"Forbes never left and came back?"
"No sir, he was complainin' 'bout how you bested him in the tournament. He was too drunk to ride back out. I know 'cause my girl was sick that night, and I waited on 'em myself."
Liam's brow furrowed thoughtfully. If Bryce was innocent, why did he run? All possible answers to his question disturbed him. Had he left Devon with the murderer while he went off after Bryce?
"Thank you for your help."
Liam went up the stairs with two of his men while the others waited in the bar. If the hallway was any indication, the inn was a quality establishment. Reaching the appointed door, he rapped. He thought he heard a sound inside the room and quickly inserted the key throwing open the portal.
The curtains blew in the breeze of the open window. The room was empty. Liam ran to the window in time to see the dark figure of a man disappearing into the alley between the buildings on the north side of the inn. His other men were around back, unable to see this window. The snow had finally begun and the fleeing man left footprints in the swirling white of the freshly covered ground. Tossing the keys to one of his men, Liam stuck one leg out the window.
"Give those back to the innkeeper, then get the rest of the men and follow. I'm going out this way." Without hesitation, Liam climbed out onto the roof and jumped down into the alley, running off in the direction of the tracks in the snow.
He had to hurry or the fast falling flakes would obscure Bryce's whereabouts. Liam followed the footprints to a stable near the edge of town. Easing the door open, he stepped inside pausing to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He listened intently, but the only sounds were the creaks and groans of the old structure as the wind outside whipped around the building.
Finally able to make out dark shapes, Liam moved forward along the line of box stalls. He was half way down when he felt a light dusting of straw from the loft above him. He stopped in his tracks. He could hear the faint creak of someone moving overhead.
A clatter from outside drowned out the noise as his men rushed into the stable.
"Laird," Garyth called, waving a lantern in the doorway.
"Come in out of the weather. I'm afraid we've lost him," Liam said, motioning toward the loft.
Garyth nodded and the men spread out to assure their prisoner wouldn't escape. There were two ladders to the second floor. Liam and Garyth each took one, springing up at the same time to corner Bryce Forbes. Liam grabbed the cloaked figure huddled in the loft and tore away the material the man held over his face.
"What the hell?" Liam muttered in astonishment. "Who are you?”
The man wore Bryce's clothes, but he wasn't Bryce. Garyth seemed more shocked than Liam did. "Durwin, what have you done?" he cried.
"You know this man?"
"Aye. He is a Durwin, a longtime warrior for Laird Dunsmore."
Liam shook the man as if he were a rag doll. "Who put you up to this? Where is Bryce Forbes while you're here pretending to him?" He threw Durwin to the floor and drew his sword. "Tell me, or I swear you'll draw your last breath!"
"The Duchess of Rothbury."
"Claire!" Liam exclaimed. "Why?"
"I don't know, Milord. She said you were convicting the wrong man, thought you would kill Bryce with no trial because of Lady Devon. She said Lady Devon killed Frazer and Fenella—that Devon tried to kill you, but you were too blinded by love to see the truth."
"What was the purpose of this charade?" Liam demanded.
"To give Bryce the opportunity to get away, it was only until he could get a proper trial. Lady Claire said it was the way to see justice done."
"Dear God, what are they up to?"
"How could you be stupid?" Garyth railed at his friend. "Had I not warned you about the duchess?"
"I thought your judgment impaired by your own love for Devon. I was there the night of the fire…. I remember the things she said when you pulled her from the burning building. Can't you see she's fooled both of you?"
"Silence," Liam roared.
"Laird, please listen to me," Durwin begged.
Liam leaned down and jerked Durwin's trembling form up off the floor. "I said silence!" He threw Durwin at Garyth. "Bring him," he ordered.
Garyth dragged Durwin to the edge of the loft and threw him down to the men below. The whole procession followed as Liam stalked out into the blinding snow and headed back to the inn.
The patrons of The Quiet Woman stared agog when Liam burst through the door with his men. The prisoner squirmed uncomfortably in the meaty hands of two of the guardsmen. The innkeeper looked back and forth between Liam and his prisoner.
