Falling for the Highlander

by Lynsay Sands

  For one moment the world seemed to spin around Dougall, and he felt sure he was about to imitate Murine and faint dead away. Then he was moving, pushing through the people who had crowded around and hurdling up the steps into the keep. He heard footsteps behind him as he rushed across the hall and up the stairs, but didn't stop until he burst into the bedchamber he and Murine had shared.

  Dougall barely heard the door hit the wall over the rushing in his ears as his gaze slid quickly over the empty room. He noted his bag on the floor. It had been on the bed with Murine's when he'd left that morning, he recalled, and then his eyes found the drops of blood on the floor by the bag. Moving forward, he followed the trail of blood to the wall by the fireplace and paused with confusion.

  "The passage."

  Dougall turned sharply at those gasped words from Saidh. "What?"

  She hesitated, and then glanced to Greer. Her husband grimly glanced around at the crowd that had followed. Aulay, MacIntyre, Bowie, Conran, Geordie and Alick were all there, and he sighed, then closed the door before turning back and nodding to Saidh. She immediately moved up next to where Dougall stood and pressed a brick in the wall.

  Dougall stiffened as the wall shifted, revealing a dark, narrow passage. He then surged forward only to pause a step inside. The passage led in two directions, left and right, and he had no idea which way he should go. Both ways were in darkness and there were no sounds to indicate someone was in there. Turning back sharply, he asked, "Where does it go?"

  Greer's expression was grim. "Ye can use it to get to the other rooms, or down into the gardens behind the kitchen, or down to a cave by the loch."

  Dougall nodded abruptly. "I need a torch."

  As Alick turned to rush out into the hall, Aulay turned to Greer and asked, "Who all knows about the passage?"

  "As far as I ken, just Saidh, me, Bowie and Alpin," Greer said with a frown, and then added, "And now all o' you."

  "Alpin? The lad who's missing?" Dougall asked sharply

  Greer nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful.

  "Alpin would no' have done this," Saidh protested quickly. "He's just a lad. He could no' ha'e forced Murine out of the room."

  "Nay," Greer agreed. "But he could have told whoever took Murine about the passage."

  "He wouldn't," Saidh said with certainty.

  "He could have been made to," Greer said apologetically. "That could explain why he was taken."

  Saidh blanched at the thought of how he could have been made to, but rallied and asked, "But how would they ken he knew about it or that it even existed?"

  "They may have taken the lad to find out the layout of MacDonnell," Aulay pointed out quietly. "As Dougall's squire they'd expect the boy could tell them how many people were here and where Murine was most likely to be."

  "And what? Ye think Alpin would just volunteer the information about the passage?" Saidh snapped, and then said staunchly, "He would no' do that."

  "Then mayhap they suspected there were passages. Many castles have them. They could have forced him to tell," Greer said, but when Saidh paled, he added quickly, "Or tricked him."

  Alick rushed back into the room then with half a dozen torches crushed together between his hands. He nearly dropped the bundle when Dougall grabbed one and tugged it out of the collection, but Conran, Geordie and Greer stepped forward to help.

  "Dougall, wait," Aulay caught at his arm as he turned back toward the passage. "Ye do no' ken where they've taken her. We need to consider this and--"

  "They'd have taken her to the cave Greer mentioned. The gardens and another room make no sense," Dougall growled, jerking his arm free. Glancing to Greer he asked, "Which way to the cave?"

  "They'd hardly stay in the cave," Aulay pointed out. "'Tis the first place we'd look."

  Dougall frowned at those words, recognizing the common sense behind them.

  MacIntyre spoke up for the first time, pointing out, "But they can't travel far either. There are men everywhere searching for the boy. Someone would have seen." Spearing Greer with a glance he said, "Is there anyplace not far from this cave you mentioned that they might hide?"

  "Several," Greer said grimly.

  "Then 'tis good we have so many men just now, is it not?" MacIntyre said mildly and then turned to walk to the door, saying, "We'll need to make a list of these several places you mentioned, Greer. But first I need to send my first to collect my soldiers."

  "As do I," Aulay murmured, and explained, "We left the men camped on the edge of MacDonnell while we rode in to see whether or not help was needed with the search."

  When silence fell briefly and everyone seemed to turn and look at him, Dougall felt his hand tighten painfully around the torch he held. Murine was missing. He needed action. He needed to hunt down the bastards who had taken her, tear them limb from limb, then bring her safely home. Instead they wanted to make lists and send messengers.

  Unfortunately, he knew their way had merit, but he felt like he should at least check the cave and not just decide she wasn't there.

  "Greer, I'd appreciate it if ye could start making that list," Dougall said finally. "Meantime, I'd like to borrow Bowie to show me the way to the cave. I want to check it at least. Even if they are no' still there, I may find a clue to help figure out where she is."

