Kidnapped by a Rogue, kindle

by Margaret Mallory

  “They’ll not recognize me dressed as a peddler,” Finn said, with a grin.

  “’Tis too risky,” Lachlan said, shaking his head.

  “Alex trusts me and will do as I tell him,” Finn said. “Besides that, I fostered with my uncle at Dunrobin and know the castle better than you.”

  “I should do it. They don’t know my face like they know yours.”

  “Nay, it has to be me,” Finn said. “I want to be the one to steal Alex out from under George’s nose. That will make the victory all the sweeter.”

  After all the damn sitting and waiting, he could finally do something. He could save Alex. And he would.

  ###

  Before leaving, Finn forced himself to climb the stairs to his father’s chamber, where he found Una sitting beside the bed. He had to hide his shock when he saw his father. Gilbert had aged twenty years in the week since Bearach’s death. His ruddy complexion had changed to a chalky pallor. Through years of heavy drinking, he’d retained a warrior’s muscular build. But now, he looked hollowed out and caved in on himself as he lay on the bed.

  “He wants to speak with ye alone,” Una said, and gestured for Finn to take her seat next to the bed.

  Finn sank into it, dreading another awkward talk with his father. His father’s eyes flickered open when the door clicked shut behind Una.

  “I’m here.” Finn took his father’s hand, something he could not remember doing even as a bairn.

  “I must tell ye something before I die,” his father said. “And don’t tell me I’m not dying. I know I am.”

  Finn did not want to hear his father confess his regret that he had not done more for him, had not protected him from his mother’s bile or done any of the other things a father should. None of it mattered now, but if it would ease his father’s passing, Finn could not deny him.

  “I’m listening,” Finn said. “What is it ye wish to say to me?”

  “The truth!” The force with which Finn’s father expelled the word caused a coughing spell that racked his body.

  Finn retrieved the cup Una had left on the small table and lifted his father up to help him drink.

  “Make it whisky next time,” his father said as he collapsed back on the pillows.

  He lay still with his eyes closed for so long that Finn thought he had gone to sleep and Finn could leave. But then he opened his eyes again and said the last thing Finn expected.

  “I’m not your father.”

  Finn wondered if in his weakened state his father did not recognize him.

  “When I brought ye home as a wee newborn babe, I told Isabel ye were my bastard,” his father said. “To save her pride, she agreed to pretend ye were hers, but she never forgave me.”

  Well, that explained a lot. Finn supposed that deep down he always suspected he was the bastard of one of the many women his father had on the side. He thought of how Margaret showered love on a child not her own, but Isabel was not capable of that.

  “I know Isabel mistreated ye because of it,” his father said. “But she would have killed ye in your cradle if she knew the truth.”

  “What truth?” Finn asked.

  “The truth that your mother made me swear an oath on her deathbed to keep secret,” he said. “Isabel was not the only one who would have wanted ye murdered if they knew.”

  Finn felt as if he were standing in the shallows, fighting to keep on his feet as wave after wave crashed into him. The mother whose angry resentment had shaped his life was not truly his mother. And the woman who gave birth to him was long since dead. He would never have a chance to know her.

  “Who was she, this woman ye say was my mother?” Finn asked. Knowing his father, she was probably a poor tavern wench he barely knew.

  “Isabel’s sister.”

  “Her sister?” Finn was lucky he was already sitting down. “I didn’t know she had a sister.”

  “Her name was Deirdre,” his father said. “Our fathers were keen on making an alliance and arranged a marriage between us. She was the sister I was supposed to marry.”

  God’s bones. Finn could hardly take it in.

  “Deirdre was the most beautiful lass I’d ever seen,” his father said with a wistfulness Finn had never heard in his voice before. “She was full of laughter. That lass had a sparkle in her eye that made ye believe your life would be golden if only ye could have her at your side.”

  “Ye loved her?” Finn asked.

  “Aye, but Deirdre told me she wouldn’t have me because she loved someone else,” he said. “But as I said, it was all arranged.”