"Is this the man you know as Bryce Forbes?
"No Milord."
"You lied to me. This man was in the room. Are you sure this is not the man who was here the night of Fenella's murder?"
"Milord, when this man came last night, he had his plaid wrapped over his face. He identified himself as Mister Forbes. He's about the same size. I had no reason to doubt him, but the man who was here on the night in question, was Bryce Forbes. I swear it!"
"Bloody hell," Liam muttered.
One look outside told Liam it would be pointless to try to venture back to Dunsmore Heath. The air was white with falling snow. You couldn't see more than a few feet in front of you.
"We ride as soon as this damn snow lets up," Liam told his men. He sank to a chair in the corner and prayed for Devon's safety.
***
Strands of auburn hair filled the air in a cloud around her head as the wind whipped it free. Devon was oblivious, her mind trapped in another time and place. All she could see was blood—the blood of her husband—the blood of Lord Wycliff when he died in her arms. When the snow began, it seemed red to her, red with the blood of assaulted innocents. Her body was cold, quivering, but she couldn't feel it. She was numb. She prayed for the lack of feeling to continue so the awful pain wouldn't surface and kill her with its ferocity.
Bryce stopped and pulled her horse up beside his. He tried to push her thick, wet hair back under her plaid. She made no move to help him, or acknowledge he existed.
"Devon!" he screamed above the rising wind. To her, his mouth was a soundless circle.
In the blinding whiteness ahead, a cottage came into view. Bryce reached out and touched her hand. Devon ignored his fingers on her hand. She felt like an ice figurine, fragile and easily broken. She refused to acknowledge his presence. If she did, she might shatter into a thousand pieces. With a frustrated cry, Bryce jerked her horse after his and led her into a small lean-to in the back of the house.
She could see his cold eyes staring at her. He lifted her off the horse and carried her into the cottage, setting her down inside. When he released her, she fell to the floor.
Slamming the door closed and securing it, he moved over and dragged her across the floor to a straw ticking in the corner. He leaned over and worked for some time over the hearth, finally bringing to life a small flicker of fire. She saw him warming his hands. He turned, his full attention focused on her. Standing, he came toward her, an evil smile curling his lips.
"So, you're awake," she heard him say. Devon pressed her eyes closed and prayed for deliverance.
***
Devon stirred when the morning light broke through the dirty panes of glass. Whatever heat had warmed the room was fading fast. The man lying beside her was snoring. Opening her eyes slowly, she looked around. Where was she? Who was with her? Her mind was a blur. The figure beside her turned over bringing his countenance into view. She bit her lip to keep from screaming.
It all came back to her now—Lord Wycliff dying in her arms, Bryce's weight pinning her to the ground as he threatened to rape her on the spot—the snow. Quietly rolling away from Bryce, she scrambled to her feet and peeked out the grimy window. He found them shelter from the storm in this cabin.
Last night—what of last night? Her clothes were intact. All she could remember was Bryce coming toward her—but they both lay fully clothe
d. God willing, he hadn't touched her. Certainly, that would have brought her out of her stupor.
Her eyes searched the room for some weapon to use against him when he woke. A large, iron pot rested near the hearth. Picking it up, she looked back at Bryce. If she hit him over the head with it while he still slept, she could make her escape.
With mincing steps, she approached him, her heart thundering in her chest. What if she hit him too hard and killed him? The thought gave her pause. She had enough difficulty living with what she'd done to Frazer. Was she now reduced to killing men in their sleep, and if she didn’t what then? Be taken and forced to bend to his base desires until Liam could rescue her.
Her hands shook when she raised the pot over her head. She couldn't do it. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to control her trembling arms.
Bryce's eyes flickered open with a coarse curse. He rolled toward her, knocking into her and sending the pot crashing to the floor near his head.
"Murderess bitch!" he growled, getting to his feet and striking her hard across the face.
