by Ruby Duvall
“Yer vows were only until death parted ye and as her brother, I would think Gwen wouldna want ye to be alone. She would want a mother for Beth. Can ye not think of a woman who Beth likes? A woman ye both like?”
Kenneth chuckled, still watching his feet. “Aye and ye’ve already taken her.”
“Damn it, Kenneth, that isna who I’m talking about.” The redhead stopped smiling and raised his eyes to look directly at Iain.
“Aye, I ken who ye mean.” Kenneth pushed away from the wall and took a few steps toward Iain. “Did ye think I never noticed?”
Iain was appalled. His mouth hung open and for several seconds he couldn’t say anything. “Wuh… Well, why have ye nae done aught about it?” Iain thundered.
“Ye think it is as simple as that?” Kenneth yelled. “I do like her! I’ve always liked her. When I married yer sister, I had to—to put her in a place in my heart where my feelings for her couldna grow. I loved Gwen, yet still I struggled with myself.” Iain could only watch, too shocked by the man’s sudden anger to say anything.
“And then her parents gave her hand to that bastard…” Kenneth raised his fists and gnashed his teeth as though the ghost of Rachel’s dead husband stood before him. His eyes closed tightly. “Every time I saw a bruise on her face, I wanted to pound the man’s head into the ground. How could he nae be content with such a wife?”
Opening his eyes, Kenneth dropped his hands. “But it wasna my affair to come between a husband and wife and what kind of man would I be to so easily forget the years when she and I were silent? When he beat her and I did nowt? To pretend as though every look she gave me and every secret feeling I ever had were nae a betrayal of the vows I took? I carried such guilt, Iain.” Kenneth looked at him beseechingly, eyebrows pinched and chest heaving. “How can I take her to wife with such guilt?”
“Would ye deny yer own happiness for the rest of yer life? Let her raise her son alone? Have her pine for ye until she grows bitter? Will that ease yer guilt?”
“Of course nae!” Kenneth said. “I would have her marry a man who adores her.”
“And ye think that she has eyes for any man but ye? That she ever will? She’s loved ye for nearly ten years.” Kenneth closed his eyes, turning his head away. “Ye want to know how ye can take her to wife? Ye forgive yerself. Then ye find Rachel and ask for her hand.”
A thump at the door of the barn drew their attention. Iain whipped around, ready to yell at the farmhands for spying. A deathly pale Donald stumbled into view, one shoulder leaning heavily on the door jamb. Blood soaked the front of his tunic and all the way down his legs.
“Jesus,” Iain breathed. He ran forward to catch Donald before the man collapsed. “Kenneth, check on the house! Fetch Aili!” He lowered the leuchd-crios to lie on the ground. The redhead was already sprinting toward Iain’s home.
“Colin’s gone,” Donald wheezed. “They’re both gone.”
“They took Aili?” Iain asked.
“Nae.” Donald seemed to choke on something but after a few coughs, he had his breath again. “They took Emma.”
Iain’s entire mind went blank. Donald said something more but the only thing Iain heard was that faint, high-pitched noise. A hand shook his arm.
“Ye have to listen. I willna survive this.” Donald’s face was a mask of pain and he writhed in Iain’s arms. “Ah God!” Iain squeezed the man’s shoulder, at a loss for what else he could do. “They were MacGregor men. I recognized Craig. ’Tis his brother ye caught.” Iain recalled the young, skinny boy whom James had dragged away to question. “Craig would…t-trade Colin for him but as for Emma…ye may never see her again.”
No. Iain refused to believe that. He would have her back. He would kill Craig and his men, would tear out their hearts and feed them to his dogs for what they had done.
“I’m…nae afraid to die,” Donald said, his voice thready, “but I…never told Colin…how…much…”
“I’ll tell him for ye,” Iain promised. Donald’s eyelids sagged. “The laird will know ye gave yer life for his son.” Iain wasn’t sure if the man heard him. The tension left Donald’s body and he breathed his last.
“Iain,” Kenneth gasped out. Iain looked up as Kenneth ran up to the barn door, holding a wide-eyed Aili in his arms. He set down the old woman, who hobbled over to Donald. Kenneth put his hands on his knees, fighting for air. “Emma…she wasna…at the house.”
