…
“I didn’t have dinner. Let’s go down to the parlor and you can tell me everything.”
Hamish clasped a cold, clammy hand on Alan’s shoulder. He fought the urge to grab the man’s arm, twist it behind his back, and demand to see Kirstie.
When he had entered the room, the first thing he had noticed was she wasn’t there. The second was there were too many men in the room to attack.
“Aye, I’m famished.” It was the first truth he’d told Hamish since he’d walked into the room.
Hamish motioned to the door, and Alan started toward it, aware he was exposing his back, but if he didn’t, it would show he had something to hide and didn’t trust the bastard. So, he led them down the stairs, praying they believed his story. Only after they were seated and mugs of ale had been brought to the table did he dare speak again. “What will ye do now that the mission was a success?”
“Kirstie is here. She has agreed to marry me at a kirk in the morning.” The confident smile that turned up the corner of Hamish’s lips looked real. Gripping his plaid in one hand while he attempted to keep a calm facade, he barely held it together.
Was the boy wrong? If she thought her brothers and he dead, would she have agreed? A serving lass came in and started placing items on the table in front of him, but he didn’t pay her any heed. He reached for the mug and took a long gulp, not even noticing what it was until the retched taste of fermented grains filled his mouth and slid down his throat.
He must have been silent for too long, because something sparked in Hamish’s eyes, and he continued, “She was in quite the hurry to leave Edinburgh and start a new life.”
She loved and trusted him, and he’d not managed to keep her safe.
What had happened to Dougal? Now, she was held captive by a madman. His heart pounded a rhythm of fear and despair that was so loud his ears throbbed. He would even consider drinking whiskey if it were placed in front of him.
“Did she no’ want her mother to attend the service?”
He’d been so focused on the threat to Lachlan and Malcolm that the thought of losing her had never occurred to him. A pain in his chest threatened to suffocate him, so he picked up the ale to take another swallow to wash it away. After the vile liquid ran down his throat, he set the cup back on the table.
“No. She said she couldn’t wait until we got back to the Cameron lands.”
“Did Kirstie not want to come down for a meal after your journey?” Not wanting to seem overanxious, he leaned back in his seat and let his shoulders relax. He’d looked all about the room upstairs, and there was no indication she’d been there.
“She had a bit of a headache, so I had food sent to her room just before ye arrived.”
“How did ye convince her to wed at a kirk? Surely, she would have insisted on a priest.” He spooned a helping of vegetable stew into his mouth and pretended it was delicious, but in actuality, he didn’t even taste it.
“She has decided to convert and take communion before we wed. Will you join us at the ceremony?”
Alan’s spoon paused midair in its descent back to the bowl, a momentary clue he’d picked up, on what Hamish had unknowingly told him. Taking his cup, he raised it in salute, “Aye,” he said before pretending to take swig. Hamish was lying. Kirstie had not agreed to marry him, because she would never convert. “What will ye tell her of her brothers?”
“I will wait to tell her until we reach Kentillie. Why bring that sorrow to her on a happy day?”
Alan’s mind was racing. Where was she? Hamish must have the rest of his men guarding her.
Standing at the edge of the room was the sturdily built young innkeeper he’d met upon his arrival who watched possessively as the comely serving lass carried in a tray of meats and cheeses then returned with a pitcher to refill their ale. Carefully analyzing the place before entering and having seen no one else about, he came to the assumption that the lass must be the owner’s wife.
“Let us pray and thank the Lord for defeating our enemies today.” Hamish bowed his head. Alan lowered his but knew better than to take his eyes off the traitorous bastard across from him.
After finishing his prayer, Hamish’s eyes gave no hint that anything was amiss, but his tongue darted back and forth over his top teeth as he reached to fill his plate. “How did you know where to find me?”
“The boy, Neville, pointed me in the direction.” He didn’t add that he’d easily won the boy over and sent him to retrieve Lachlan and the rest of the Cameron men.
“He was only to tell Niall.”
“With his last breath, Niall told me to get to ye so ye would ken the outcome.”
Hamish took a gulp of his ale.
He didn’t touch his cup this time, instead leaning back to give the bastard the false impression that he was at ease with the slimy arse.
“Where did the rest of our men go?”
“They scattered.”
“Why?”
“I dinnae ken their reasons. They werenae loyal to me and didnae tell me.” He shrugged.
“Did ye no’ trust me?”
Hamish chewed slowly, and Alan took another bite while he waited for a reply. Fighting had always made him hungry, and he’d skipped the noon meal. “I had to be certain. You did live with the Camerons for years.”
The lump in his throat made it hard to reply, so he took a big gulp of the vile ale to wash down whatever was preventing his reply. “We had no choice. My father was exiled.”
“Which made it difficult to believe you would still feel any loyalties to the Mackenzies.”
Alan cursed inside. His tongue had become a little too loose.
Hamish was dangerous, more so than the other Covenanters had been. The man also still had several men with him, two of whom sat just a table away with intent gazes. It was obvious they had been trained to watch everything that went on around them, although they didn’t know how to hide what they were doing. He was uncertain how many were still above stairs guarding Kirstie.
