Brianna slowly shook her head. “Nae. I dinnae think he will ask Jamie to come with us.”
She chewed her lip pensively as she reached for her wedding gown, feeling the weight of responsibility increase instead of lessen as the wedding hour drew near.
* * *
The murmuring sounds of the guests faded as one by one they noticed Brianna on the stairs. She clasped her hands tightly, striving to appear composed, chin up, tension singing through her body. Speculation ran rampant as the day passed and the groom failed to show. The hour was now late and she knew her guests were hungry. Delinquent groom or not, they deserved to be fed.
At her sign, Cook nodded to her assistants, who jumped into action, scurrying to and from the kitchen, laden with platters of food and flagons of wine. Brianna picked up her skirt in one hand and turned. Instead of joining her guests, she returned to her room.
The next morning, she greeted the lingering guests as though they’d merely stopped by for a brief stay, her smile strained. She waited until after the noon meal before she warmly thanked her guests for their visit. Meeting Gavin in the hallway, she brushed aside his look of concern.
She held out her fist, palm down, and let the sapphire pendant fall into his outstretched hand. Her eyes bored into his.
“Sell it.”
Changing into breeches and a shirt, she fled to the stables and quickly saddled Maude. Releasing Tam from the stall where he’d been kept during the anticipated festivities, she mounted and turned the mare loose to run.
Wind whipped her face and she cursed herself for how much her heart ached, how much Conn’s letters now hurt.
I should have known not to trust him. I did know. But I believed his pretty words. His lies.
His lies—his lies—his lies. The words echoed in the tattoo beat of Maude’s hooves.
I willnae trust him again. And he will never be welcome at Wyndham—never.
Much later, as she returned, she tugged on the reins, halting just beyond the manicured yard around the hall. The sky blazed with shades of vermillion as the sun set. Surely the guests are long gone.
She rubbed a palm over her belly and inhaled deeply. What was she to do now?
Chapter 22
The sun was riding high the next time Conn woke. He tried to sit up, groaning aloud at the effort. Instantly, the bedroom door opened and Gillis stuck his head inside.
“Are ye better, Laird?”
Conn slowly slid to a sitting position, though the effort left him dizzy. “Aye. Give me a moment.” Waiting for the pounding in his head to subside, he motioned Gillis closer. The lad hesitantly crossed the room and stood several feet from the bed.
“Ye expect me to bite?” Conn asked when Gillis stopped short, surprised at how thin his voice sounded. Gillis took another cautious step toward the bed. “Tell me what happened.”
Gillis shifted his feet and glanced around the room. The silence lengthened and a tuneless whistle dribbled from the lad’s lips. Impatient, Conn swept the covers from his lap and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Gillis rushed to his side as his legs buckled beneath him. Catching Conn with his shoulder as he tumbled forward, he guided him back onto the bed.
“What the hell is going on?” Conn demanded. His head pounded again, and he was angry. Very angry. The door opened, and Seumas entered the chamber.
“Here, now, Laird. Ye arenae strong enough to get out of bed yet.”
“Why not?” Conn ground out through clenched teeth.
Seumas gave him a bland look. “Ye have been sick.”
“Why have I been sick?” Conn grunted, his effort to speak making his head pound harder.
“I believe ’twas something ye ate.”
“Was anyone else taken ill?”
Gillis and Seumas exchanged looks. Conn glared at the pair through narrowed eyes. “Well?”
Finally Seumas laid a gnarled hand on Conn’s shoulder. “Bray has been verra ill.”
Conn lurched forward. “How ill?”
“He will recover, but it will take time.”
“What happened?”
“Rest a wee bit. We will talk again when ye are stronger.”
Conn’s hand shot out, grasping the other man’s wrist. Seumas winced as the grip tightened and finally nodded. “I will tell ye,” he said. “But ye must promise to stay abed. Ye cannae do more for him than has already been done, and I willnae watch all my good work here go to waste.”