“Then she and Colin have been taken,” Aili said. Iain was surprised by her lucid tone. She pressed her ear to Donald’s chest. “He’s gone,” she said quietly.
“Iain, what do we do?” Kenneth asked.
Looking down at himself, Iain saw Donald’s blood all over his hands and arms. It was smeared across the front of his tunic, cooling and darkening. Something was rising up his throat.
“We need to go to the laird with this,” Aili said. Iain’s hands shook. “The MacGregors will send a messenger soon.”
“Oh God, I hope Emma is still alive,” Kenneth said.
Iain threw his head back and screamed.
Chapter Seventeen
“Oh ye canna really mean that,” Rossalyn tittered. A young man-at-arms hoping to become one of the laird’s leuchd-crios stepped toward her, his eyes flashing with sincerity and determination.
“I swear it. Ye’re the girl I would fast hands with, Rossalyn. Ye’re so beautiful that…I-I canna help but look at ye whenever ye’re near,” he said.
Rossalyn pouted. “But am I the most beautiful girl ye’ve ever seen?”
“W-well…” he stuttered, wringing his hands. She couldn’t stop the frown that took the place of her carefully practiced pout. Why was he hesitating?
“Rossalyn!” Ruth called out. Rossalyn looked past the man standing at her door and espied her friend, who was running up with the look of pressing news on her face.
“O-of course ye’re the most beautiful! No one would disagree.”
Rossalyn looked back at the worthless man, attempting a pout of disappointment. “I’m so sorry but my friend is here and she seems upset. Could ye come back later?”
“Aye, I can!” he said, beaming. Rossalyn barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes.
“Thank ye,” she said, waving him away. Ruth arrived all out of breath and Rossalyn ushered her inside.
“I just heard—the worst—possible news,” Ruth gasped. Rossalyn let a tiny sneer sit on the corner of her mouth, looking at the chubby woman with disapproval.
“Has Rachel already sold all her meat pies?” she asked.
Ruth shook her head, completely unaware. “The laird’s only son, young Colin…he-he was taken by MacGregors earlier today, a-and that new-new girl as well.”
Rossalyn felt the bottom of her stomach drop.
“He wasna supposed to take h—” She slapped her hand over her mouth.
“What?” Ruth asked.
“He…is just so young,” she explained, trying to cover her mistake.
Ruth nodded with a frown. “How could those thieving traitors take a child?”
“Does the laird know—um, know who is responsible?”
“I dinna know,” Ruth said with a shrug. “I wasna told that.” Rossalyn’s stomach began to hurt. She took a deep breath. “Are ye well?” the thick woman asked.
“I am,” she lied. “A little tired, I suppose.”
“Then ye should rest awhile. I’ll visit again. I’m on my way to speak to Rachel.”
No doubt to fill her face with more food. Rossalyn could only nod, hoping desperately that the woman left before she completely broke down. She was shaking when she sat at the table. Her sister and brother-in-law were both away, working in the laird’s castle. She looked at the empty pot nearby, recalling how her sister had begged her to cook at least once that week—how she had pleaded that she was always so tired and why did she have to cook for both the laird and her family every single day?
The blonde then looked around the cramped house. Most of her possessions wer
e gifts—a bolt of fine cloth for a dress, buttons and cloaks. The men of the village all grabbed after her skirt and most of the women despised and envied her.
If they all found out…
Rossalyn grabbed for the empty pot and threw up into it.
—
“Wake up,” a young voice begged. “Please wake up.” Emma was lying on her side and someone was shaking her. The left side of her face was throbbing terribly. She tried to open her eyes and found that one eye was swollen almost shut. It was already dark but a fire burned a few feet away.
“He should be back soon,” a man said quietly.
“The mean one cut off some of our hair,” Colin whispered. Emma looked up and saw that indeed, a large hunk of Colin’s brown hair had been hastily chopped off. She didn’t want to see where her hair had been cut. “He took it with him and they said he was going to send a message.”
“The…” She swallowed to clear her throat. “The redheaded man? Shamus?” she asked softly.
