by Gwyn Brodie
Taking his own time to answer her, he summoned another servant girl, still in her nightcap, to refill his cup with mead. After a couple of long gulps, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. He looked at Jillian through narrowed eyes, his former smile replaced with a ruthlessness that caused a cold knot to form in her stomach. "Why, my dear Jillian, it should be quite evident. Your brother is very young and in much need of guidance if he's to succeed as the Baron of Lochstorm. Being his closest male relative, I'm, of course, the most qualified to provide that guidance."
Even though she'd known all along that the title was the reason he'd come, it both shocked and angered her to hear him make such a ridiculous suggestion. Jillian took a deep breath to steady herself before she spoke, refusing to allow Gordon to see her tremble. "If this is the proposition you spoke of, 'tis rejected. Ian has no need of your guidance. You and these men are free to leave here at once."
His lips twisted into a cynical smile, and icy contempt flashed in his eyes. "I've no intention of shirking my duties, Jillian. Now, bring the lad to me so that I may introduce myself, as he is to immediately become my ward."
As panic set in, she trembled and her throat constricted. "Jilly," her father used to say, "never let your enemy ken you're afraid. If you do, you've already lost the battle." Remembering those important words, Jillian stayed strong. "He's not here," she stated as calmly as she could manage, hoping he couldn't hear the fear in her voice.
Gordon slowly came toward her, reminiscent of a wolf sizing up its prey. He stopped within a hand's length from her face.
Roderick lunged toward him, but the man standing beside him jerked him back before he could get his hands on Gordon.
Jillian held her ground and refused to waver, even whilst believing he might strike her. Instead, he leaned in so close she could smell the unpleasant scent of his breath.
"I ken for certain the lad is here," he growled. "Bring him to me now. Is that clear?" he demanded, striking the oak table beside him with his fist.
Jillian flinched, but continued to look him squarely in the eye and calmly repeated, "He's not here." Gordon sounded so assured that Ian hadn't left Lochstorm, Jillian wondered if perhaps someone had betrayed them. Surely no one she knew would do such a thing—certainly not one of her own clan.
Gordon sighed. "Very well. If this is the childish game you wish to play, I'll find the lad without your help." He turned to the group of men. "Find him," he ordered, "and don't stop looking until you do."
Whilst they searched, Jillian paced back and forth in front of the fire, holding onto the hope that Winnie had made it into the tunnels and hidden Ian well. Her nerves on edge, she prayed he'd not be found. If only her father hadn't died and left them in such a predicament. Of course, Jillian didn't blame him. She just missed him and felt so helpless without him. Time stood still whilst she waited, listening to the thundering of the men's boots as they stomped up and down the corridors, opening and slamming doors, while they searched the castle from top to bottom.
After some time had passed and her brother had still not been found, Jillian began to relax a bit, believing that perhaps he'd remain hidden after all. Then Ian's terrified screams echoed from some distant part of the castle. She ran to the stairs. Fear and anger knotted inside her upon seeing a large man tramping down the stairs with Ian tossed across his shoulders like a sack of oats, with Winnie on his heels pounding on his back with both fists.
"Leave the lad be, ye big oaf!" Winnie screamed at the top of her lungs.
The giant of a man ignored the old woman's blows as if she were but a tiny midge.
Jillian raced across the room. "Put him down! Do you hear me? Put him down!" she shouted, but he refused to do so until he stood in front of his benefactor, only then did he set Ian on his feet.
Before either his captor or Gordon could grab him, Ian ran back to Jillian. She picked him up and he threw his arms around her neck, sobbing, causing her heart to ache. "Don't fret so, wee brother. I'm here."
He soon stopped crying and rubbed his eyes, wiping his tears and his nose, on the sleeve of his nightshirt.
"Trust me?" she whispered. "Then do as I say."
He nodded.
"Good lad."
Gordon frowned. "Enough. Bring the lad to me, or would you have me take him from you?"
Jillian clenched her teeth, wishing she was close enough to the wretch to make good use of her sgian dubh. Smoothing Ian's tear dampened hair away from his face, she slowly carried him across the room. "Ian, this is Gordon MacRae, Father's distant cousin." She put him down in front of Gordon, but stood behind him with her hands protectively on his shoulders. He looked so small and helpless standing there in his nightshirt.