  Finn braced his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair. What next?

  “When Deirdre ran off with her lover, our fathers salvaged their alliance by making Isabel take her place as my bride.”

  Finn got up and started pacing the room. No wonder his father and mother were never happy. He was in love with her sister, and she knew it.

  “So who did this Deirdre”—Finn could not yet call her his mother—“run off with?”

  “Ye must remember hearing tales about your grandmother Sutherland’s half-brother Robin, who was twenty years younger than she?”

  “Aye. He claimed to be the rightful heir to Sutherland and took Dunrobin Castle twice.” Finn had heard the tales all his life. The Sutherlands considered Robin a hero, while the Gordons labeled him a rebel.

  “He was wild and fearless and darkly handsome.” His father paused to cough and gasp for air. “What man could compete with that?”

  “Are ye saying that’s who she ran off with?” Finn asked. “But that would mean…”

  “Aye. Robin Sutherland was your father.”

  “But how…” Finn had a hundred questions but could not seem to find the words. His head was spinning. His mother was not his mother. His father was not his father.

  “Not long after Robin was finally captured and killed, I received an urgent message from Deirdre asking me to meet her at Duffus Castle in secret,” his father said. “In truth, I got my hopes up she’d have me now that Robin was dead. When it came to Deirdre, I had no pride.”

  “Why Duffus Castle?”

  “The Sutherlands, being Robin’s clan, were protecting her,” his father said. “Duffus himself was away, but his sister Mary, the one who was married to the Sinclair chieftain, was there. Mary warned me Deirdre was dying before she took me to see her.”

  Tears ran down his creased face, but his father—nay, Gilbert—either did not notice them or was past caring.

  “Even near death, she was beautiful. She had a babe in her arms. She feared ye would never survive to be a man if it was known ye were Robin’s son, with a claim to the earldom,” Gilbert said. “Deirdre was a clever lass and had decided that the best way to protect her son from the Gordons was to make them believe you were one of them.”

  All this time, Finn was not a Gordon at all. He was hidden among them like a cuckoo hides its egg in another bird’s nest.

  “She begged me to raise ye as my son and made me swear not to reveal your true parentage,” Gilbert said. “Once ye were grown, I was to tell ye and let you decide if ye wanted the world to know. She said it was to be your choice.”

  Finn had been grown for some time, but there was no point in saying that. If he’d known Gilbert and Isabel were not his parents, at least he would have understood why he never felt he belonged.

  “I know I should have done better by ye,” Gilbert said. “But I could see so much of both of them in ye that it pained me to look at ye. Still does.”

  “Who else knows the truth about who I am?” Finn asked.

  “Mary Sutherland, of course, but that woman knew how to keep a secret,” Gilbert said. “Mary put the word about that Deirdre and the babe both died in the birth. Una served as the midwife.”

  “Una?” Finn asked

  “Aye, she married into the Murray clan, but she’s a Sutherland by birth,” Gilbert said. “There were others among the Sutherlands who had their suspicio
ns that the babe was sneaked out of Duffus Castle and hidden away, but none of them would guess the babe was hidden with a Gordon.”

  “Does Isabel know?” Finn said.

  “I told ye she doesn’t,” his father—or rather, Gilbert—said, but Finn was not convinced.

  “It would be hard for a man to keep a secret like that from his wife for twenty-seven years,” Finn said. Especially if the man was a drinker and his wife was Isabel. “I wouldn’t blame ye if ye did tell her, but I need to know.”

  “Not telling her was the one thing I did right,” Gilbert said. “In her eyes, your claim to the earldom, even if it was a failed cause, would give ye higher status than Bearach.”

  Isabel would have made him suffer all the more for that. Finn was grateful Gilbert had kept the secret from her.

  “Why tell me now, after all this time?” Finn asked.

  “Because ye have a choice now that Bearach is dead and Alex is a prisoner of the Sinclairs,” Gilbert said. “Ye can say nothing of this and be heir to Garty, or ye can claim your place as the Earl of Sutherland.”

