Her Highland Destiny

by Leanne Burroughs

  Erwin shifted position and Tory scurried to her feet to stand between he and Catherine.

  “The hare squeaks.” With another burst of laughter, Erwin left them alone and walked outside the cave.

  Tory rushed to Catherine’s side. “Shh,” she consoled, rubbing her hands up and down Catherine’s arms. “’Twill be all right. Just help me keep him talking. The longer he talks, brags, the more time it gives our men to find us. Our husbands shall be here soon.”

  “Oh Tory, I had a dream...of a crypt-like cave and endless darkness...blood...and men fighting with swords.” Catherine gulped back her tears.

  “Never fear, Cat,” Tory assured. “We shall get out of here. God will protect us.” She placed her hand on Catherine’s belly and added, “All three of us. There is no way I shall let this man harm you or the babe you and Duncan waited so long for.” She paused. “Grant did not tell me Erwin was responsible for you losing your babe. I misdoubt he knew.”

  Catherine shook her head, took several deep breaths. “I did not know who he was. I had no name to give Duncan.” She looked to the cave entrance and back to Tory. “How will we escape?”

  “I have no idea. With you so close to delivering, we are vulnerable.” She smiled. “So, we will keep our wits about us, see he talks, and give us time to let our husband’s find us. Grant never lets me go far. You will see.”

  “Please do not let him kill my baby, Tory,” Catherine pleaded, her chest rising and falling with gulps of air. “If I could free myself of these bonds, we could rush him, mayhap knock him to the ground.”

  Tory shook her head. “Despite the enormous danger to yourself, you would charge him?”

  Catherine nodded. “Of course, ‘tis imperative I get back to Duncan. I fear him coming to the cave and fighting Erwin. I saw so much blood in my dream.”

  Tory put her arm around her. Catherine felt the warmth of her body. “Did you see Duncan die in the dream?”

  “Nay, but I...”

  “Then trust in your husband, Cat. As I trust Grant. As I trust our holy Father in Heaven.”

  ~ * ~

  Duncan grew frantic as he desperately ran his fingers over every spot on the wall. “There has to be a catch here.”

  “You are certain you do not remember your mam or da mentioning an escape tunnel?” Grant asked.

  “Nay, I spent little time in their chamber. Da did not like me in there.” He raked his fingers through his hair in exasperation. “I did not even know we had a tunnel system at Glenshee.”

  “But someone who lives here must.”

  They immediately called for Angus. Duncan also issued the order to, “Set the men to search outside the castle pale. See if they pick up a trail away from the castle.”

  Grant glared at the wooden wardrobe. “No need for a secret latch if we use an axe.” His sharp eyes narrowed. “Look at this carving on the side. It looks like an arrow.”

  “Mayhap it points to the lever?” Duncan joined him, inspecting it. “Push it.”

  They pushed against the heavy piece. At first nothing, but then it moved away just enough for a body to squeeze through. Hope rose, until they faced a stone wall.

  “Now what?” Duncan groused.

  Grant glanced back at the wardrobe. “The arrow no longer points to the wall.” His eyes looked to the fireplace just to the side. “It points here.”

  Grant ran his hand over the fireplace’s mantle. Over the hearthside tools. Then he noticed the lions’ heads on either side of the stone mantle.

  Angus walked in and was quickly apprised of what they searched for.

  “’Tis the lion’s head on the left,” he informed them.

  Grant slowly jiggled the head until he was able to pull it a hand’s length away from the wall. As he did, they heard a heavy grating sound and the wall behind the wardrobe moved just enough for Grant to get his hand through it.

  Duncan instantly noticed the darkened stain on the wood frame.

  They put their shoulders to it, and almost fell in as the hidden door moved easily.

  “I would say someone uses this rather frequently.” Grant grabbed a torch off the hallway wall and followed Duncan into the tunnel.

  Duncan was in absolute panic. The narrow corridors seemed to go on forever, the incline steep. More than once they were faced with one that branched off.

  “Slow down, Duncan. We must use our tracking skills. Tory might have left clues,” Grant insisted.

  “How many paths wind beneath the castle?” Duncan bemoaned.