Gordon immediately appeared to soften, as he bestowed a smile upon Ian that was clearly insincere. "Lad, I've come to Lochstorm to instruct and guide you in the ways of a laird and baron. There's much to be learned before you become of an age to perform your duties adequately."
Ian drew himself up to the full height of his four years. "Papa already taught me."
Jillian felt pride for her wee brother as he so bravely faced the stranger before him. She could almost see the warrior he would one day become as a man.
Gordon's eyes narrowed. "You are now my ward, which means that you will do as I say. I'll see to Lochstorm until you become of an age to do so yourself. Is that clear?"
Ian looked up at his sister. "Jilly can do that."
"Certainly not." Gordon snorted. "She's but a female and incapable of providing you with the same sort of guidance I can offer."
Ian reached up and placed his small hand over Jillian's. "Papa died and he was the laird of Lochstorm. Jilly told me that now I am."
Gordon laughed, but his eyes flashed with outrage. "Of course you are, but before you may truly rule, you've much to learn. Now, back to bed with you, lad. 'Tis still early."
With her teeth tightly clenched, Jillian listened to Gordon spout his nonsense to her brother. She had much to say about it, but decided to hold her tongue for the moment. "Sleep well," she said, kissing Ian on top of the head before handing him over to Winnie, who quickly hurried back upstairs with him in tow.
Jillian waited until Winnie and Ian had disappeared down the corridor—and out of hearing—before she turned her full wrath onto Gordon. "You've no right to come here thinking you can just take over. 'Tis Ian who holds the barony here—not you. He's but a wee lad of four years, and he didn't understand half of what you said—for he's much too young. I well ken, Gordon MacRae, that whatever 'tis you have in mind for him is but for your own good and no one else's."
His face was a glowering mask of rage and she thought for a moment her life might be in danger. "Don't cross me on this, Jillian," he bellowed, his voice echoing against the high beams of the great hall.
She seethed with anger as she shook her finger in front of his face—a habit her father had always found quiet annoying. "If you think I'll idly stand by and let you destroy everything my father worked so hard to build, or watch you pretend to instruct my brother for your own selfish reasons, you're greatly mistaken, cousin." She spat the last word out as if it were a bitter herb on her tongue.
He sighed. "I'd hoped you and I could reach some sort of agreement. But if you're going to insist on this way of thinking, I've no other option than to have you remain in your bedchamber—'til you decide to come to your senses and see things my way. There will be no use for you to try and leave, for a guard will be posted outside your door 'til I say otherwise.
Jillian couldn't believe what she was hearing. "How dare you! I'm the mistress here. You, Gordon MacRae, have no rights over me whatsoever, or anyone else who abides under this roof."
He shrugged. "Who will stop me?" He pretended to look about the room. "I see no one." His voice held a note of mockery. "Take her to her bedchamber," he ordered the man nearest him.
As the guard reached for Jillian's arm, Roderick—who'd been left alone—stepped in front of h
er, and knocked the man's hand away. "Leave her be," he said, his hands clenched into fists.
Gordon chuckled. A sound so sinister that it made cold chills crawl up Jillian's spine. "How noble of you to come to the aid of your lady, but as I'm now in charge here, I'll not tolerate such disobedience. Show this man what happens to those who dare stand against Gordon MacRae," he ordered the two men who'd brought Roderick in earlier. "He'll be an example to the others. Perhaps they will think twice before refusing me."
One man grabbed Roderick's arms, pinning them behind his back, whilst the other beat him mercilessly. The wound on his head split open further and blood splattered through the air with each blow to his face.
Jillian looked on, shocked. "Stop! You're killing him!" she screamed. "Do you not hear me? Please stop, I beg of you." Her tearful pleas fell on deaf ears, as they continued to beat Roderick until he slumped to the floor and lay still.
Tears streamed down her face as she ran to his side and fell to her knees, praying that he still lived. She placed her ear next to his mouth and nose. His warm breath puffed against her ear. Thank you, God.