  Finn pressed the heels of his hands to his temples. This was too much to take in. He did not have a drop of Gordon blood in him. His true father was Robin Sutherland, the legendary rebel who was likely the rightful heir to Sutherland. And that made Finn…

  “Nay,” Finn said, shaking his head. “Alex is the earl now.”

  “I’ve kept this hidden since Deirdre gave it to me.” Gilbert pulled a silk pouch from inside his shirt and held it out to Finn. “Here is your proof that you’re Robin’s son. It has his seal.”

  A surge of emotion clogged Finn’s throat when he upended the bag and held the ring that had belonged to his true father.

  “The earldom is yours for the taking,” Gilbert said. “Ye have the better claim, and with Alex captive and too young to lead, the men would follow you.”

  Finn knew in his heart this was true. He could take it.

  “If you were the earl,” Gilbert said, “Dunrobin Castle and all the wealth of Sutherland would be yours.”

  Finn did not care about the wealth or the title or the power for himself. One thought, one truth alone, pounded in his head.

  The Earl of Sutherland would be good enough for Lady Margaret Douglas.

  ###

  Finn is the rightful heir to the earldom of Sutherland.

  Margaret swayed on her feet and nearly dropped the pitcher before easing the door closed. She had not expected Finn to still be in his father’s chamber when she opened the door quietly in case Gilbert was sleeping. Finn had told her he was in a hurry, and the two men rarely had more than two words to say to each other.

  She should not have stayed to listen to their intimate conversation. But when she heard Gilbert say Finn was the son of Robin Sutherland, she could not tear herself away.

  The news could not be worse.

  The weight of disappointment crashing down on her made her realize she had harbored the hope that Finn could convince her to stay. But now, even more than before, she had to leave him.

  Because she knew from bitter experience about men and their ambitions. She wanted to believe Finn was different, that he would not be willing to cast aside loyalty, honor, and those he loved. But if he would fight for a rival clan and kidnap an innocent woman for a chance to own a small bit of land, what would he do to gain the riches and power of an earldom?

  The more power men had, the more they wanted—and the more casualties they left behind. Even if Finn tried to resist, an earl would inexorably be drawn into court intrigues and shifting alliances, the dangerous games of the most powerful men. She hated that life. If she had wanted it, she would have stayed with her brothers.

  Even if she were willing, an earl’s first duty was to sire heirs. Not having an heir with so much land and power at stake caused wars and chaos over succession. An earl could even claim it was his duty to set aside a barren wife. Finn may not know it now, but after fighting to gain an earldom, he would want a son to leave it to.

  She leaned her head back against the wall. Somehow, the dream of a quiet and happy home with Finn and Ella and a love that lasted forever had crept into her heart without her knowing it and against her better judgment. If it was not utterly hopeless before, it was now.

  She suddenly realized she had been standing outside the door far too long. Before she could gather her wits to run up the stairs, Finn opened the door.

  “I was just going to see if your father needs anything,” she managed to say.

  “I have to leave Helmsdale for a bit,” he said in a low voice. “I could be away for a few days.”

  She wondered if he was already going out to gather Sutherland men to his cause.

  “I can’t blame ye for not wanting to be my wife.” He gripped her hand and stared intently into her eyes. “But promise me ye won’t leave while I’m gone.”

  “Oh, Finn, it’s not that I don’t—” She cut herself off. The pain in his blue eyes tugged at her heart, but it would not serve either of them to tell him how she felt about him. “I’ll be here when ye return. I promise.”

  “We’ll talk then,” he said. “If ye still want to leave me, I’ll see ye safely to the MacKenzies.”

  He turned to go down the stairs. She just could not let him go yet.

  “Finn!” she cried.

  When he turned around, she threw herself into his arms and held him, not knowing if she would ever hold him like this again.

  “Be careful,” she said. “I’ll be here waiting for you.”

  Before she broke down into tears, she released him and started up the stairs. When she was out of sight, she paused until she heard his footsteps, then she turned back for one last look.