Colin nodded. His lips twisted and his eyebrows turned up. He swallowed a hiccup and took a deep breath. “They killed Donald,” he said, “and they have his horse.”
“Everything’ll be all right. You’ll see,” she lied. She didn’t know if either of them would live but it was at least very likely that Colin would survive—and besides, she wasn’t really alive anyway, was she?
“The tall one is Allan. I heard the mean one say it and the other one is Craig. He scares me most,” Colin said.
“Me too.” Remembering what the wolf was after, she felt for her locket, somehow worried that Craig had already taken it though it was obvious he hadn’t since she was still alive. Her wrists were bound together but her fingers grasped at her neck and found her linen kerchief. It was hiding her locket.
“I should’ve drawn that circle on my hand,” Colin said. “I forgot and now we’re in trouble.”
“No, don’t worry about that.”
“Can yer magic save us?” he whispered hopefully. “If ye draw the fairy mark again, will we be saved?”
“You have the magic quill?” she asked. Colin hurriedly nodded. A sudden thought occurred to her. “Can you give it to me? But slowly. Pretend you’re scratching an itch or something.” Colin reached back. She couldn’t see from where he drew the pen but assumed it had been inside his boot.
Colin handed her the pen and she pulled the cap off, slipping it into her sleeve. She did her best to hide the pen lengthwise between her palms.
“Ye’re nae going to draw some magic?” Colin asked, sounding upset.
“Do you remember me telling you that it was a kind of weapon?” It was a small, ineffective weapon but it was all she and Colin had. His mouth opened in recollection and he slowly nodded. “I’ll protect you, Colin. I promise.”
“I’ll protect ye too,” he whispered. Emma gave him a small, close-lipped smile.
It seemed that Craig and Allan hadn’t noticed that she was awake yet. They sat on the other side of the fire and were eating some kind of roasted meat. Allan made quiet comments that she often couldn’t catch and Craig merely stared off into the forest. Keeping her eyelids low, she hoped that they wouldn’t notice she was conscious for a very long time.
“Do ye really think she’s a fairy?” Allan asked. “She dinna look like one to me.” Emma slid her eyes open just a hair farther and could see that Allan was looking at her from across the fire. “And what about this charm yer girl told ye about?”
She closed her eyes and pulled in a long, slow breath as her stomach filled with ice water. Her hands squeezed the pen between her palms. Emma could guess who Craig’s girl was and if she survived, she would tear out Rossalyn’s hair.
“There he is,” Craig said, swiftly standing. He tossed the rest of his meat onto the fire. Emma wondered if they had even offered any to Colin.
She heard the sound of hoofbeats muffled against the grass just before Craig called out to his third accomplice. “Is it done?”
“Aye, it is,” Shamus answered. At the sound of the redhead’s voice, the cold water in her stomach solidified into ice. Colin stretched his arms over her, pressing tightly against her side.
“And ye were nae followed?” Allan asked. Emma hoped like hell that he had been.
“Would ye stop yer fretting? Ye sound like a woman.” For a moment, all Emma could hear were the sounds of the horse’s saddle being removed and low murmurs. She could also hear Colin softly crying against her arm, though it was more like moans of fright than weeping. She almost couldn’t help doing the same.
The men drew nearer to the fire.
“The girl’s nae awake? I was hoping to enjoy her tonight,” Shamus said.
No, no, no! She repeated the word inside her head, hoping that if she wished hard enough, it wouldn’t happen. She stayed as still as she could, face slack and eyes closed but her heart hammered hard and fast. It was impossible to breathe slowly and evenly. She knew what was coming and she also knew that there was next to nothing she could do to stop it.
“Leave her be. She’s nae moved since we put her there,” Allan said. “I’ve seen some men never wake up after a hard hit to the head.”
“If she dinna wake, I’ll be sure to gut ye for being a fool,” Craig said.
“She was kicking me,” Shamus said defensively. Neither of the other two men said anything. She heard someone coming toward them. “Get off her, boy,” he ordered.
Emma felt Colin being pulled away. Colin resisted, shaking his head. “Nae!” he shouted. “Leave her alone!”