  "A good plan," MacIntyre murmured. Nodding, Greer glanced to his first. Bowie immediately took one of the two torches Alick was still holding and moved past Dougall to lead the way.

  Murine blinked her eyes open to darkness, but still immediately closed them with a moan as she became aware of the throbbing in her head.

  "Hush. Someone will hear you."

  Stilling, she forced her eyes opened again and peered around. She was lying on her side, her wrists bound uncomfortably behind her back, and she was quite sure that had been her half brother's voice. At first, all Murine could see from her position was darkness, but then she was able to make out shadows and shapes in one direction, and noted the figure standing at an opening where some light appeared to be coming from the other side.

  "Montrose?" she said uncertainly. The figure shifted, blocking all light briefly before moving toward her and allowing a good deal more light in. Enough to see that she was lying on the damp, dirt floor of a cave.

  "I said hush," he growled, pausing in front of her threateningly. "Do I have to gag you?"

  Murine glared at his shadowed face. With the dim light that was filtering into the cave behind him, all she could really make out was his silhouette.

  "Mayhap ye could use whatever ye were going to gag me with to wipe the blood from me face instead," she suggested dryly. "'Tis dripping into me eye and stings."

  "'Tis probably water," he muttered, but knelt before her and pulled her into a sitting position, then dug a bit of cloth from somewhere on his person that he began to use to wipe her face. "I can hear it dripping from the ceiling."

  "Mayhap," she allowed. "But it tastes like blood. Some apparently ran into my mouth while I was unconscious from being hit over the head," she added heavily.

  Murine thought he grimaced, though she couldn't be sure in this light or lack thereof. But his voice held reluctant apology as he muttered, "Sorry about that. 'Twas not the plan. I was waiting in the secret passage when ye entered the room. I was just going to sneak up behind ye and drop a sack over you, then bundle you into the passage. But you started to turn, I panicked, and . . ."

  "And you hit me," she finished accusingly, but there wasn't much heat behind her words. Her mind was preoccupied with this secret passage he'd mentioned. Would anyone realize he'd taken her that way? Surely the servants working to clean the great hall had noted her going up to the room and that she hadn't returned. Hopefully they'd say as much if questioned and Greer or Saidh would realize how she'd been smuggled out?

  "I said I was sorry," Montrose snapped and gave up cleaning her face. Straightening, he growled, "Now be quiet or I will gag you."

  He turned to move back to the openi

ng where light was slipping in, filtered by leaves and branches she saw before his body blocked most of that light as he peered out at whatever was out there. Murine remained silent for a moment, but then couldn't resist saying, "Dougall will come for me."

  "Eventually," he agreed, not bothering to look around. Then he shrugged, "But he and the MacDonnell men are all out looking for the boy. Your absence will not be noticed for hours."

  "The boy?" she asked with surprise. "Do ye mean Alpin? Do ye ken where he is?"

  "He is fine," Montrose said impatiently, not looking around. "He is with Connor, awaiting our return."

  Murine stilled. "Cousin Connor?"

  "Aye," Montrose said absently, frowning at something beyond the leaves.

  "So they were right then," Murine said sadly, staring at his dark silhouette as her mind began to race. Montrose and Connor were in cahoots. Had Montrose switched his will for one that left her in his care and then killed her father as well?

  "Who were right?" Montrose asked, glancing around and she could hear the frown and worry in his voice. "And about what?"

  Murine hesitated, but then shrugged and said, "Dougall, Greer and the others. They all think you switched Father's will for a forged one." She paused as Montrose sucked in a hissing breath, and then added, "And then killed him."

  "What?" he squawked with dismay. "I did not kill him."

  "I notice ye're no' denying switching the will though," Murine said dryly.

  "What if I did?" he snapped. "It's not as if anyone was hurt by it. You made out well enough. You married a Buchanan and they're all rich as sin. They were not left with fallow fields and a castle full of mouths to feed when their laird died."

  "So ye thought to improve the situation by gambling away what coin ye had?" she asked dryly, and then added, "And when that did no' work, ye went after my inheritance. What matter if ye had to push me father into his grave a decade or so early," she added bitterly.

  "I told ye, I did no' kill him," Montrose growled, striding across the floor to loom over her. "He was ill. He died of his illness."

  "He was recovering," she countered furiously. "All that remained of his illness were some sniffles and the fact that he still tired easily. He spent the afternoon before I left playing chess with me in the great hall. Do ye think I'd ha'e left otherwise?" she added sharply, and shook her head. "Ye can no' convince me he died of his illness, Monti. I ken better. Besides, I hardly think ye'd have switched the will and then let him live and risk his discovering it."