He gave Conn a glower meant to keep him in place. Conn returned it with an even stare of his own, dangerously close to losing his temper.
Seumas grunted. “The night of the dinner, the three of ye were taken ill. Young Gillis was still downstairs when his spell struck. I was there and thought the lad had too much to drink. I had a potion made up to ease his stomach, then sent him to bed. On his way, he heard a ruckus in the stairway and saw Bray fighting a man there.
“He said Bray appeared to be weakened and stumbled on the stair, though he’d drawn his sword and was holding the man at bay. Gillis shouted and the stranger turned. Bray’s sword sliced the man’s arm. He immediately returned to the attack on Bray, and that is when Gillis jumped into the fight.”
Conn glanced at Gillis with a sincere look of gratitude. The lad shuffled his feet, dropping his gaze to the floor.
“The man fought only a moment longer, then ran away. Bray suffered a deep wound to his shoulder and the bleeding took a long time to staunch. He has been ill as ye have been, but he also lost a lot of blood and is unable to do much more than lift his head.”
“Who did this?” Conn’s voice was silky smooth, dangerous. Seumas blanched.
“After the man ran off, Gillis dragged Bray to his room. He did what he could, then came and got me.”
“Who?” Conn demanded.
“I believe ’twas Malcolm. Gillis told me the man was short and stout and left-handed. I dinnae think I am wrong.”
Conn closed his eyes, thinking furiously. No matter how long it takes, I willnae let Malcolm get away again. He was no longer content to run Malcolm out of Morven. This time it would be death for one of them.
“How long have I been abed?”
“Two days.”
Conn swore under his breath. His wedding should have been yesterday. There was no help for it now. He would bring Malcolm to justice and forestall further misdeeds before he brought Brianna to Corfin Castle. He would not subject her to his cousin’s treachery.
I will send someone to let her know what has happened. He glanced at Seumas’s worried face. What does he not tell me? “Bring me some food.”
Seumas patted Conn’s shoulder. “Aye. Ye need feeding now ye are better. I will have Cook send something up.”
Conn swung his legs over the side of the bed, testing his resolve. He found he could bear the dizziness, but the overwhelming weakness caused sweat to pop on his forehead. He gritted his teeth and grabbed Gillis’s shoulder as he stumbled.
“Send the tray to Bray’s room.”
* * *
Walking on shaking legs and sheer stubbornness, Conn made it down the hallway. When the food arrived, he forced himself to eat, encouraging Bray to take what sustenance he could. The next morning, Conn felt much better, and he filled the ensuing hours with short bursts of exercise, rebuilding his strength. Bray struggled to join in, and two days later they formulated a plan to capture Malcolm.
By the end of the week, twenty hand-picked MacLaurey soldiers were packed and ready to leave.
“Keep an eye on things here.” Conn placed a firm hand on Seumas’s shoulder. The older man frowned, his unwillingness to be left behind clear.
“Aye. I will watch over the place for ye.” His chin jutted forward, his brows knitted together ferociously. “Ye tell Malcolm a few things for me when ye catch him.”
“I will,” Conn assured him. He addressed the other men. “We will head north. I received word from scouts yesterday that Malcolm was seen crossing the river just two nights ago. We star
t our search there.”
* * *
“There are too many places he could be hiding.” Bray stared at the rugged land around them. From atop the mountain they saw little but unbroken wilderness. Conn stood, hands on his hips as he contemplated their options. They had ridden hard to the river and northward into the mountains deep in the Highland ranges. Word had spread of their hunt, and while no one denied their trespass across clan lands, no one could say for sure where Malcolm hid.
“We are ever a sighting or two behind Malcolm and his men,” Conn murmured, a bitter tone to his voice
“There were many eager to help us a week ago, but information has dried to a mere trickle the past few days,” Bray replied. “The men grow weary and frustrated.”
Conn glanced at Bray, noting his pained slouch in his saddle that bespoke his wound not completely healed. His heart lurched with guilt. “If we receive no further word by morning, we will return to Morven. I willnae give up the search, but we cannae continue chasing him blindly through the mountains.”