"Throw him into the dungeon along with the others," Gordon ordered the two men who had just finished beating him, "and you there, Fergus," he called to a skinny, freckled redhead, "take Lady Jillian to her bedchamber and make sure she stays there. Don't allow her outside her door for any reason."
The man smiled at Jillian and winked, giving her a good look at the few teeth still left in his head.
Gordon reached Fergus in two strides and grabbed him up by the front of the shirt, until only the toes of his boots touched the floor. "Lay a hand on her, you miserable cur, and I swear I'll kill you," he said through clenched teeth. "I'll not have the likes of you spoiling her for my bed, do you understand me?"
Fergus's mouth dropped open and he visibly paled. He quickly nodded.
"Now, go and do as I said," Gordon ordered, letting go of Fergus's shirt and shoving him toward Jillian.
Fergus grabbed Jillian by the arm and yanked her up from the floor. She struggled to pull away from him, but he dug his dirty nails into her skin and held on so tightly she had no other option than to follow him.
Jillian fought to keep her footing as he dragged her up the narrow stairs. Steadying herself with her free hand pressed against the wall was all that kept her from falling.
He stopped once they reached the landing. "Which one of these rooms be yours?"
She held her tongue.
"Don't matter to me none which one I toss ye arse in. They're all the same t'me."
"Very well," she sighed, and pointed to her room.
He opened her bedchamber door and shoved her inside. When he came in behind her and began to close the door, fear knotted inside her. "If it weren't for being afraid of losing m'life," he whispered, "I'd bed ye right here and teach ye a thing or two about pleasuring a man. I still would if given the chance."
Jillian almost gagged at his stench when he suddenly stepped closer and rubbed his dirty, unshaven cheek against her own. He grinned from ear-to-ear, winked at her and left the room, slamming the door closed behind him.
She shuddered, quickly rubbing away the horrible smell and feel of Fergus with what was left of her rose scented water. Being bedded by a man like him would most certainly be worse than death itself—and something she had no intention of ever letting happen—nor did she intend to wed Gordon MacRae either.
As for his taking Ian as his ward, 'twas naught but a pretense. One day an accident would conveniently happen to her brother to take his young life, giving Gordon the opportunity he'd been waiting for all these years—to hold the title of Baron of Lochstorm.
Jillian might not be able to stop Gordon MacRae, but she knew someone who could. Kade MacLachlan, the laird of Ravenskull Castle.
Chapter Two
Driven by the harsh winds off the North Sea, rain pounded against Jillian's bedchamber window. Several hours had passed since her confinement, and she'd spent much of that time pacing the floor and thinking. She knew with a certainty that if anyone could take back Lochstorm from Gordon MacRae, Kade could. The other Highland clans were well aware of the strength of Ravenskull and its young laird. With its many loyal and well-trained warriors, no one dared oppose the MacLachlans. She just had to think of a way to convince him to help her. It'd been a long time since she'd thought so much about Kade—only because she'd not allowed herself to. At one time, he'd been the utmost person on her mind. She smiled to herself, remembering the first time they'd met.
At the age of fourteen, Jillian had accompanied her father to Edinburgh Castle. He'd gone there to hold court with King James—as was customary in those days. Laird MacLachlan happened to be there, along with his son, Kade, who was three years older than Jillian. Her father had introduced the two of them, and Jillian had been quite taken with the tall, handsome lad with the black hair and dark eyes surrounded by long lashes such as she'd never seen. He'd smiled down at her and Jillian had been certain everyone far and near had heard her heart pounding against her chest.
Her bedchamber door slammed against the wall. Startled, Jillian gasped. One of Gordon's men blocked the doorway. "Have you no manners at all?" she said "'Tis customary to knock before entering a lady's bedchamber. You'd best remember that."
Roderick stepped around the guard and limped into the room.
"Roderick," she exclaimed with both relief and surprise. When Fergus had dragged her away from the great hall, with Roderick still lying on the floor, Jillian hadn't known just how badly injured he truly was. She'd been afraid she might never see him again.