Devon let out an anguished sob as she fell into the corner. He was on her, all over her with his roaming hands when she tried to struggle away from him. She screamed, loud and long until his steel fist hit her jaw to silence her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Liam burst into the entry hall of Dunsmore Heath shaking off the snow covering him. His father-in-law sat propped in a chair by the fire, one leg stretched out straight in a splint-like arrangement.
"Thank God!" Malcolm cried, seeing Liam.
"Where's Devon?"
"I've failed you, Liam."
"We have no time for placing blame. What happened?"
"She went out riding. She wanted to get a last glimpse of you heading for Glenfinnan. I tried to discourage her, but Lord Wycliff agreed to accompany her. I saw no harm." The old laird began to cry.
Liam moved over to the chair and grasped Malcolm's arm. "Help her now by giving me the whole story."
"They were gone too long. When I took my men and went to look for them, we found Wycliff's body. Devon was gone and there were signs of a struggle. We searched for hours, but the growing darkness and the storm made it impossible to continue. On the way back I did this." He pointed to his leg.
"Any idea what direction they went?"
"The tracks disappeared into the river. I had men go up and down both banks to try to pick them up, but the ground was so rocky. They could have gone off in any direction." Malcolm paused. "How did you get back in this blizzard?"
"The snow let up hours ago in Glenfinnan. Our discoveries made me uneasy about Devon's safety, so I left my men there to investigate further and rode back alone."
"What discoveries?"
"Bryce couldn't have killed Fenella. He was in Glenfinnan that night, all night."
"Did you catch him?"
"No. It seems the duchess sent a decoy to draw us away from his true path. Archie told me Claire left. I must find her. She holds the key to Devon's whereabouts."
"The Duchess of Rothbury plots with Bryce to kidnap my daughter, why?"
"I believe she's convinced Devon killed Frazer, and now thinks my life is in danger."
Malcolm turned away from Liam's direct gaze and stared into the fire. "Did she, Malcolm? Did she kill Bryce? I know she thinks she did, but there's more to the story than anyone will say."
"She told you?" Malcolm asked incredulously.
"Aye."
"And you don't believe her?"
"Devon doesn't have the heart of a murderess. The man abused her for years. If she did kill him, I'm sure it was in self defense. Besides, she has only enough snatches of memory to make her believe she did the deed. I think she assumes she did it. She knows how much she hated him. He made her lose the baby."
An anguished cry tore from Malcolm's throat. "It was my fault. If I hadn't made the bastard sign that agreement before the wedding, he never would have killed the child. Had the babe lived, he would have inherited everything instead of Frazer." Malcolm's eyes filled up again. "She told me she fell down the steps," he sobbed.
"There was no way for you to know the depth of his evil," Liam consoled. "We must put this all aside for now and save Devon. As I see it, Bryce's options are limited. He wouldn't be foolish enough to head for the Isle of Mull. It's been a MacLean clan stronghold for years. Garyth and the rest of my men are in Glenfinnan, a fact Bryce knows from his partnership with Claire. That leaves Corran Ferry, or the Gailbraith holding, and I can check the ferry on the way north."
"Liam, look outside. If you leave now, you'll perish in your effort. We must prepare so we're ready as soon as the storm breaks."
Liam's jaw tensed. "I made it here. Malcolm, I canna leave her in his hands a moment longer. I have to find her." He turned his back to his father-in-law and warmed himself by the fire. "If I lose her, I'll never forgive myself."
"You love her."
"With all my heart and I'll not lose another woman to an evil man. I'll find Devon, and I'll heal her, no matter what he's done to her."
Malcolm cleared his throat with difficulty. "If you freeze in the storm, it won't help her. Rest awhile and see if it stops."
"If the weather to the North follows that of Glenfinnan, it may already have stopped there. I have to go after her now, before he kills her."
Biting his lip to keep his own emotions in check, Liam stared at the wall behind Malcolm's chair. He was unable to watch his father-in-law's pain. If he was going to help her, he had to shove his fears for her safety aside.
"Take some men with you."
