Highland Avenger

by Julie Johnstone

  “Shush,” Eve said in a low voice so the guard on the other side of the door wouldn’t hear. She gave Clara an apologetic look. “I’m so very sorry that I did not believe you.”

  Clara squeezed Eve’s hands. “It’s worse than I feared, though…”

  Eve gave a brittle laugh. “What can be worse than my uncle betraying my father? Worse than him having my parents killed, all so he could wed me to a man he could control and thus, control the castle.” Clara opened her mouth as if to speak, but Eve had so many thoughts tumbling in her head and a desperate need to sort them out. “Do you know to whom Uncle Frederick intends to wed me? I cannot imagine who it could be. Who is so loyal to my uncle that he wouldn’t simply take control of the castle for himself, and—” The utterly distraught look on Clara’s face caused Eve to pause. “Clara, what are you not telling me?”

  “I’d have already told you, child, if you would but take a breath and allow me to speak.”

  “Speak, speak,” Eve encouraged.

  “Eve…” A visible shudder ran through Clara, and Eve found that she, too, was trembling in fearful anticipation. “Your uncle intends to wed you himself. It’s what he has always intended.”

  A wave of nausea roiled in Eve’s stomach. “But—” she sucked in a sharp breath, the sickening feeling increasing until she was certain she’d be ill “—that cannot be.”

  “It is,” Clara said, unbending. “I heard it with my own ears.”

  “No.” Flashes of memories of Eve sitting on her uncle’s lap and listening to his stories filled her mind, and bile stung her throat. “You must have heard wrong,” she whispered furiously.

  “Eve,” Clara said in the stern tone she’d used often when Eve was younger, “I did not hear wrong. Your uncle told his man when I was in the room. They thought me still unconscious from the beating they gave me. He intends to wed you. He intended to do so years ago.”

  “But I am his niece,” Eve said, horrified. “I was a ch-ch-child,” she sputtered.

  “He’s a disgusting pig,” Clara said, never having been one to mince words. She set her hands on Eve’s shoulders and looked her in the eye. “He believed we both drowned and were swept away when they could not find our bodies, so he contented himself with ruling the castle at the king’s whim. But it seems King Edward is getting harder and harder to please, and your uncle very much wants to legally be entitled to the castle. That way, the nobles will side with him if the king tries to take it from him.”

  “But if he thought us dead—”

  “He has a spy in the MacDougall keep. It seems the MacDougalls are the clan that aided your uncle in his plot to attack Linlithian. He did not have troops of his own, so he promised them coin to aid him. There’s much more to tell you, but—”

  “We must escape,” Eve finished. She wanted to tell Clara about Grant and how she was now wed—or she had been, at least. A knot of torment lodged in her throat at not knowing whether Grant lived or not, and if she stayed here and told her uncle she was wed, he might kill her. She’d rather not take that chance.

  She glanced to the wardrobe. No one had ever known about the secret passage except for Eve, her sister, and her parents. Her father had ordered them never to tell another soul. He’d said betrayal could come from the person one least suspected. God above, but he’d been right, as had Clara. Eve’s anger at Clara had long since faded. Standing here with her battered lady’s maid now, who had given up years of her life to stay with Eve in hiding and who was now risking her life for her—again—Eve was grateful, not angry. She must tell Clara just how grateful she was, but she would have to do so later. Right now, the most important thing was escaping. She motioned to the wardrobe, then waved Clara to follow her. Clara’s brow furrowed, but she followed Eve to the wardrobe.

  “There is a hidden tunnel that leads to the stables,” Eve whispered. Clara’s eyes widened. “If we can gain the stables, perhaps we can escape.”

  “What is this ‘perhaps’ nonsense?” Clara said, winking at Eve. “We will escape!”

  “We must move the wardrobe.” Eve set her back against it as she’d done earlier and braced her feet. Clara got into position beside her, and together, they shoved on the wardrobe, which moved with such a loud creak that they both froze, only daring to glance at the door.

