Captured by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  Duncan lifted his shield off his back, knelt down, and reached into his sporran for the small flintbox he had brought with him. A moment later, he was stretched out on his back, running a finger over the shiny agate in the center of the shield. The stone sparkled dazzlingly in the firelight.

  He would present this shield to Angus tonight, because Angus would wish to carry on the Butcher’s campaign.

  Duncan was certain of it. He would not interfere with Angus’s choice to continue that fight, but he would offer him another option first.…

  Horses approached. Riders dismounted just outside.

  Duncan closed his eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath.

  Everything would be different now.

  He heard his friends enter and join him at the fire. Then he opened his eyes and looked up—straight into the eyes of an English redcoat, and three others crowded around him, with muskets cocked and aimed at his head.

  His gut seized, for he recognized the leader instantly.

  He was the one who had tried to rape Amelia on the beach. The one Duncan had let live.

  “Good work, men,” the pasty redcoat said with a foulmouthed grin. “Looks like we caught ourselves a Butcher.” Then he swung his musket by the barrel and struck Duncan hard in the side of the head.

  Fort William, midnight

  Amelia woke to a frantic knocking at her door. Heart suddenly racing, she sat up and squinted into the darkness.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Uncle!”

  Recognizing the distress in his voice, she slid out of bed and hastened across the room in her bare feet. She unlocked the door and opened it. “What’s happening? Are we under attack?”

  He stood in the narrow corridor wearing only his nightshirt and cap, his finger hooked around a brass candleholder. The flame flickered and danced wildly in the drafts. “No, my dear, it’s not that. It’s something else. Good news, actual y. They’ve caught the Butcher.”

  A horn blew from somewhere in the compound. There were voices shouting. Footsteps tapping up and down the stairs. Amelia stood in the doorway, staring mutely at her uncle, not entirely certain she’d heard him correctly. There must have been a mistake. They had caught someone else, an imposter. Not Duncan.

  “Where is he?” she asked.

  “He’s here. They just brought him in on the back of a wagon, half-dead from the sounds of it.”

  “Have you seen him yet?”

  “No, but I thought I should tell you right away, because surely it will give you some peace of mind to know that your abductor will final y get the justice he deserves for what he did to you, and countless others.”

  She backed unsteadily into the room. “Half-dead, you say? What happened to him? How in the world did they catch him?”

  And was it real y him? If it was, did they know he was the Earl of Moncrieffe? Had he been dressed in silks and finery when they took him? But no, he couldn’t have been, or her uncle would have said something. News like that would shake the very foundations of the fortress, and the entire country as well .

  “Information was delivered to a small English camp on Loch Fannich,” he explained. “The soldiers learned where he would be at a certain hour, and sure enough, that’s where he was—living in a cave like the savage barbarian that he is.”

  “Yes…,” she said, feeling almost dizzy with shock. “That’s where he took me on the morning of my abduction.”

  Her uncle moved full y into the room, set down the candle, and pulled her into his arms. “I am so sorry, Amelia, that you endured such torture, but you are safe now. That despicable savage will be locked in a cell and chained to a wall . He will never be able to hurt you again.”

  She blinked a few times and fought to stay calm. Locked up? Chained to a wall ? Her emotions careened dizzily. She could not bear to think of it. Despite her need to turn down Duncan’s offer of marriage, she had never desired his imprisonment or his suffering. She would never wish to see pain inflicted upon him.

  And what did her uncle mean … half-dead? What had they done to Duncan?

  “Are you all right, Amelia? You look ghostly white. Sit down. I’ll send for some brandy.”

  “No, Uncle. I do not need to sit. I must see him.”

  “See him? But surely you do not wish to see the man who—”

  “I do wish it,” she argued. “If you will wait outside, I will dress quickly.”

  “But why, Amelia? Do you not think it would be best if—”

  “Please do not oppose me, Uncle. I need to know if it is truly him.”

