“Mind,” he chuckled, “we did our fair share o’ raiding too.”
Rheade wanted to share the humor but his mind was numb. Whatever Fion intended to tell them would change their lives forever.
The auld man swallowed hard. “Some clans weren’t content with stealing cattle. They sometimes abducted women.”
Rheade itched to flee the chamber, but he seemed to have lost control of one leg. It twitched up and down like a thing possessed. And if Logan didn’t soon stop tapping his foot, he might have to tear if off. He should call a halt now before the fateful words were uttered.
“Shortly after the marriage, yer mother was taken.”
Nay! Nay! Nay!
The thought of his sweet mother’s fear, his father’s anguish made his belly roil.
“Yer Da got her back safely, and killed the man who took her.”
The knot in his belly eased.
“But she’d already been violated,” Fion rasped.
Rheade twisted in the wind, a noose tightening around his neck, the breath whooshing from his lungs.
Logan leapt to his feet. “Nay,” he shouted, his face crimson. “Ye lie.”
An icy calm seeped into Rheade’s heart. “Sit down, Logan. I’ve a feeling there is more to the tale.”
Logan glowered, but remained on his feet.
“Aye,” Fion said sadly. “Not long after, yer mother discovered she was with child. Yer father had told her the abduction made no difference to his feelings. He loved her still, mayhap more. They’d no way of knowing if the bairn was his or—”
Rheade conjured a vision of his distraught father, having no one to confide in but this trusted servant whom he now viewed in a new light.
“When Tannoch was born, ’twas impossible to say whose likeness he favored, but yer Da accepted him as his own son.” His face became sterner. “Which he well may be.”
The murky question that had nagged at Rheade for years suddenly became clear. “But ye dinna believe he is.”
Fion swayed alarmingly then slumped into the chair Logan had vacated. “Nay,” he whispered.
~~~
Margaret had fallen into a fitful doze when she heard the key turn in the lock. It was still pitch black in the cells, but it must be dawn. What new torments lay ahead? Her belly growled. Would Tannoch starve them to death?
She feared for Uncle Davey if he was subjected to torture. And what had he done to deserve such a fate?
A hand grasped her shoulder. “Margaret.”
Her heart bounced around her rib cage. “Rheade?” she whispered.
“Hush, sweeting,” he murmured. “We dinna have much time. Wake the others, Joss.”
“Joss is here?” she asked, rubbing her eyes, reassured by a familiar grunt.
Rheade took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Shaon has the wagon ready.”
Aunty Edythe had awakened but she wailed, “I’ll never get back up those steps.”
“We’ll help ye, Edythe,” Davey rasped.
“Me. Carry,” Joss grunted.
Margaret heard a squeal of surprise and surmised Joss had picked up her aunt—no mean feat.
“Good man,” Rheade whispered hoarsely. He grasped Margaret’s hand and led the way. Joss followed, breathing heavily, Edythe cradled like a babe in his massive arms. Davey brought up the rear.
As they manoeuvred up the slippery stone steps a myriad of emotions swirled in Margaret’s heart. She wanted desperately to be gone from this terrible place, but returning to Oban would mean never seeing Rheade again. “Won’t yer brother soon overtake a wagon?” she asked.
“We’ve a plan for that,” Rheade replied.
~~~
Rheade hoped he sounded confident. The plan he, Logan and Fion had contrived was fraught with danger. However, given the servant’s startling revelations, they’d concurred the Ogilvies couldn’t be left to rot in the cells. There was no telling what the volatile Tannoch might do with them.
As he’d anticipated, Shaon had the carthorse harnessed and the wagon ready when they emerged into the darkened bailey. The lack of any challenge confirmed his brother’s shortcomings as a laird, but he was relieved Tannoch’s men were seemingly still sound asleep.
Logan appeared out of the darkness, laden with plaids. Judging by the varied browns and greys it appeared his brother had scoured the castle for them. David Ogilvie grabbed several. Once Joss had hefted Edythe into the wagon, her husband climbed in after her, and Joss took his place beside his brother.