  “Goodbye, my love,” she whispered as she watched Finn disappear down the stairs.

  CHAPTER 28

  Margaret surreptitiously wiped her tears away as she packed, hoping Ella would not see them. She wanted to be ready to leave when Finn returned.

  Ella tugged at her skirts. “Why do ye weep?”

  “Because it makes me sad to say goodbye to our new friends here,” Margaret said, stooping down to talk to her daughter. “We’re going to go live with my sister.”

  “Don’t want to!” Ella said and stamped her foot.

  Margaret was taken aback. Ella was always so compliant. She’d hoped that Ella would feel safe enough to throw a tantrum like other children did on occasion, but now was not the best time.

  “I know, sweetling,” Margaret said. “But sometimes we must do things we don’t want to.”

  “Want to stay here!” Ella shouted, clenching her little fists.

  “What’s all this blathering about?” Una said from the doorway.

  Ella ran to Una and wrapped her arms around her leg. When the old woman picked her up, Ella buried her face in Una’s chest and refused to look at Margaret.

  “I see you’re packing again.” Una narrowed her eyes at the satchel, then turned her glare on Margaret. “You’d leave Finn now? Ach, I thought better of ye.”

  With that, she turned around and took Ella into her chamber. Margaret swallowed back her tears over Ella’s rejection and took several deep breaths to calm herself. Before she lost her will to leave, she reminded herself of the long, dark hair she found in the bedclothes, a hair too long to be Finn’s. She was not mistaken as to whose it was. Even the pillow smelled of Curstag.

  When she finished packing, Margaret carried the satchel beneath her cloak down to the stables, where she hid it beneath some straw. She did not want the household to find out she was leaving before Finn returned, but having her bag packed and waiting helped her feel committed to her plan.

  She went back upstairs and rapped on Una’s door to fetch her daughter.

  “Hush,” Una said, sticking her head out. “The poor dearie has cried herself to sleep.”

  Margaret sighed. Why not just stab me in the heart, Una?

  “Enough of this,” Una said under her breath. Then
she came out, shut the door behind her, and signaled for Margaret to follow her into the other chamber. “Now, tell me what foolishness has gotten into your head this time.”

  When Margaret told her about finding Curstag’s hair in their bed, Una dismissed it with a wave of her hand, as if swatting at a fly.

  “Curstag was probably snooping,” Una said. “She’s a nosey lass, that one.”

  “Snooping in the bedclothes?” Margaret said. “I’ve seen her in Finn’s arms more than once. I tried to dismiss it as comforting the widow, but I don’t believe Curstag is grieving all that much.”

  “That’s true enough,” Una said with a laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she poisoned Bearach herself.”

  “Don’t say that,” Margaret chided.

  “Curstag goes after what she wants, which is a lesson ye could learn from her,” Una said. “But this isn’t really about Curstag, now is it? Tell me what’s truly troubling ye.”

  Margaret hesitated to unburden herself and share her pain and shame.

  “I can’t give him children,” Margaret finally said in a small voice.

  “I knew from the start that ye didn’t give birth to Ella because the two of ye were still learning each other’s ways,” Una said, her tone gentle now. “But tell me about these babes ye lost.”

  “How did ye know about them?” Margaret asked.

  “I saw them when ye were in the healing waters of the faery pool.”

  Margaret blinked. Before she could ask how, Una began pressing her with questions about the times she was with child. The old woman clucked her tongue as Margaret admitted how very thin she became during her marriage, how she’d lost a babe during the stress of a raging battle, and how her husband had not waited for her to recover from that miscarriage before she became pregnant that last time.

  “I’m an old wise woman, so pay attention,” Una said. “Ye were not meant to have a child with that devil. But that doesn’t mean ye can’t have one.”

  “I can’t go through that again,” Margaret said, shaking her head. “And I can’t put Finn through it, either.”

  “You’re a strong and healthy lass now,” Una said. “You’ve meat on your bones and a glow to your cheeks.”