  Winslowe took a step back and sighed. “Oh, it is indeed the Butcher, without a doubt. Not only was he carrying the famous shield with the Mullagate, but the officer who captured him had encountered him before and barely escaped with his life. He survived only because he was a strong swimmer.”

  Amelia whirled around to face her uncle. “A strong swimmer…” God, no. She could not stomach any more of this. What kind of strange destiny had befal en them? “Did this officer mention a woman who was there as a witness?”

  “No. He said the Butcher appeared out of nowhere and hacked their tent to pieces while they slept.”

  “Is his name Jack Curtis? Major Curtis?”

  Her uncle studied her curiously. “Yes, but how would you know that?”

  She felt a dark, simmering rage burn in her guts and wanted very much to speak to this allegedly brave survivor, who had neglected to mention the part she had played in his unexpected dip in the lake that night.

  “Because I had the distinct displeasure of meeting Major Curtis. I was there on the beach when the Butcher attacked. I can attest to the fact that this English officer is a scoundrel and a liar.” She was breathing hard now and could barely suppress her fury. “If you must know, he only lives because I pleaded with the Butcher to spare his life.”

  “You were there?”

  “Yes. Major Curtis was drunk and attempted to disgrace me in the worst possible way.”

  Her uncle gasped. “Good Lord, Amelia.”

  “But the Butcher came to my rescue. That is why he attacked the camp. He arrived in the nick of time and saved me from certain peril.”

  Her uncle’s eyes filled with sorrow and regret. He strode forward and took hold of her hands. “If only I had taken better care of you. Clearly there is much you have not shared with me about your experiences as that man’s captive. What hardships you must have endured.”

  “Yes, there were quite a few, but I cannot lie about it. The Butcher was indeed my abductor, but he was never cruel. He never hurt me.” She paused. “There are still so many things I have not told you.”

  “But will you tell me one day?” he asked. «Will you ever trust me with all that you have endured?”

  She stared at him for a long moment, realizing that her greatest suffering was happening right now. “Perhaps I will .

  But not tonight, because I must see him, Uncle. And I must see him alone.”

  * * *

  Duncan’s identity would soon be exposed to the world, Amelia thought miserably as she was escorted down the stairs to the prison by a guard in a red uniform. As soon as her uncle saw Duncan, he would recognize him as her former fiancé—the charming and amiable Earl of Moncrieffe.

  Duncan’s double life would be revealed and the sky would come crashing down. She, too, might be charged with treason for keeping his secret.

  Her stomach turned over. It was a wonder no one had recognized him yet. Colonel Worthington would certainly know Duncan on sight. He had dined at the castle more than a few times over the past year. Dozens of the soldiers stationed here had taken refuge there as well on a number of occasions. They had offered their assistance just this week in search of Richard. A search now called off, of course.

  News of his severed head arriving at Kinloch Castle in a bag had reached Fort William two days ago, and the Butcher had never been more fantastical y notorious.

  The guard beside her slowed his pace as
they approached the cell at the end of the corridor. She trembled slightly, not knowing what to expect. Her uncle had told her that Duncan was half-dead. Part of her hoped it would be a case of mistaken identity—that it was not real y Duncan at all .

  But to wish for the punishment of an innocent human being, wrongly accused, was beyond the scope of her conscience.

  She did not wish that. She could not.

  At last they reached the cell door and she rose up on her toes to peer through the small barred window. There, lying facedown on a hay-strewn floor, was a brawny, kilted Highlander. His wrists were locked in iron manacles and chained to the wall . His long, black hair covered his face, making identification impossible, but there was no need to see his face. Amelia knew every inch of his body and recognized the familiar green MacLean tartan. There was no doubt in her mind that it was Duncan—asleep or unconscious. Perhaps even dead.

  Her blood quickened. She turned to the young guard, who was fumbling clumsily with his keys, searching for the right one.

  “Hurry, please.”