Rheade wrapped another plaid around Margaret’s shoulders. Standing behind the wagon, she looked up at him and shivered. Her face was barely visible, but the moonlight illuminated her tears. “Goodbye, Rheade. I—”
He smiled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Dinna bid me farewell just yet,” he teased. “Ye’re coming with me.”
She startled when the wagon lurched away. “But—”
He gathered her into his arms, marvelling how a woman who’d spent hours in a filthy cell smelled so sweet. He still couldn’t pin down what her perfume reminded him of. “You’ll be safer with me,” he assured her. “Logan has a plan to throw Tannoch off yer uncle and aunt’s trail, but it’s likely he’ll be more interested in pursuing ye. However, he’ll soon abandon the pursuit if he fears it’s taking time away from hunting down yer betrothed and his grandfather.”
“But where are we going?” she asked.
“Blair Castle,” he replied, hoping he’d made the right decision.
REFUGE IN ATHOLL
Rheade would have liked nothing better than to have Margaret ride behind him, her tempting body pressed to his back. But speed was of the essence and he didn’t want to risk injury to Dubh. The animal was fleet of foot, and had an uncanny ability to see his way in the dark, but two riders on one horse wasn’t a good idea.
Margaret’s earlier performance had led him to suspect she was a capable horsewoman. Hoping he was right, he dropped to one knee beside the palfrey he’d provided, interlocked his fingers and looked up. To his relief she quickly hoisted her skirts, put her foot in his hands and confidently heaved herself onto the horse. Despite the urgency of the moment, he chuckled inwardly. Margaret Ogilvie wasn’t the delicate flower he’d first believed. No riding side-saddle for her. But then with three older brothers—
The memory of her grief-stricken face when she’d eventually told of their fate strengthened his resolve to protect her from further distress. “You’ve a knack with horses,” he said with a smile as they made their way out of the bailey.
“Aye,” she replied shyly. “What’s the palfrey’s name?”
Her question took him aback. He’d known what name he’d bestow on his own horse as soon as he’d set eyes on him, but the notion other animals might have names had never occurred to him. “He’ll bear whatever name ye wish to bestow,” he rasped. Obviously the vision of Margaret’s thighs pressed to his flanks had stolen his wits and rendered him a babbling fool.
She eyed him curiously, looked back at the horse and declared, “Bàn.”
Perhaps he’d misheard. “Oban?”
“Nay. The color. Yer horse is black, mine is white. Yers is Dubh, mine is Bàn.”
He had to agree it was appropriate.
He took off the leather satchel he’d slung across his body and secured it to the saddle. He’d pilfered provisions from the kitchens and a few necessities from his chamber, among them his raser. He’d never favored a beard, and took the treasured possession with him wherever he went. Logan often teased him about it.
Soon they were cantering alongside Loch Tay, headed for the Grampians. The darkness demanded they give their full attention to the road, though the full moon bathed the rippling loch in its silvery light.
“Beautiful,” Margaret shouted breathlessly.
“Aye,” he replied, wondering how he had lived his life beside this same loch and never noticed its splendor.
For years he’d wrestled with the irritation of Tan
noch’s misrule of Dunalastair, but done nothing to change matters. It had taken the advent of a lovely young woman in trouble to push him into defiance. And of course the startling questions concerning Tannoch’s progeny had convinced him and Logan something had to be done.
What drew him to Margaret? She affected him physically. He’d been pursued by many beautiful women, bedded more than one—he was a healthy young man in the prime of his life. Margaret was different. He’d only to catch a whiff of her perfume, or sense her nearness, for his body to catch fire. Simply thinking of her had his balls in an uproar.
But there was more to it. He liked her, admired her. She had a knack of making the best of a bad situation. She’d uttered no words of censure for her unjust imprisonment. Here she was riding in the dark on an unknown road towards a castle where danger might lurk, her hair flowing behind her like a silvery cape. She looked like she was enjoying an adventure.
Life with such a woman would never be dull.
If they survived this lunacy.