“Ye’ll do as ye’re told,” Shamus barked. Colin yelled in rebellion as he was pulled away from her again. “Here, take him.” Knowing she couldn’t play possum anymore, Emma opened her eyes. Shamus handed Colin off to Allan. Craig stared at her.
“See? She’s awake now,” Shamus said, pointing at her but talking to Craig.
“So she is.” Emma shrank just a little, seeing in that moment the same eyes that she had seen on the note inside her locket. “Sit up,” he ordered as he stalked around the fire to her. She pushed herself up, though it was awkward with bound wrists. Craig squatted in front of her, wordlessly staring at her for a long moment. His head tilted to one side and he snorted, half-smiling.
“Aye, I can see why she wants me to kill ye,” Craig said softly. Emma stiffened. “I heard ye have no clan. Ye just…appeared out of the mist?”
“I do have a clan,” she said. She glanced over Craig’s shoulder to verify that Colin was just out of earshot, standing with Allan on the other side of the fire. She lowered her voice. “And I’m not whatever Rossalyn said I was.” She hoped like hell that she sounded convincing because by her ears, her voice was shaky.
Craig snorted again, his smile widening. “That’s an interesting accent. Not English though,” he surmised. “Rossalyn thinks herself clever—that she can have aught as long as she bats her eyes or lifts her skirt.” Craig stretched his arm toward her and she turned her head away, tried to lean back as far as she could. He brushed the backs of his fingers down her bruised cheek. The touch reminded her of Iain and Emma shuddered. “But in my dealings with her, I’ve never found her to be a liar.”
He snatched at her hair, grabbing a fistful and jerking her toward him. She cried out at the pain. With his other hand, Craig pulled at the knot in the linen kerchief around her neck. He then threw the kerchief to the ground.
Emma wanted to protect her locket but she couldn’t do that and also hide the pen between her palms. She watched Craig fearfully, knowing that at any second, he would yank off her necklace, just like Rossalyn had. His grin was wide but his eyebrows were slanted down and his chin angled close to his chest.
He reached for her neck.
“No! Don’t take it off!” she cried out. Craig paused, sneering at her. “I’ll die and…and its magic won’t work anymore.” She honestly didn’t know if the latter was true but it was the only thing she could think of. He would otherwise have no reason not to take it.
“Explain,” he growled, dropping his hand.
“Um…” She scrambled for something to say to stay alive. Craig would want some kind of power, so she had to convince him that she could give it to him.
“Whatever Rossalyn told you, she was wrong. She didn’t understand what she saw. Fairies can’t survive for long in this world and this charm is what keeps me alive. It only works for fairies.”
Craig’s eyes glittered with anger. “Then what use are ye to me?” He jerked her face closer.
“P-please! If you let me live, I’ll grant you a wish. Anything.” It was the only thing she could conjure up and she knew, even as she said it, that the chance of such a statement backfiring was high.
“Is that so?” he asked. She nodded, dreading his answer. “Then tell me the future. The fate of my clan.”
The future? This she could do. It was the one thing she could give him.
“I can tell you the future,” she agreed, “but not until you give Colin back to his father.” Craig’s expression turned downright livid. “N-not until then. I want to see him safe and o-once I’ve answered your question, you’ll let me go.”
“Ye think ye can bargain with me?” he spat.
“There’s no point in killing her now,” Shamus said, “and ye’ll need to trade the child for yer brother anyway.”
“Shut it!” Craig shouted, looking over his shoulder and no doubt throwing the redheaded Scotsman a withering look. Emma was confused. The laird had Craig’s brother?
Craig turned back to her, his face a mask of immense frustration. He shoved her away from him, releasing her hair, and she fell onto her side, still alive for at least a few hours more. Colin struggled futilely against Allan’s hold on his arm.
Craig towered over her. His expression had calmed to a deep frown. “Take her now if ye want her,” he said, turning away from her.
“No!” she yelled. The redheaded man glanced between her and Craig, a slow smile pulling his lips wide. He walked toward her. “Get away from me!” She tried to crawl away from him but her bound wrists made it difficult to do anything.