew there would be no weeping from his family if Finn never returned.

  “The Sinclairs will expect ye to stay at least another day to avoid crossing the Ord on a Monday,” she said.

  Sinclairs were even more superstitious than most Highlanders, and that was saying something. It was on a Monday that the Sinclairs had crossed the Ord of Caithness, the pass that marked the boundary between Caithness and Sutherland, on their way to fight the English in the Battle of Flodden. Because most of them died in that disastrous battle, no Sinclair had crossed the Ord on a Monday since.

  “My luck could not get much worse than it already is, so I’ll risk it,” Finn said with a laugh.

  “Ye misunderstand me.” Mary’s tone carried an urgency he had not picked up on before. “Though I wish ye could stay and let your wounds heal, ye must go tonight. ’Tis not safe for ye here.”

  He took her at her word. Still, he asked, “Why?”

  “My son is a dangerous man, and ye know how he feels about ye,” she said.

  “What does George have against me?” he asked.

  “I doubt even he knows, but there’s no changing his mind.”

  Finn sensed she was not telling him all she knew, but George was an easy man to offend, so it could be anything. Most likely, George wanted some woman who had gone to bed with Finn instead.

  “George would not harm ye while his father lived,” Mary said. “But now that he’s chieftain, he can do what he wants. No one will dare cross him.”

  “Except his mother,” Finn said with a wink.

  “I’ve given up on my son and his children, except for John,” Mary said in a choked voice. “There’s still hope for John.”

  There was once. The two other boys had held Finn down while Barbara murdered his pup. When John found them, he tried to stop Barbara, but he was too late.

  “His father mistakes John’s decency for weakness.” Tears glistened in her eyes.

  Finn nodded, though he feared that John had been trying to win his father’s approval for so long that the good man he might have become was lost.

  Despite Mary’s dire warning that his life was in danger, Finn slept like the dead until she returned to wake him in the middle of the night.

  The old woman led him down a back staircase and into a small chamber, where she opened a secret door disguised as a panel. It opened onto a dank tunnel.

  “This comes out in a cave above the shore on the next inlet,” she said. “My nephew is at Old Wick Castle now. He’ll give ye a horse.”

  Her nephew, Sutherland of Duffus, had several castles. Luckily, Old Wick was just a couple of miles down the coast.

  “Take care of yourself, Finlay,” she said, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Though ye may fool others, and even yourself, I know ye have a good heart and an honorable soul.”

  He had no notion why she thought that.

  “You’ll return to the Gordons?” she asked.

  “Aye,” he said, though he was not at all certain his father’s clan would take him back. Even if they did, the Gordons would not trust him after he’d fought for an enemy clan.

  Finn had no notion what they would require him to do to prove his loyalty, but it was bound to be painful.

  ###

  Mary felt her age as she watched Finlay disappear into the darkness. She closed the secret door and rested her head against it, lost in her memories. Perhaps she should have told him what she knew. She was old and tired and may not have the chance again.

  But what good could come of it?

  Nay, ’twas best he never know.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Come, Lady Margaret,” the farmer said when she handed him two pennies for the apples, “I’ve told ye time and again ye mustn’t pay the first price I ask.”

  “Why should I bargain when ye always give me a fair price?” she asked with a smile.

  “Because others will take advantage of your good nature.” He thrust one of the pennies back into her hand and shook his head in exasperation.

  They had this same exchange every week on market day. The man was widowed with five children to support, and yet he would not take an extra penny from her. As soon as the farmer turned to argue with his next customer, Margaret slipped a silver coin to his daughter, as she also did every week.

  “Hello, Brian,” she called out to a rail-thin lad of about twelve as she approached the last stall.

  The boy’s eyes lit up when he saw her—probably because no one else would buy the pathetic dolls his mother made from rags. Margaret bought one every market day, even though by now her nieces and every servant’s child in Blackadder Castle had at least two.

  “You’re visiting Old Thomas?” Brian asked.

  “Aye.” She came to the village often to visit the former stable master of Drumlanrig Castle. “Is your mother unwell again?”

  Brian nodded. His poor mother was married to a man who drank away what little they had, and she would never escape. Only rich and powerful men like Margaret’s former husband could rid themselves of an unwanted spouse with the church’s blessing.

  “How is your precious sister today?” Margaret asked when she saw the little girl hiding behind him.

  Ella was a shy child of three with large blue eyes and tangled fair hair. Margaret’s heart melted when the girl peeked around her brother and gave her a small smile. What she would not give to have a child like this. She pushed aside the old, familiar ache. There was no use in wishing for what she could never have.