~~~
Dunalastair had appeared pink in the sunlight. Blair loomed ghostly white in the moonlight. Two turret rooms, each topped with a cone-shaped roof, clung to the sides of a tall tower. Rheade’s home had delighted Margaret; Robert Stewart’s dwelling filled her with dread.
Strangely, the ride had been exhilarating, a reminder of the carefree life she and her brothers had led before—
She sensed something had happened to cause Rheade to embark on this foolhardy expedition. What had prompted him to defy his chieftain’s orders? Whatever it was, she was surprised to discover she trusted him. And what choice did she have?
They reined to a halt in the deserted bailey. “Blair Castle,” he announced with an expansive gesture as if conducting a tour. She appreciated his efforts to allay her fears.
They dismounted and led the tired beasts to the stable. “It’s colder up here,” she said, her breath hanging in the air, mingling with the warm snorts of the horses.
“Aye,” he replied. “We’re only in the foothills of the Grampians, but already a body can feel it.”
They took care of their horses’ needs, gathering what fresh hay there was. The stable was well equipped, but eerily deserted. Brushing down Bàn calmed Margaret’s frayed nerves.
Rheade’s voice broke into her reverie. “Ye’re enjoying that.”
“I’ve loved horses since I was a bairn,” she admitted.
He put an arm around her waist, hefting the satchel of provisions over his shoulder as they left the stable.
“The chambers will be cold,” he added, pointing to the turrets. “Especially up there.”
She gathered the borrowed plaid tighter, her heart in her boots. She’d never been fond of heights. “Ye plan to hide in the tower?”
She welcomed his reassuring warmth when he pulled her closer. “Tannoch has already searched the castle. He’s not likely to look here again. He’ll be frustrated after Logan leads him astray and hopefully forget about ye. He’ll believe ye’ve fled to Oban.”
“Perhaps that’s what I should have done,” she murmured as he led her through the unlocked door into the entry hallway.
The first grey streaks of dawn revealed opulent furnishings. The Earl of Atholl’s immense wealth was legendary. “Why would someone risk this?” she whispered, inhaling deeply. “They’ve strewn rushes somewhere in the house that still smell sweet. Scented with hops, I believe. Typical for February.”
He sniffed. “One smell is much like another to me,” he admitted. “Except—”
He inhaled close to her neck. “What is the tantalizing perfume you wear?”
Her nipples tightened. She’d never considered herself tantalizing. “’Tis a sweet-bag I wear around my neck, made of silk. My mother taught me how to stuff them with damask rose leaves, orris and cloves.” She pressed her hand to her breast. “The rest are in the wagon on their way back to Oban. This is the last one I have left.”
His mouth had fallen open, his gaze fixed on her breasts. For a moment she thought he might salivate, but then he licked his lips and said, “Ye can fashion more in the future. My mother grew damask roses at Dunalastair. Yer Aunty can mayhap make use of the ones in the wagon.”
She laughed out loud.
He eyed her curiously, then looked around the entry hall. “I agree it’s hard to fathom why the Earl decided to murder his nephew, though the animosity between them is of long standing.”
She was confused. “But wasn’t the Earl one of the nobles who helped ransom James from his imprisonment at the English court and bring him back to Scotland?”
They paused at the foot of an immense winding staircase. Only the first steps were visible. “He was, but a lot has happened in the thirteen intervening years to turn him against the king.”
“Where are the servants?” she asked.
“All fled,” he replied. “In fear of their lives.”
“But if they’d done nothing,” she protested.
“Anyone associated with the perpetrators of this heinous crime will be suspect,” he explained.
Her heart plummeted. “Even me,” she rasped.
He took her hands and blew on her fingers, the sadness in his eyes betraying he regretted his words. “Better?” he asked.
How to tell him his warmth had travelled from her hands up her arms, down her spine and thence into her tingling nipples. “Aye,” she said hoarsely.
“Ready for the climb?”
He took her hand and led her into the darkness.