"No, I'll not ask anyone else to risk their life in this storm. I'll rely on you to send them after me when the weather breaks."
Something was wrong with the tapestry in the corner. Why was it nagging at Liam when matters of such great import were at hand? Then he saw the raven curls sticking out from behind the tapestry. In three strides, Liam reached Elspeth, jerking her roughly out from under the wall hanging and pulling her up in front of Malcolm.
"Why are you sneaking about listening in on private conversations?" Liam demanded.
Elspeth began to cry. She tried to squirm away from his vice-like grip, but it was no use.
"Answer me, damn you!" Liam shook her. "How much of this are you involved in?"
"Liam, you're hurting the girl. She knows nothing. She's just a servant, and a poorly used one at that."
Whipping Elspeth around, Liam grabbed both her shoulders "Tell Malcolm how innocent you are!" he ordered.
"Milord, I…" the girl blubbered.
"The truth! Bryce sent you to try and put me asunder before the tournament. What else did you do for him?"
"What?" Malcolm gasped. "Elspeth, is this true?"
"Aye Milord," she murmured, staring at her feet.
Liam took hold of her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. "Where did he take Devon?"
"I don't know! It was the duchess who helped 'im. I did not let 'im out."
"Claire let him out of the dungeon, but how?"
"She got Durwin to show 'er the way, then bribed 'im fer the key."
"Durwin!" Malcolm exclaimed. "Why?"
"Claire convinced him of Devon's guilt in Frazer's murder," Liam supplied. "Durwin was the decoy Claire sent to Glenfinnan."
Malcolm shook his head in disbelief. "The duchess knows where he went," Elspeth said. "She an' 'him, they did it all."
Liam let go of her and folded his arms across his chest. "Not quite all, I think."
Elspeth looked at Malcolm to avoid Liam's searching eyes. "I haven't done nothin'," she insisted.
"We'll address that later," Liam said. "For now I must ride."
Liam hurried from the hall and got together all the necessary provisions, taking along some clothes for Devon as well as sufficient food for two. He would find her. He couldn't let himself believe anything else. Mounting up, he headed out into the storm with a well-outfitted pack horse trailing behind him.
***
The plaid-draped bundle slumped over the horse behind Bryce never stirred when he entered the courtyard of the old Gailbraith place. Liam had not been overly generous in granting it to him, not in his opinion. Although the place held promise, it was much in need of repairs to make it comfortable, and repairs were very costly. This was a temporary residence for him until he got all rights to Dunsmore Heath.
A small trail of smoke puffed out of the chimney of the main part of the structure. Nigel must have begun working on the place. Bryce looked around. The wall surrounding the manse blocked some of the raw wind that had buffeted them all morning, but it lacked any real potential in making his new abode a fortress. In one spot, the wall had fallen to ruin granting a vista of the sheer drop to Loch Linnhe far below.
Bryce's attention turned to his cherished bundle. She might be dead already. What a disappointment that would be. He counted on taking his time playing out the years of lustful dreams which had tormented him since the day he first laid eyes upon her. How ironic, just when his brother was ready to share Devon with him… but that was over a year ago, and now he had other concerns. Claire's help with the decoy wouldn't buy him much time. Liam MacLean was coming and soon.
Riding into the cover of the rickety stable adjoining the main building, he dismounted and tied his horse. Walking back to Devon, he lifted back the covering from her pale, bruised face. Her skin felt cold as death, but he could still feel a faint pulse in her neck. He untied her and slid her off the horse, placing her on a mound of straw by the door while he secured the horses.
Temporarily sheltered from the wind, Devon slowly became aware her ice-cold limbs were no longer bound to the plodding horse. She tried to force her eyes open, but they seemed frozen shut. A pulsating pain radiated through her jaw. With a low moan, she tried to burrow deeper into the insulating warmth of the straw.
"I see you're not dead yet," came Bryce's cruel voice.
"Bastard," she whispered. No sound escaped her, and the formation of the word hurt her swollen lip. She could hear him laughing.
Connie C. Scharon - Highland Legends 02 Page 23