  “’Tis something we can discover once our ladies are tucked up safely.”

  The hairs on the back of Duncan’s neck prickled as it registered the tunnels were like an underground maze. His breath nearly caught, but he forced his mind to deal with it, and pushed on.

  Catherine needed him.

  Where are they? Heavenly Father, please be with them. Wrap Your hedge of protection around them. In Jesus’ name I pray. Then fear intervened and he wondered, Will they be safe when we find them?

  Terror drove him forward.

  “Who took them? One of the neighboring Farquharsons? Mayhap hoping to claim blackmail over our longstanding feud? How would they know of the tunnel?” Words came from his mouth, though he little recalled speaking.

  Concentrating on the path in front of him, he pushed his tired body onward. Everyone veered right when Alasdair found signs the women had turned in that direction.

  Grant hushed him. “We need to listen for sounds. Here.” From marks on the ground, one of the women had fallen and been dragged before standing and walking again.

  Duncan glanced toward Grant, who looked just as angry as Duncan felt.

  He growled his frustration.

  How far ahead could the women be? Had they been taken while he trained in the lists, or had his wife’s life become at stake while he lazed before the hearth in his Great Hall? If he’d checked on her sooner, this might not have happened.

  Fear churned his belly.

  Did whoever took them think himself too good to be found?

  How foolish.

  A sea of rage spurred him on.

  “Another corridor.” Grant paused, waving the torch inside each trying to see if there were signs to see which way they came. “Listen... I hear voices.”

  Eyes fixed on Grant. He stood at the mouth of two tunnels trying to determine which way the voices came. They echoed, reverberated, distorting sounds to where he couldn’t tell. “Should we separate? You take one and I take the other?”

  “Hush, listen,” Duncan cautioned, holding his finger to his lips.

  Muted voices came and Grant jerked his head to the right. “This way.”

  A scream echoed along the stone.

  Duncan pushed past Grant and the torch, racing in the direction the sound had emanated.

  He recognized the scream.

  Cat.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Approaching stealthily, they again heard a shrill scream. Louder this time. Locking eyes with Grant, Duncan mouthed the words, “What does this monster do to them?”

  “Shut her up!” The angry shout came from up ahead, but they could see no opening. Only cave walls.

  The women were being held captive only a few yards in front of them, but how could they get to them? Years of training asserted itself and the men transformed their strategy to battle behavior.

  Duncan’s chest tightened at the sound of another terrified scream.

  “Shut her up, I said.”

  “You fool. I cannot do that. She cannot help it.”

  Tory. That was Tory talking. That affirmed the person yelling was Cat.

  Duncan’s heart slammed against his ribs.

  Filled with blind rage, he started to charge forward, but Grant grabbed his arm.

  A familiar voice said, “Stuff summat in her mouth. I dinnae wish to hear her screams. How much longer will it take?”

  “You lackbrain.” Tory voiced her loathing. “No one can answer that.
”

  Merciful Lord, is Cat dying? Is that what Tory cannot ascertain? Please protect her. Duncan’s heart felt like it would break in two. I cannot lose Cat now, Lord. We have come too far and I am too close to reaching my goal—her heart.

  “Listen.” Grant held his fingers to his lips, then jerked his head toward the tunnel on the right. “This way.”

  Duncan followed on his heels as they charged down the black tunnel, finally coming to a dead end.

  “A latch is here someplace, and if ‘tis the last thing I do, I shall find it,” Duncan vowed, running his hands over the wall. He cursed, his anxiety rising. “Where is it?”

  “Here.” The sound of Grant working the lever was music to Duncan’s ears.

  “Help me push it so we make no noise.”

  They opened the door slowly, grimacing when it creaked.

  Drawing their swords, they stormed through it, yelling the MacThomas and Drummond war cries at the top of their lungs.

  The sound was deafening with the cave’s echo.

  Startled, the wretch who’d taken Cat spun around, kicking dirt onto the fire, dousing the feeble light, plunging the cave into darkness.

  In the split second before the firelight went out, Duncan placed a face with the voice. Erwin. The man who’d caused Grant and Tory so much pain. His former right hand man.

  He swung his sword at the spot where he’d last seen his former cohort, to no avail. Tory shrieked in pain.