THE TURRET ROOM
It occurred to Rheade half way up the long winding stairway that the assassins might have returned. Perhaps they’d watched the castle being searched from a distance and decided it was now a safe place to hide. He drew his dagger, just in case.
Margaret gasped, pulling her hand from his. Coming close to losing her balance, she leaned back against the wall, her fingernails clawing at the damp stone. He cursed his thoughtlessness. “Dinna worry, ’tis a precaution. I should have warned ye.”
They continued on past three landings with innumerable chamber doors visible from each one, until they came to the topmost landing where they paused, both breathing heavily. The steep climb was tiring, but worth it if only for the view of the entry from the cleverly designed landing that spanned the space between the two chambers. Margaret had kept up with him without complaint, though she clung to him now. “Ye must be exhausted,” he said, sheathing the weapon. “Right or left?”
She stared at him as if he’d spoken in Greek. “What?”
He gathered her more tightly into his embrace, realizing she was trembling. He supposed the events of the last hours were taking their toll. “The chambers. Right or left? They’re both the same as I recall.”
“I—canna—move,” she stammered. “Heights.”
He was tempted to chuckle, but the color had drained from her face, and she looked truly terrified. He scooped her up. “Have no fear, Sir Rheade is here,” he quipped. “He will carry the fair lady to her chamber.”
She nestled into him, her arms clamped around his neck. He chose the chamber on the left and kicked open the door, discovering one thing he hadn’t paid attention to during the search. There was one small bed. He sat her down on the edge of it. “I forgot there is only one bed. I’ll stay in the other room.”
“No, please dinna leave me,” she begged, clinging to his arm. “I trust ye to be a gentleman.”
Despite her conviction, he wasn’t confident of keeping his hands to himself if they shared a bed. He sat down beside her. “Margaret, I’m a man. Men have urges.”
She put a hand on his thigh. “I had three brothers,” she said. “I’m aware of men’s urges.”
While it might be true in theory, he suspected she’d fly back down the steps, fear of heights or no, if she caught sight of the rock hard flesh between his legs that had sprung to life at her touch. He took her hand off his thigh lest the desire it sparked consume him completely. “That’s
as maybe,” he rasped, “but I am drawn to ye.”
She cuddled into him, lacing her fingers with his. “I’m drawn to ye too,” she whispered.
He craved her, but they were both exhausted. “Let’s eat a wee morsel, then sleep for a while. Afterwards we can explore the castle.”
They shared a heel of brown bread and a chunk of cheese. Margaret was at first reluctant to accept the flask of whiskey, but when he pointed out there was naught else to drink, she took a swig and grimaced. He drank a long swallow, laughing at the sour expression on her face.
“I’m guessing ye dinna drink much whisky,” he teased.
She stifled a yawn and curled up on the bed. “Cuddle me,” she murmured.
Intense as his desire for her was, cuddling was what she needed. He spooned his body around hers and drew the extra plaids over them.
She fell asleep almost instantly. It took over an hour to calm his greedy body, but finally he dozed.
~~~
Margaret blinked open her eyes, but for only a split second. The chamber was bathed in blinding light. The sun must be well up.
Sun?
She did feel overly warm, perhaps because of the copious amounts of plaids under which she lay. She moved to push them away. An arm tightened around her waist.
Someone else was in the bed.
She froze, her heart beating wildly, until she remembered.
Rheade.
The incredible recent events flooded back in a confusing torrent, but Rheade’s presence throughout kept her afloat.
He let out a long, slow breath, and she savored the warmth of it on her nape. Had he awakened? Did he regret helping her?
“Good morning,” he rumbled. “Or should I say Good afternoon.”
She snuggled into him, feeling the heat of his body on her back. How wonderful it would be to wake up in this man’s arms every day. He desired her. She’d heard her brothers boast often enough of what happened to their male parts when they wanted a woman. However, Braden had also told her men usually woke aroused. Was it the explanation for the hard bulge pressed against her bottom? She’d grown up with brothers who’d always treated her as one of their gang, but there was much about men she didn’t know.
Pride of the Clan Page 5