  “What are you two doing in there?” came the guard’s harsh voice, followed by the sound of keys rattling. Eve looked to the wardrobe. It had been moved just enough for someone to slip into the passage. They’d never make it out now that the guard was coming in. If he didn’t catch them in the passage, which he likely could, he’d be close on their heels and alert the other guards the minute they all came out at the other side.

  “Go!” Eve hissed at Clara and pushed her friend toward the passageway.

  “No,” Clara whispered back. “Not without you!”

  “We’ll never both make it, but you can if I lie sufficiently. If we both stay, there will be no hope, and while Uncle Frederick will not kill me yet, but you—”

  The door started to creak and Eve shoved Clara into the passage, but Clara grabbed Eve’s hand. “Who can I even go to for help?”

  “Make your way to the Fraser hold, Dithorn, and demand to speak to the laird. I—” Eve gulped, realizing she did not know who would be laird if Grant had been killed. “Ask to speak to Esme Fraser. Tell her that I need help. Tell her, please.” Would Esme gather men for her? Would they even listen to Esme? Eve had no notion, but she had to try.

  “But your uncle,” Clara wailed low. “What if he forces you to wed him before I return?”

  Eve refused to believe Grant was dead until she had proof, and if he was alive, then she could not truly be wed to another. “Then I will wed him,” she rushed out. She did not have time to explain because the door creaked again. “Go!” she commanded and rushed to the door just as it was opening. Before the guard could step into her bedchamber, Eve shoved her way out and slammed the door behind them. Her heart was pounding as she looked at the guard. “I’m ready to be wed. My silly old lady’s maid is light-headed, and I’ve ordered her to lie down so she doesn’t ruin the wedding by doing something annoying, like fainting. I know my uncle would hate that.”

  The guard—thanks be to God—did not look all that astute. He frowned at Eve, and then nodded. “Your uncle does not like to be kept waiting.”

  “As well he should not,” she said, very careful to keep her tone normal. “As lord of this castle, he is an important man. Come,” she said, turning away from the bedchamber door. “Take me to him.” She held her breath, hoping the guard would comply.

  He nodded and led her toward the stairs and then down the narrow, circular passage. She had not walked that particular passage since moments before she’d seen her father murdered years ago. Hopelessness tightened her throat, constricting her breath. The stairs wound round and round, past small windows that allowed rays of light to shine into the dark stairwell, and memories flashed in her mind: Her and her sister running with ribbons over their heads. Her mother singing as she walked hand in hand with Eve down the stairs. Her father carrying her up the stairs when she’d hurt her knee.

  Her uncle had taken everything from her. She would get vengeance. Somehow, some way, she would get back what was hers. Grant would not like her plotting revenge and risking herself, she thought with a small smile. She prayed she got the chance to see him once again, even if but to argue that she should be able to be a part of bringing her uncle low.

  As the guard led her to the great hall, Eve’s mind raced to uncover what she could do to avoid being wed shortly. She could think of nothing, and that knotted her belly with fear, which twisted and knifed through her when the great hall door was opened, revealing her uncle standing there beside a priest, the rest of the room empty. Her uncle looked much the same, except instead of his previously all brown hair it was peppered with white. He was as tall as she’d remembered and thin with a hawklike nose and beady eyes. The priest leaned close to
him and whispered something. Eve did not recognize the man, though, and she frowned, wondering what had happened to Father Michael. Had he died? He’d been the priest of Linlithian Castle for as long as Eve could remember. He had christened Eve and her sister, and Father Michael had always listened to Eve when she had a problem. He had been so very kind and good. Everyone had loved him.

  Eve sucked in a sharp breath as an idea of how to possibly delay—or gain help doing so—came to her.

  “Ah, Eve!” her uncle boomed and spread his arms wide, as if she should simply walk into his treacherous embrace. She shuddered inwardly, but what her uncle expected was exactly what she had to do. “Eve, come.” He motioned to her. “Don’t be vexed with me for the way we were first reunited, my dear. Everything I did was done to keep you safe.”