  Of all her words, the last ones seemed to have the most impact and Murine watched narrow-eyed as his head went back as if she'd punched him. But after a moment, he turned away, stammering, "I-I didn't kill him." Voice gaining strength, he added, "I wouldn't kill anyone. Even him, who I hated for stealing Mother."

  Murine's mouth tightened at his words. She'd heard the claim many a time this last year when Montrose was in his cups. Her father had killed his father and stolen his mother and was to blame for his having to live with his grandfather, a miserable old bastard who had made his and William's life hell.

  She'd tried to tell him that their mother had tried desperately to get their grandfather to release him and William to her, but he wouldn't listen. And, frankly, she was tired of feeling guilty about having her parents while he had been raised by his paternal grandfather. Especially since, while she'd had a wonderful childhood, the last several years had been a hell made up of loss and grief, followed by a year of misery and humiliation at the hands of the man before her. She found it hard to feel sorry for the abuse he'd suffered when he'd turned around and inflicted his own abuse on her this last year in the form of insults and petty cruelties, which had been topped off with his trying to whore her out.

  "Just admit ye killed him and be done with it," she snarled angrily. "Who else would have done it? Connor and ye are the only ones who benefited from his death and Connor was no' there."

  "Aye, he was," Montrose said quickly.

  Murine peered at him with disbelief. "Connor ne'er even set foot in Castle Carmichael until after the reading of the will."

  "Aye, he did," Montrose insisted. "He rode in as one of my soldiers the night your father died."

  When she didn't look convinced, he snapped, "Do you think he would have included me in the matter otherwise? He was the one who came to me. He'd heard about your father being ill and wanted to switch the wills, but needed a way to enter Carmichael without being noticed. He had a beard and mustache then, donned braies and mail, tucked his hair up under a cap and rode in with my men, pretty as you please. No one even gave him a second look. And no one recognized him when he later returned in a tartan, his face clean shaven and his long hair down."

  Murine's eyes widened at this. She almost believed him. But--"Why did he need a way into Carmichael at all if ye were the one who was to switch the wills?"

  "He was supposed to switch them himself originally," Montrose said stiffly. "But I convinced him that 'twould be better did I do it. Were I to get caught in the room, I could claim I just wanted a word with your father. Were he caught, no excuse would suffice."

  "Well ye did no' do that out o' the kindness o' yer heart," Murine said grimly, knowing he'd only take a risk like that if he had something to gain from it.

  "Nay," he admitted stiffly, his nose rising somewhat. "My having the original will was to ensure he paid me fairly for my aid."

  "More fairly than he'd intended and more often," Murine guessed quietly. "Ye've been blackmailing him."

  "I owe a great deal of coin to some very powerful lords," Montrose said rather than deny it. "Besides, he owes me. He inherited everything . . . and all because of me."

  "Everything except Waverly," Murine pointed out coldly.

  "Aye," he acknowledged unhappily. "I made that part of the bargain. The original plan was that he would have your care, but I knew the king was interested in Waverly and hoped he'd forgive a debt I owed him if I signed it over to him instead. I convinced Connor to change the will so that I had your care and charge of your dower."

  "And did yer plan work?" she asked. "Did the king forgive your debt?"

  Montrose grimaced. "Only part of it."

  Murine was silent for a moment, considering what she'd learned, then murmured, "So yer claim is that ye only switched the wills and 'twas Connor who killed father?"

  Montrose frowned and looked torn for a moment, but then shook his head. "Nay. Connor is not a killer. I would not have dealings with a killer. Nay. That would ruin me. Yer father must have relapsed," he decided. "His ailment must have returned and hit him harder the second time. Or mayhap his heart just gave out from the strain."

  "Connor is not a killer?" Murine asked with disbelief. "What do ye call what he did to Alpin's escort?"

  "He did not do anything to the boy's escort," Montrose said with a frown. "He said he grabbed the lad while they were distracted."

  "Then why were they found dead on the roadside?" she asked.

  She saw his hands squeeze into fists, and then he peered briefly out of the opening again before hurrying over to grab her arm and drag her to her feet. "The way is clear. We can go now."

  Once upright, Murine struggled against him, keeping him distracted while she did the only thing she could think to do and quickly tore the lace trim from one sleeve of her borrowed gown. She let it fall to the cave floor as Montrose dragged her toward the opening he'd been standing in front of. Her hope was that they would realize she'd been taken out through the secret passage, and that Dougall would find the lace and know she'd been there. She would leave her entire gown in pieces across the country for him to follow if she had to, and if she could.

  Chapter 16

  "Stop dawdling. We are almost there."

  Murine grimaced at that news and dropped the bit of cloth she'd managed to tear from her sleeve. "That eager to see me dead, brother?"

  "I told you, Connor is not a killer," Montrose growled, jerking her several feet forward.