“My uncle and grandfather hold me no ill will,” he lied smoothly.
“I am glad to hear that. It will be good to have allies to the north and the Campbells to the south.”
“Ye will go to Kentillie, then?”
“Yes, I will accompany my bride, and when news comes of her brother’s misfortunes, I will soothe the clan.”
Alan nodded and popped another piece of meat in his mouth. The innkeeper rushed around the table clearing plates, but he paid the man no heed.
“Will you join me? You would be a great asset since you know the people.”
“Aye, I shall return to Kentillie.”
Stretching, Hamish said, “You will have to forgive me. I must retire for the evening. I wish to be well rested for the wedding and the journey to the Cameron lands.” The conniving bastard spoke with the confidence of a man believing to already own those lands.
“Aye.”
“Meet me down here at dawn, and you can accompany us to the kirk.” Hamish stood. The minions rose and followed the Covenanter.
Alan stared at the doorway that led to the only staircase and listened intently as the stairs groaned beneath their steps, but they said nothing as they made their way up.
When he finally stood, the room swayed, and he had to throw his arms out to catch himself. The whole place was fuzzy and his emotions had dulled. He blinked. What was wrong with him?
The ale. What had he been thinking? He hadn’t. Thoughts of Kirstie with that bastard had been spinning in his head for the last hour as he had sat and drank with the enemy.
He looked down at his calloused hands. He was going to kill the bastard right now. Hamish wouldn’t have a chance to put those soft, manicured hands on her curves. She was his. He stalked toward the stairs with murderous intent and stopped suddenly.
W
as this what his father felt?
He wanted to beat Hamish until there was nothing left of him. Gulping, he walked back to the table and eased into the chair he’d vacated.
He had been able to stop the rage and sit to clearly think things out. He’d had no desire to take his anger out on Kirstie, only to get her to safety. It was a relief, because doubts had lingered even after their discussion. Now he knew for sure he could handle himself when he’d had too much to drink.
The innkeeper’s wife scurried in and started to clear the remainder of the table.
“Do ye have any fresh water?” he asked her.
“Aye.” She scooped up the dishes, and for the first time, he noticed the rounding of her belly. He’d been so focused on Hamish and the other men that he’d missed it.
“I need lots of water and a room. Do ye still have one?”
“Nae. Yer friend and his men have all three. We have a clean stall with fresh blankets in the stable if ye want.” She waddled through the door to the kitchens.
Upon first arriving, he’d gone up the stairs and found doors signed with the numbers one, two, and three, and one labeled private. He’d only known to rap on door number two because he’d heard Hamish’s voice coming from within.
The woman returned and set a cup on the table in front of him.
“Can ye tell me, lass, how many of my friends are here?”
“Five more came in with the man ye supped with.”
Och, so the odds weren’t good unless he could separate them. “And was there a woman?”
“Nae. No’ that I saw.”
“Did my friend have food sent up tonight?”
“Nae, they all came down at different times. Not a friendly lot except for ye.”
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. Was Kirstie even here?
Chapter Fourteen
Kirstie determined the sparsely furnished room was similar to the one she’d just been in. Rain battered the windows, and it was dark out, the only light in the room coming from two flickering candles placed on tables at opposite sides of the bed.
She sat in a chair next to a desk that was directly opposite the door to the other room. It was the door she’d been ushered through when Alan had arrived, what she guessed must have been an hour ago. One other door was to her left; it must lead to the hall.
She’d cried until her eyes were dry and she’d almost hyperventilated and lost consciousness with the cloth stuffed in her mouth when she decided it was enough wallowing. She could do that when others weren’t depending on her.
Even with her arms tied just below her elbows, if she could get a few minutes unobserved, she would be able to pull up her skirts to get to the dirk, but two of Hamish’s men had stayed with her.
Scanning the room for something she could use as a weapon if she couldn’t get to her knife, her gaze caught on the dry, itchy sack she’d been wrapped in on their journey draped over the only other chair in the room. Candlelight flickered from the nearby table as the height of the chair cast shadows dancing ominously on the wall. Determining there was nothing that could help, she turned toward the adjoining door and bided her time, hoping her guards would leave.
As she sat waiting to make a move, her thoughts returned to Alan’s words. Pain so fierce it threatened to collapse her chest assailed her with its force.
Her brothers were dead. Had Alan truly had something to do with it? She couldn’t fathom it, but he was here and her brothers weren’t. If they’d survived, they would have come for her together.
She’d failed them, but she wouldn’t fail her nephew or her people. Vowing to do whatever necessary to keep the Covenanters from taking the Cameron clan, she struggled to come up with a plan.
Somehow, she’d have to get a message back to Kentillie in case she didn’t make it. They had to know what had happened and to keep little William safe.
Voices came from the adjoining room. “When he returns in the morning, kill him. He was asking too many questions. Make certain the innkeepers don’t see it. There can be no evidence that I had anything to do with it.”