  “Of course, Uncle Frederick,” she replied, shocked at how calm she managed to sound.

  She said a quick prayer that her uncle caught a pox that took his lying tongue, and she forced her feet to move. She walked toward him and the priest as if she were walking through thick mud. Her legs did not want to cooperate with her. Each step made the nausea increase so that by the time she reached her uncle, her stomach roiled like violent waves in the sea and perspiration dampened her brow.

  Please, God, do not let him notice.

  Brown, watchful eyes locked on her. “You’ve changed much, Eve. You’re a beautiful woman now.”

  She wished she were a woman with a dagger, she thought with burning anger. She’d plunge it straight into his black heart. She forced a smile. “You are too kind.”

  “Clara told me how you two managed to escape those wretched Scots. ’Tis a pity your sister did not. I’ve searched high and low for her, Eve, and I could not find her.”

  Lies. Her uncle spewed lies like the sky released rain—freely.

  Her uncle frowned. “Where is Clara?”

  Her uncle did not have a single care for Clara, of that Eve had no doubt. He simply wanted her in the room so he could use her to threaten Eve if she did not do as he demanded.

  Eve motioned nonchalantly toward the great hall door. “She was feeling faint, so I ordered her to lie down in my bedchamber.”

  “I see.” His eyes narrowed for a moment, as if he was contemplating having the guard fetch her.

  “She told me I am to wed today,” Eve announced, hoping to distract him. “Who will be my husband?”

  Her uncle exchanged a look with the priest, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. It was a good thing she had not hoped to find an ally in this priest. She would have been sorely disappointed. He obviously did whatever her uncle bade him without question. “Eve, the king wishes us to wed,” her uncle lied again. Eve allowed a bit of her horror to show. After all, her uncle would not expect her to hear this news and not be surprised. “He wants Linlithian to stay in our family, and our wedding is the only way to ensure this and keep your father’s men appeased.”

  It was interesting to her that her uncle had said your father’s men. As if he had never gained the knights’ true loyalty. “Do my father’s men hold his memory dear?” Eve asked, searching her uncle’s expression for a sign of the truth. Annoyance flickered across his face, and she knew then that they did. That gave her great hope, for it meant they did not find her uncle a good ruler in some way.

  “Yes.” He offered a tight smile, which did nothing to mask his anger. “They searched for you and your sister for years,” he added, annoyance lacing his tone.

  Her and her sister! Hope flared in her. Mary surly had to be alive.

  “They will be pleased to serve you, and of course, you will be pleased to serve me, yes?”

  She wanted to ask about Mary, but even if her uncle knew something, which she did not think he did, she felt certain he’d never tell her. “I will serve you always as you deserve, Uncle,” she said, thinking upon serving him with a dagger to his gut. She forced herself to muster another smile for him. “But before we wed, I would like to speak to Father Michael and confess my sins. Where is he?”

  Please, please, God, let Father Michael be alive.

  A fierce frown came to her uncle’s face. “I don’t think—”

  “A minute if you will, Lord Decres,” the chubby priest interrupted, then smiled placatingly at Eve. “I’m Father George.”

  Eve curtsied as was expected, though the man did not deserve such reverence.

  Uncle Frederick looked as if he would deny the priest’s request for a moment’s time, but he finally nodded, and he and Father George moved a few steps away. Eve stared at the priest’s mouth as he spoke, trying to read his lips.

  Let her. What harm. Goodwill breeds cooperation.

  Uncle Frederick flashed a forced smile toward her. “I’ll send for him. He’s even slower than he used to be, and he now resides in a cottage beyond the woods of my land.”

  “You mean my land,” she said, unable to stop herself.

  Her uncle flushed red, and his lip curled back. “What is yours will become mine when we are wed. I will be your lord.”

  “Of course.” She forced the words out through clenched teeth and prayed she did not sound or look as angry as she felt.

  Her uncle motioned for the guard. “Go now, Tormod, and fetch Father Michael.”