  “Stay back,” Erwin warned through the darkness. “If you come closer, I shall kill your women.”

  Catherine let out a bloodcurdling scream.

  Duncan thought his heart would leap from his chest. “What happens? What are you doing to my wife?”

  The torch Grant carried now cast eerie shadows on cave walls.

  No one moved.

  Erwin stood with his dirk pressed against Tory’s throat. A look of madness upon his face. He turned his eyes to Grant, who’d just stepped through the entrance. The gleam in them was devoid of all humanity. A son of Satan. This was a cornered animal that would kill to save himself. And would take pleasure in the killing.

  Grant coldly eyed the man who had caused so much pain in his and Tory’s lives. Duncan had seen that countenance upon his friend’s face before in battle. A man focused, ready to kill.

  Duncan’s attention moved from Grant. Catherine. Where was she?

  Another scream echoed through the cave. Were there others with Erwin? Who tortured Catherine? He saw no one.

  Of a sudden Duncan gasped. All eyes followed the direction of his gaze. Catherine was bound to a fallen tree. There was no one around her, yet she continued to cry out. Had Erwin fatally wounded her? Blessed Mary, was his beautiful wife dying?

  Tory met their eyes and shouted, “The babe comes.”

  They stared at her in stunned disbelief.

  Erwin yanked on her hair and ground out, “I told you to shut up. One more word and—”

  “And nothing,” Grant said coolly, with a smile. “Harm one hair on my wife’s head and I promise you willnae die quickly enough to suit you.”

  Erwin laughed, a look of triumph crossing his face. In his madness, he recognized in Grant’s eyes he was already a dead man.

  “You are in no position to threaten me, Laird Drummond.” Erwin spat Grant’s name like an epithet. “Neither is my auld friend, Laird MacThomas.” He swung his eyes to encompass Duncan. “As long as I have your wives, I do as I please.” Erwin released Tory’s hair and reached his free arm in front of her.

  Grant smiled, then shifted his eyes to Duncan. With a quirk of the eyebrow he said, “Now.”

  Duncan and Grant lunged toward Erwin.

  Erwin pushed Tory toward Catherine and grabbed for his sword, swinging it up to block Grant’s swing, then Duncan’s.

  Erwin mocked, “Remember when we were like brothers? Brothers? You dinnae realize that is what we are. My mam said this should all be mine. Said the auld laird ignored her after he wedded with your mam.”

  Duncan drove back with the hilt of his sword, slamming the pommel into Erwin’s nose, breaking it.

  The weasel shouted in pain, blood streaming from his nose. “Blast you, Duncan MacThomas. You have no right to claim what should be mine. But for the side of a blanket, Clan MacThomas should be mine.”

  Despite his pain, Erwin continued to fight, a frightening opponent driven by madness. He used the sword with a chopping swing, the power of his beefy arms saw his blade clang against Duncan’s, sending the blade flying from his grip. Erwin swung at Duncan, a blow that would have cleaved him in two, but Grant was there blocking the sword.

  Grant smiled as he backed Erwin step by step away from the women. There was an unholy light in his eyes, a light that would make a sane man shudder, but Erwin was too far past rational thought. The two adversaries fought, their broadswords locking, then it became a test of sheer strength.

  Duncan, his sword in hand again, shouted, “Stand back, Grant. This scum belongs to me.”

  With a snarl, Erwin swung at Duncan. “I always had your leavings, MacThomaidh’s weakling son. This time I shallnae fail. You shall die. I shall claim what is mine.”

  Their swords clanged, echoing as they hammered at each other. Well matched, once they’d fought for the same cause. Now they fought to the death. Duncan watched Erwin summon every ounce of strength. A blow that rained down knocked Duncan’s sword from his hands, the blade slicing into his upper arm.

  Grant took up the fight as Duncan grabbed his dirk from its sheath with one hand and the sgian dubh from his boot with the other. Grant nearly lost his footing on the rocky cave floor, giving Erwin chance to swing his sword at Duncan.