"MacRae gave him permission to see you," said the guard. "Make it quick," he barked at Roderick before closing the door and returning to his post.
"I've been very afraid you might be dead by now," she said, making a quick visual examination of his injuries. Black and blue bruises almost entirely covered his face, but thankfully the cut on his head had stopped bleeding. "When I think of all the pain you endured at the hands of those barbarians, I want to weep. The injury that concerns me most is the one on your head. Have Mairi make you a poultice. I don't wish to see you get an infection and die."
"Much thanks for your concern, Lady Jillian. But you must remember that this face of mine didn't get all of these scars by staying away from the front lines. I've been in more than my share of battles, but I promise to see the healer as soon as I'm able to do so," he said, motioning for her to follow him to the outer wall. There he whispered, "I've put much thought into this, Jillian, and as much as I dislike saying it, I believe someone at Lochstorm has been feeding information to MacRae for some time."
She nodded. "Aye, I wondered as much for several reasons. Gordon seemed to ken with certainty that Ian hadn't left Lochstorm. And only someone with knowledge of the guard rotation would've been able to catch them unaware. I hope we're wrong, for I don't wish to believe that anyone that I ken would do such a thing to their own people."
"Aye, m'lady, but the enticements of wealth and position have turned many a previously loyal man's head. The question is, now that they're here, what's to be done to get rid of them?"
Jillian sighed loudly. "Well, one thing's for certain. We're in no shape to do it alone. The entire garrison of Lochstorm is in the dungeon. Gordon assured me that no one was killed, but I don't for a minute believe him. And I feel certain the villagers are so frightened they'll come nowhere near the castle. Why did Gordon allow you to see me after ordering you taken to the dungeon?"
His face split into a wide grin, his swollen lip causing him to suddenly wince. "MacRae, in fact, sent me here to convince you 'twould be in your best interest to go along with what he asks—especially since you're to become his wife." He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling and shook his head. "He firmly believes that if you comply with his request, the lad would become easier for him to control. Of course, you ken that I believe you should do no such thing, but agreeing to address the matter with you at least gave me the ch
ance to see you and make certain you'd not been harmed in any way."
She nodded. "Much thanks, Roderick. How does Ian fare?"
"Don't fash yourself, m'lady. I can assure you that Winnie is making certain Ian is well cared for."
"Aye, I ken she is, yet I can't help but fear for his safety. He's so young. And we've both suffered such a great loss with Papa's death happening so recently. He needs me now more than ever," Jillian said, blinking back tears. How she ached to hold Ian in her arms and cover his wee sweet face with kisses.
"The lad is giving Gordon a fit. He'll not go along at all with his wishes and constantly begs to see you. I can hardly bear to listen to his pleading. My worry is that Gordon will grow tired of the lad's disobedience and beat him into submission."
Jillian paced back and forth in front of the window, wringing her hands, the awful image of Gordon striking Ian racing through her mind. It made her sick. Jillian stopped beside the table and picked up a handful of purple heather that Ian had gathered for her a few days earlier, now falling apart in her hands—like the rest of their world. "Ian doesn't yet understand people like Gordon MacRae."
"Nay, not yet he doesn't, but he'll learn soon enough if we're not able to reclaim Lochstorm. MacRae is planning on taking Ian for a survey of the lands, along with myself to show him the borders. I believe the lad is much too young for such a large undertaking, and I said as much. Gordon only laughed in my face, telling me 'twas not any of my affairs and that if I didn't like it, I could go stay in the dungeon. I decided 'twould be better for me to appear to give in. That way at least I might be able to learn what is going on in that devious mind of his. And I'd be able to keep an eye on Ian, as well."
Anger welled up inside Jillian, and her fists bunched at her side. At that moment she could've very well clawed Gordon's eyes out, if but given the chance. "Make no mistake, Roderick, he has his own selfish reasons for whatever he does. I'm not so naïve as to believe that sooner or later—after he's gotten his greedy hands on my dowry—I'd not fall victim to some unfortunate accident, which is what everyone suspects happened to his poor first wife. Then there'd be no one left to oppose him, other than a small lad, who'd also one day be disposed of."