Flinching at the sudden creak, the door swung in, and her blood turned to ice as Hamish strode toward her. Trying to back away, she’d forgotten she was still in the chair, but he was on her before she could move. His cold, clammy hands clasped her upper arms and dragged her to her feet. Surprising her, he drew her in for a hug then pulled back.
“Your brothers were murdered today.”
She wanted to scream, to hit him, to stab him with the knife she couldn’t yet get to. Tears flowed anew, and she couldn’t stop them. Och, she didn’t want him to see her vulnerable. His fingers fumbled behind her head, and the gag loosened.
As he pulled the fabric away, he released her from his arms.
Trying to swallow now that the cloth was removed, she discovered it difficult. “May I have a drink, please?” she managed between sobs. Just uttering the words hurt, because her mouth and tongue were dry and thick, and she didn’t want to ask this man for anything.
Hamish nodded to the burly man with thinning hair who had stood by the door and eyed her as if she were vermin to be trampled on. The redhead guarding the other door had at least looked at her with some sympathy. Overhearing a conversation between the two earlier, she’d discovered his name was Balloch, and she felt sure if she were left alone with him, she could talk her way free.
The mistrustful guard came back with a small goblet but didn’t hand it to her. He passed it to Hamish as if she could only have it once he’d given permission. The arse pinned her with his emotionless eyes before holding it out to her.
She held up her arms. “Can ye no’ release me?”
“I believe you are capable of quenching your thirst with the ropes as they are tied. I am afraid you have not yet been brought to heel and may do something irresponsible. I don’t want to have to be in a position to punish you again.” A shiver ran down her spine at the reminder of his earlier blow.
At her nodding acquiescence, his lips curved up, and he handed her the cup. She wrapped both hands around it and brought it to her parched lips to drink greedily. She’d not had a drink all day, and now she was afraid at any moment, he might take this one away, but he looked pleased at her desperation.
“Your friend Alan is the one who drove his sword through Lachlan’s gut.” Her belly contracted at the pain of realizing Alan had been the one to kill her brother. She wouldn’t believe it, except Hamish was too arrogant to lie to her and she’d heard it from Alan’s own lips. “It doesn’t matter, anyway. He’ll be dead in the morning. I can’t trust a man who would turn on his people as easily as he did. Besides, he knows the truth of my involvement, and if he ever spoke a word to the rest of the Camerons, it would ruin everything.”
Shaking her head, she fought back the bile rising in her throat and avoided his gaze.
“I will save the Camerons.” He closed the distance between them and put his hand gently on her cheek. She flinched away, and his hazel eyes darkened to a sinister brown. “I will save you.”
“I told ye before. I am Catholic and willnae convert. There is nothing ye can do to change my mind.”
His hand left her face, and relief had barely registered before his fist collided with her ribs. She doubled over and inhaled sharply as the cup she’d been holding slipped from her grasp and clattered onto the wooden floor. Her eyes watered and her vision blurred, but she inhaled and fought the pain to straighten and meet his gaze. She would never let this man control her.
“Ye bastard.” She wanted to retaliate, but her only option was with words, and she was done shrinking into the corner. She had to let him know he would never control her.
“That is no way to talk to your betrothed. You will need to learn humility. I expected better from you.”
His cold gaze locked with hers, and she fought back the panic t
hat now assailed her at the emptiness she saw there. What she had once taken for calm peacefulness she now recognized as the sign of an emotionless animal that got pleasure from toying with its prey.
Taking in a couple of deep breaths, she forced her legs to move. She straightened her spine, tilting her chin in the air.
“Ye will never…”
She doubled over as the solid fist connected with her rib this time. Her eyes watered, and she fought to keep her balance. She wasn’t going to give, and the look in his soulless eyes told her he could do this all night. She might be dead by morning, but at least her clan would be safe.
…
After getting as much information from the pregnant lass as he could about the upstairs layouts and the men who occupied the rooms, Alan sat at the table drinking sweet cider and studying the main floor and noticed an unlocked window that would give him easy re-entry when he made his move. It had probably only been a few moments, but it felt as if an hour had passed since Hamish had ascended the stairs, a lifetime as each second ticked by, and his concern grew.
Knowing he should analyze the threat carefully, he went outside to circle the tavern in the almost pitch darkness. He ignored the slushy, muddy mess left from horses and the frequent visitors to the inn as he focused on the rooms above stairs. Lightning flashed, and the momentary fear he’d be spotted vanished as quickly as the light. An ominous boom followed that caused a shiver to run down his spine. The pouring rain and time had dulled the unwanted effects of the ale, and all his senses were sharp and on alert.
He had to get to Kirstie tonight while they weren’t expecting an attack and before serious harm could come to her. Hell, she could already be hurt. Holding out hope Lachlan and Malcolm might yet reach them, he’d continued to debate what his next step should be, but as his panic over Kirstie’s whereabouts grew, he could no longer give them more time.
The owners of the inn had retired. Shortly after they’d gone up, the light from the candle in their room extinguished. Only two other rooms showed signs that anyone stirred—the one he’d been in previously and the one connected to it. Shadows caught his attention in the room adjoining Hamish’s. The candle was far enough back in the room that it afforded a glimpse of the people.
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