  Duncan jumped back, but not before the blade ripped his shirt and sliced across his chest. Blood stained, Duncan was little aware. When Erwin raised the sword to crash it into Duncan’s head, Duncan lashed out with his booted feet, catching him in the ribs, falling to the ground. Feinting to the side, he jumped to his feet, crashed his shoulders into Erwin’s. They fell to the ground, grunting from impact. Duncan grappled with Erwin to wrench the sword from the crazed man’s hands.

  Erwin grabbed the small dagger from his waist and jabbed it into Duncan’s side, but the pain of it couldn’t stop the thrust of his dirk as it slipped easily between two of Erwin’s ribs.

  Eyes wide, Erwin howled in pain and bared his teeth. With effort he rolled away from Duncan and rose to his knees, but could rise no farther. Refusing to give up, he threw his dagger at Duncan’s heart. With a quick movement of his arm, Duncan deflected the dagger, feeling the sharp pain as it entered. Erwin fell forward.

  When he didn’t move, Grant moved forward to grab his hair. He stared at Erwin’s open mouth, the eyes devoid of life. “He is dead”—Grant breathed heavily—“his poison gone with him.” He let the man’s head fall back to the ground and turned to stare at Duncan. “Methinks you need to spend more time in the lists training with your men than inside with your wife. He almost had you there. Do not ask me to stand by and watch you fight alone. I shall never do so again.”

  Observing no other enemy, Duncan rushed to Catherine.

  His heart pumping wildly, he knelt beside her. He tried to lift her in his arms, but she was still shackled to the large log. When he moved her, she screamed in pain. He laid her back gently, his eyes searching her body for signs of injury. He saw bruises and cuts, but nothing that would cause the pain she seemed to experience.

  Biting her lip to keep from yelling, Catherine reached for Duncan’s hand and refused to let go. “Hold me,” she begged. “Please do not let go.”

  “Mo Chridhe,” he shouted with raw emotion. “What did that monster do to you?”

  Tory laid a hand gently on his shoulder. “She is fine, Duncan. I swear. I told you, she is having the baby.”

  Duncan looked at his friend like she’d lost her mind. Had the stress proved too much? His wife would never give birth to their child while tethered to a log in the middle of a d
ark, dank cave!

  He turned his gaze back to Catherine, hoping she’d tell him what was wrong. He found her eyes glazed with pain and her skin covered with a sheen of sweat.

  Seeing Duncan no longer paid attention to her, Tory turned into Grant’s embrace. Through his panic Duncan realized Tory and Grant stood wrapped in each other’s arms. “You found us,” Tory breathed.

  “Aye, my love, we found you,” Grant soothed, rubbing his hands up and down her back.

  “She is having her babe, Grant. She is bruised, but fine. But she has been exposed to the chill of the cave too long. We must get her warm.”

  Duncan’s eyes shot between his friends and his beloved wife. He tried to speak, but barely croaked out the words, “She is really having our bairn? Here? Now?”

  “She cannot have it here. She will sicken. We have to get her back to the castle afore it is too late,” Tory told him.

  Catherine nodded slowly. Keeping her eyes open seemed so difficult. She felt cold. She weakly rubbed a hand along Duncan’s whiskered jaw and marveled, “You came for me. Tory told me you would, but I did not believe her.” She grabbed for Duncan’s arm and squeezed, her face contorting in pain as another contraction hit.

  Duncan gently pushed the damp hair back from her face. “Why did you not believe Tory?”

  “Because I have done so...many foolish things,” Catherine mumbled, her head lolling to the side. Why did it take so much effort to speak?

  “I always came for you, Mo Gràdhaichte. I always will.”

  “You called me...beloved.” Catherine smiled, her breathing ragged.

  “Of course I did.” Duncan wrestled with his emotions. He wanted to shake this woman and clutch her to his chest at the same time. “You are my life. Naught else matters.”

  “I never believed you truly loved me,” she confessed, voice cracking.

  Her admission came as no surprise to him. “And now?” He was afraid to breathe, afraid to hear her answer.

  “Now I believe you love me...as I love you.” She struggled to smile, her voice a mere whisper.

  Duncan felt weak with relief. It had been a long time coming, but their arduous journey back to each other was now complete. But in the next breath, Catherine lapsed into unconsciousness.