  “Let me, Lord Decres,” Father George said. “It may take a word from another priest to remind Father Michael of his duty to come and listen to Lady Decres’s confession and properly absolve her.”

  What utter lies! Eve fumed where she stood. There was no doubt in her mind that the corrupt priest before her wished to go to Father Michael to threaten him not to aid Eve.

  Uncle Frederick nodded and motioned between Eve and the guard. “Return her to her chambers,” he said. She bit her lip on a burst of hope. Once she was in her bedchamber again, she could escape as Clara hopefully had. The guard started to turn her but paused as her uncle said, “On second thought, put her in my chambers, which are soon to be ours, and send my chambermaid to her. There’s a tub in my chambers, and clearly, you have need of one, as the washing Clara gave you did nothing to cleanse you. I’d have you bathed and presentable before our wedding.”

  Her head pounded with rage, but she nodded. She could not afford to argue and risk her uncle sending someone to fetch Clara and use her to get Eve to do his bidding.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It was nearing nightfall when they finally reached the Valley of Blood and Linlithian Castle came into view. And by the time they made their way into the woods that surrounded the outer perimeter of the castle, darkness had descended in the sky—and in Grant’s heart and mind. All he’d been able to think about since discovering Eve was taken was that he had failed to protect her. That thought was immediately followed by myriad torturous scenes that all featured Eve. There was Eve being ravaged or Eve being killed. Or Eve being ravaged and then killed. Every scene played out with Eve being viciously hurt until Grant groaned at the images racing relentlessly through his mind.

  “I ken ye dunnae like what I’m saying,” Ross snapped, “but it must be said.”

  Grant halted his horse and turned toward Ross. “I did nae even hear what ye said.”

  Ross and Kade pulled their horses to a stop beside Grant’s. “We are riding to our likely deaths,” Ross said. “I ken ye wish to rescue Eve, but we need a plan. We kinnae just ride up to the gate and demand to be let in.”

  Grant tugged a hand through his hair in frustration. He knew his friend was right.

  He stared at the castle in the distance. Tall ramparts surrounded every side, each manned by at least one guard. He could not approach from left or right, because tall hills were on either side of the land. If he approached from the front or back, they’d see him coming the moment he exited the woods, and the only way they’d not shoot was if they believed him to be an ally or one of their own returning from a journey. Grant had nothing to make them seem like an ally or a Decres. He dismounted, as did the others, while he considered what to do.

/>   “Our best hope,” he said, the words sticking upon his tongue, “is to wait and ambush a Decres knight or someone visiting the castle. We could cloak ourselves in their clothing, if there was more than one of them.” The moment he spoke the idea he knew it would not do.

  “That’s an excellent plan,” Kade said.

  Grant shook his head. “Nay, it’s a terrible plan. How long might it take for someone to pass by? It could be today, tomorrow, or a sennight or longer before someone ventures through the valley toward the castle.” He jerked a frustrated hand through his hair. “I kinnae wait that long.”

  “Nay,” Ross agreed, something in his voice telling Grant that Ross had been waiting for him to come to this revelation. “I think we must create a distraction, so ye can slip into the castle.”

  “What sort of distraction?” came a woman’s voice from his right. She popped up out of the bushes, her silver hair seeming to glisten in the moonlight.

  Grant, Kade, and Ross all drew their swords. “Who are ye?” Grant demanded.

  The tiny woman crossed her arms over her chest, and Grant could just see her arch her brows. “I’m a friend to Eve Decres,” the woman said, her voice cautious. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Grant Fraser, laird to the Fraser Clan and Eve’s husband,” Grant replied, the words making his chest squeeze. He was amazed at how protective he was of her.

  “Husband?” she repeated, shock and disbelief clear in her voice and on her face. “Eve cannot be wed to you.”

  “Whyever nae? Because I’m a Scot?”

  “No, because she said she would wed her uncle!”

  “I told ye that ye could nae trust her,” Ross barked.