  What good is a woman who cannot give her husband heirs? You’re useless! Worse than useless! Margaret pressed her fingertips to her temples. Would she never get William’s voice out of her head?

  “This one will make a lovely addition to my collection,” Margaret said, picking up one of the rag dolls at random and handing Brian a coin.

  Margaret started to leave, but then she paused, uncertain whether to make an offer that might embarrass the lad or seem like an empty pro
mise.

  “If there is ever anything I can do to help you,” she said, “please ask me.”

  She continued through the tiny village until she reached the last whitewashed cottage.

  “Thomas!” she called, and rapped on the door.

  The old stable master’s wrinkled face broke into a wide smile when he opened his door. “Lady Margaret, ye shouldn’t trouble yourself coming to see an old man.”

  This old man had saved her life. After she’d been mistress of Drumlanrig Castle for seven years, Thomas was the only member of the household who volunteered to accompany her the night her husband threw her out.

  “I enjoy visiting you,” she said, “and it will be my last chance for weeks.”

  Thomas was leaving today to visit his niece and her family, and they chatted about the visit while she helped him pack.

  “I’d best be off while I have plenty of daylight,” Thomas said.

  Margaret’s stomach felt queasy as she helped him load his things into the same wagon that had carried her from Drumlanrig. She shivered as she remembered the rain that pelted her face, the cold that penetrated the wet blanket and seeped into her bones, and the despair that nearly destroyed her.

  Thomas touched her shoulder. “Are ye all right, lass?”

  “It’s just that I’ll miss you.” She gave him a bright smile and kissed him farewell on his weathered cheek. “Have a safe journey.”

  She sat on the bench by Thomas’s door to wait for Alison.

  “I’m sorry I’m late and missed Thomas,” Alison said when she arrived, breathless and smiling. “I had to change my gown after my younger two got sticky fingers all over it.”

  Her sister was a month from giving birth—again—and radiated good health.

  “When you’re with child, you’re like a flower that’s come into full bloom,” Margaret said, then she took Alison’s arm and led her to stand in front of the empty field next to Thomas’s cottage. “I asked ye to meet me here because I want ye to see where my cottage will be built.”

  The thought of having a home of her own made Margaret’s heart swell.

  “I don’t understand why ye want to live here in the village rather than in the castle with us,” Alison said. “Won’t ye be lonely?”

  “The village is but a short walk from the castle.” Margaret squeezed her sister’s hand, willing her to understand. “We’ll see each other almost every day.”

  It had taken her months to build up the courage to ask for this for herself. To persuade her sister’s husband David, she had to agree to let him build a larger house than she needed and to accept a married couple of his choosing as live-in servants. She was unsure of the wife’s skills, but the husband had the arms of a blacksmith and carried an axe in his belt.

  Persuading her sister was a more delicate matter. She struggled to find a way to explain it without hurting her feelings.

  “We love having ye live with us,” Alison said. “Our home is yours.”

  “You’ve been nothing but kind to me,” Margaret said. “I am so grateful.”

  But living in the midst of their happy, boisterous family was a constant reminder of the family Margaret could never have for herself. She needed something of her own, a place she could make into a home.

  “Then why leave us?” Alison pressed.

  “I don’t want to become the old, unmarried aunt who lives in the top of the tower.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Alison laughed. “You’re bound to marry again. Besides being the sweetest and kindest Douglas sister, you’re the most beautiful.”

  What good is beauty if a woman is a cold fish in bed? Margaret winced as she heard William’s voice in her head again. What made it worse was knowing that the words were true. Unlike her sisters, she simply was not a passionate woman.

  “I’m afraid there are not many men who want to wed a barren woman who has no property,” Margaret said, “and whose brothers are banished traitors to the crown.”

  “Our brothers’ status is a complication,” Alison admitted, tapping her cheek in thought. “But when you’re ready, you’ll find a worthy man who’s not afraid of the queen’s wrath.”

  “My sisters have already wed the only men in Scotland who meet that description,” Margaret said with a smile. “Besides, since I can’t have children, why would I ever want another husband?”

  “To warm your bed?” Alison asked with a gleam in her eye.

  God save her from that. Margaret had always found her marital duties unpleasant at best, and usually far worse. All the hurt and humiliation she suffered when her husband threw her out and annulled their marriage was outweighed by the relief she felt from knowing she would never have to allow him to touch her again.

  She squeezed her sister’s hand as she remembered how, when she was close to death, Alison told her she was finally free of William.