Conn strode from the summit to where his soldiers took their ease after long, hard hours in the saddle, struck at how worn down they appeared.
“We will set camp here for the night. I have decided we will return to Morven on the morrow if there are no further sightings of Malcolm. We have traveled well and tried hard to bring the man to justice, but this may take longer than we expected. When we return home, I will send men to seek out word of him. We will not let it lie.”
The men nodded agreement. They seemed loath to return to Morven without capturing Malcolm, but Conn knew they needed time to rest. He also knew they would be willing to continue the hunt in a few days. And I dinnae send word yet to Brianna. He sighed, shouldering guilt yet again.
The men quickly set up camp, digging through lean saddlebags for the last of their foodstuffs. There would be opportunity to obtain more food on the trek home, but tonight was a night for smoked salmon and oatcakes.
* * *
Three days later they were less than a mile from home. Conn and Bray rode silently, deep in their own thoughts, the men following slowly, exchanging desultory remarks, obviously feeling the effects of the past days on the hunt. Gillis was the first to spot smoke churning just above the trees.
“Look!” He swung his arm urgently, pointing at the black stain across the sky. Conn and Bray both looked up sharply, and the soldiers reined in their horses with combined shouts of anger and dismay. In one accord, they surged ahead, their horses straining to keep pace as they galloped hard for Morven. They reined to a stop at the edge of the village, the sight before them setting their blood to boiling.
“Malcolm!” Conn snarled, the word a curse from his lips. His face hot with anger, he surveyed the desolation that had once been the village of Morven. Ahead of him lay scattered pyres of smoldering cottages, belching black smoke into the air. Dead men and women lay scattered on the ground, indicating the suddenness and viciousness of the attack. Conn heard a child crying nearby, and with a curt gesture of his arm sent Gillis to seek him out.
“We will find your cousin, mon ami,” Bray vowed to Conn, who was too furious to do more than nod. The soldiers spread out over the village, searching for survivors and dousing what fires they could. Conn and Bray dismounted and joined them, soon covered in soot and teetering between dispiritedness and deadly rage.
Villagers slipped out of hiding, and men joined the efforts at putting out the fires. Women stood aside, clutching crying children to their skirts as they surveyed the smoking ruins with dull, stunned faces. A few rummaged for sound vessels and managed to gather water for the men, who were soon parched with thirst. Gillis returned the foundling to his mother, flushing as she planted a grateful kiss on his cheeks. Eventually all the villagers were accounted for, though the short row of covered bodies lying on the ground made Conn’s jaw clench in fury.
A shout rang out. Conn jerked his head. A young boy, his clothes in dirty disarray, burst into the edge of the village glen. He skidded to a stop, his gaze taking in the destruction around him, his eyes wide and bewildered. Bray stepped forward to reassure the boy.
“Easy, garçon. You are safe now.”
The lad stared at him.
Bray angled his head toward Conn. “That is Laird MacLaurey. Tell him what is wrong.”
The lad’s harsh breathing subsided and he nodded. “I live at Corfin Castle. I work in the stable.” He flung an arm behind him in the direction of the castle. “Malcolm is back!”
“Tell me,” Conn demanded, striding forward.
“He burst into the castle—I dinnae know how—and he has taken over again!”
“What of the people there?”
“Ye are either with him or no, ’tis what he said. Them what could, ran away. The rest have been ordered to work, cook—or get thrown into the dungeon!” The boy puffed out his chest. “I worked for him before. I willnae do it again! And I dinnae like the dungeon, neither.”
“It looks as though Malcolm has tried to make Morven uninhabitable for you and the villagers,” Bray noted quietly. “It was not well done of him,” he added. “He will not have the foodstuffs and other things from the village once the supplies run out at the castle.”
Conn grunted. “’Tis revenge—nothing less.” He placed a hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Ye did well coming here. Someone will find ye a place to stay until this is finished.”
He turned to Bray. “We will retake the castle.”
* * *
They sat their horses, looking across the loch at the white walls of Corfin Castle, gleaming in the morning sun.
“Shall we besiege the castle?” Bray asked.
Conn shook his head. “The walls are too thick, the loch at the base of the castle too deep, and the men are untrained in siege tactics. For years it was enough to protect our own. Da was largely satisfied with the lands he possessed, and not ambitious enough to challenge others for their lands.”
“What is your plan, then?”
“We will start by seeing how long their foodstuffs hold out. We have a limited supply as well, since Malcolm burned the village, but we can hold out for several days.”
“And then what?” Bray asked impatiently. “I have been in positions like this before in France. We could build a battering ram—”
“And have to haul it across the loch.”
“Or a catapult.”
“Ye cannae get one close enough to the walls.”
“A siege tower, then.”
“Again, the loch.”
Bray made a frustrated gesture. “I have to admit respect for the ancient MacLaurey who built the castle. How are you going to accomplish this if they do not surrender before our food runs out?”
Conn kicked Embarr into a walk and reined him toward the camp. “We will put young Gillis to good use.”
Heaving a sigh at Conn’s enigmatic statement, Bray turned his horse after him. He pulled to an abrupt halt when he heard Conn instruct the men to begin cutting down trees at the edge of the forest.
“Cut only the tallest, straightest trees,” Conn told Seumas, who had been visiting his daughter in the village when Malcolm and his murdering band attacked Morven. “Bring them to the edge of the loch and pile them here, and here, keeping out of range of their archers.” He pointed to two areas close to the water, in clear view of the castle.
“When that is done, have some of the men strip the bark from the trees. Keep everyone busy.”
“To what purpose is this?” Bray asked as the men moved away as bid. “I agree we need to keep the men occupied, but to what purpose is cutting down these trees? You have already pointed out siege weapons are useless against Corfin Castle.”
Conn allowed him a slight smile. “The men need something to do, and Malcolm needs to think we are up to something.”
“They cut down trees to confuse Malcolm?”
“Nae. We need the trees to rebuild Morven as well. And I wanted the land near the castle cleared anyw
ay. Cutting down the trees will accomplish much.”
He beckoned to a nearby soldier. “Ride to Wyndham. Tell Lady Brianna I will be late.”
And with that, Bray had to be satisfied.
* * *
“The men on the wall no longer jeer at us, Laird,” the young soldier reported.
Conn considered the man’s statement. “Good.” He nodded, but cared not what insults the men in the castle hurled at his soldiers. After a moment, when Conn said no more, the soldier glanced at Bray, who shrugged and dismissed him with a jerk of his head. When he had gone, Bray leaned forward and clasped his hands together, resting his forearms on his knees.
“What, exactly, are you waiting for? Malcolm’s men have quit insulting ours, and that pleases you. But to what purpose? For days you have sent men to the edge of the loch, in full view of Malcolm’s men, for what reason you do not share. And still we sit here, accomplishing nothing.”
Conn glanced at Bray, noting his frustration. “We have accomplished enough. Come. Let us take a walk.”
He strolled through the camp, Bray buckling his sword at his waist as he followed. As they passed young Gillis, Conn motioned for the lad to join them. They left the shelter of the trees to the edge of the loch, which was much shallower than it had been only four days earlier.
“It appears the waters have ebbed,” Bray noted.
Conn nodded. “Aye. The waters of the loch cycle each day. It is shallower at this end in the mornings and the approach to the castle is somewhat easier. Each day the guards have diligently watched the approaches at low water, and have been less attentive when the water is too deep to launch an effective attack. The deeper water slows the horses and the noise is enough to alert the guards.”
Bray studied the waterline for a moment. “But the shallow water is in daylight. We cannot attack the castle then.”
“Nae, we cannae,” Conn agreed with infuriating calmness. “But this night the water will stay shallow enough.”
“And if we attack tonight, how will we breach the walls?”
The Highlander's Outlaw Bride Page 14