  She had come a long way since that terrible night. While she would always be grateful for the love and shelter Alison and her husband gave her in her time of need, Blackadder Castle was also a reminder of the state she had arrived in and the long months of recovery. She had regained her health, but the wounds to her heart—and her pride—still festered.

  But she did have her freedom. And now, sh­e would have a home of her own as well.

  She did not mind that it would be a humble one, rather than the sort of grand castle she’d always lived in, and she had given up the dream of a kind and loyal husband a long time ago. But she had wanted children with every fiber of her being, and the loss of that hope left a hole in her heart that would never heal.

  Still, she was determined to forge a life for herself. A quiet, peaceful life. Aye, it might be lonely at times, but she knew well that there were far worse things than being lonely.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a familiar figure galloping toward them through the village.

  “You’d think her witch of a mother would have better control over her,” Alison said with a sigh.

  Lizzie, their sixteen-year-old cousin, pulled her horse up and slid off in one smooth motion. She was dressed in a lad’s breeches and had her hair tucked into a cap.

  “Don’t tell me ye rode here alone again,” Alison said, using her most severe mother’s tone.

  “All right, I won’t tell ye I did,” Lizzie said with a grin.

  “’Tis not safe.” Alison was not ready to let it go. “You’re getting too old to pass for a lad.”

  “But I had to bring ye the news!” Lizzie said.

  Icy fingers of premonition crawled up Margaret’s spine.

  “We Douglases are on the rise again!” Lizzie took Margaret’s hands and danced her around in a circle. “Your brothers and my da have returned from exile!”

  “What?” Alison asked, catching Lizzie’s arm.

  “They’re here in Scotland,” Lizzie said. “Archie has the backing of his brother-in-law, Henry VIII of England, and half the Scottish nobles. All the Douglas lands and titles have been returned to us.”

  “The queen agreed to take Archie back?” Margaret asked.

  That was hard to believe. The woman had been so angry with Archie that it was rumored she had even asked her brother to seek a petition of divorce on her behalf.

  “King Henry demanded she be a good wife and reconcile with Archie.” Lizzie’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “But when Archie approached Holyrood Palace, the queen had the cannon fired on him!”

  Archie was always so sure of himself that Margaret could not help being amused, but her smile soon died on her lips, and she exchanged a worried look with Alison.

  “I hope Archie has learned from the past,” Alison said, “but I suspect he’s as ambitious as ever.”

  Twice now, their brother, Archibald Douglas, had reached for the power of the crown, and twice he had lost and suffered a dramatic fall. The first time, he persuaded the newly widowed queen to wed him in secret without the permission of Parliament, which caused such a stir that the queen fled to
England and the Douglas men holed up in their mighty fortress, Tantallon Castle, until the political winds changed again.

  The second time, the conflict between the Douglases and their rival magnates descended into a bloody battle right in the streets of Edinburgh, which came to be known as the Battle of the Causeway. With the country on the brink of civil war, her brothers and uncle were charged with treason and fled the country to save their skins.

  Margaret had bad memories of her own from that terrible day of bloodshed in Edinburgh.

  “You’ll have your revenge on Wretched William now,” Lizzie said, using the nickname she had given Margaret’s former husband. “Archie will have him boiled in oil for what he did to you.”

  “I don’t want vengeance.” That would give him too great a place in her thoughts, after she spent the last three years trying to forget. “All I ask is that I never have to see his face or hear his voice again.”

  “Ye needn’t worry about that,” Lizzie huffed. “Wretched William doesn’t have the bollocks to show himself now that our family is on the rise again.”

  “One thing is certain,” Alison said, turning to look at the empty field behind them, “ye won’t be living in a cottage in the village.”

  Margaret felt the blood drain from her head.

  “Now that the treason charges have been dropped,” Alison continued, “the queen cannot accuse the rest of us of being complicit and threaten us with imprisonment.”

  The queen’s fury with Archie extended to the entire Douglas family. Alison’s husband, however, was such a powerful laird that they were safe from even the queen on his lands.

  “You can live at Tantallon Castle,” Alison said. “But I expect you’ll spend a great deal of time at court again.”

  “I don’t want any of that,” Margaret said.

  “I doubt ye can convince our brothers of that,” Alison said. “Now that Archie is back, he’ll not have his sister—particularly his only unwed sister—living in a cottage.”

  Margaret felt as if the ground was opening up beneath her. She wanted to argue that the men of her family had no right to tell her where and how to live. They had not cared what happened to her when they fled Scotland and left the rest of the family to face the consequences.