  “My apologies, milady.” He found it at last and unlocked the heavy wooden door. It squeaked on rusty hinges as he swung it open. “No need to be frightened of him,” the guard said. “He may look like a monster, but he’s chained up and in no condition to do you any harm. I suspect he’ll be dead by morning, and if not, he’ll be just as dead when they hang him.”

  Amelia’s heart throbbed in her chest, but she strove to maintain an appearance of calm as she entered.

  “Take a good look at him,” the guard said. “Then I’ll see you out safely.”

  She turned to him. “I shall require a moment or two. There are a few things I wish to say to him. In private, if you please.”

  His head drew back. “Of course, milady. I understand. I’ll leave you to do just that, but I won’t be far. I’ll be right here in the corridor. call out if you need assistance.” He closed the door and left her alone in the cell .

  Heart-wrenching agony nearly choked her as she regarded Duncan, unconscious, on the floor. His hair was matted with dried blood. His left hand was bruised and misshapen, swol en the size of a turnip. There were cuts and contusions on his legs. She knelt down and gently touched his shoulder.

  “It’s me,” she whispered. “Please speak to me, Duncan.

  Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes? Can you move?”

  No response.

  She leaned down closer and pulled the wavy locks of his hair aside to whisper in his ear, “Duncan, wake up. Please, wake up.”

  Al of a sudden he jerked and tugged at the chains, flipped over onto his back, kicked his legs, and fought for a few brief seconds, until he realized the extent of his injuries, and groaned. He grimaced and writhed violently on the floor.

  The guard was bursting through the door in an instant.

  “Are you all right, milady?” There was panic in his voice.

  “I am fine,” she replied. “The prisoner woke up, that is all .

  Now leave us, please. Now!”

  The guard reluctantly backed out and closed the door.

  “Try not to move,” she said to Duncan, keeping her voice as quiet as possible so the guard would not hear the echoes of her despair. “You’re hurt. Your hand seems to be broken.”

  But there was so much more than that. She now found herself beholding the gruesome horror of his face, cut and swollen beyond recognition. His nose was broken, his cheekbone mangled, his lip cut and inflated. This at least explained why no one knew him. Even her uncle would not make the connection. Not in this state.

  “My God, what have they done to you?”

  “I don’t remember.” He struggled to breathe. “Ah, God, my ribs.”

  “They found you in the cave,” she told him. “The one who captured you was the soldier who attacked me on the beach.

  He has identified you, Duncan. I am so sorry. It is all my fault.

  If I had not run away that night…”

  He fought to breathe steadily and seemed to gain some command over the pain. “Nay, do not say you’re sorry. This is my fault, and no other’s. You did nothing wrong, lass.”

  She could not bear it any longer. She touched her forehead to his shoulder and wept. “What can I do? How can I make this better?”

  “You’ve already given me what I wanted. Just seeing your face and hearing your voice is enough. I thought you’d already returned to your own country, and that I’d never see you again. I thought you hated me.”

  She lifted her face. “Of course I do not hate you.”

  “But you must accept now that I am a savage. You wanted a gentleman, but what gentleman is ever as bloody and broken as this?”

  “No.”

  “Can you forgive me for all the things I’ve done?”

  “Yes,” she heedlessly answered, without hesitation.

  Without even thinking. “I forgive you, but I cannot bear to see you like this.”

  He shook his head. “If I die here tonight, it’ll be a better death than any other, knowing that you do not hate me, and that you are safe from Bennett, and in the care of your uncle.

  He is a good man. Let him take you home, and know in your heart that I wouldn’t change any of this.”

  “Please do not say these things.”

  “I must say them while I can, lass. I need you to know that I have no regrets, and because of what you taught me, there may be some hope for me in the afterlife. If you could send for a priest…”

  She shook her head. “No!”

  She looked over her shoulder, worried that the guard might have heard the distress in her voice. “I am not going to send for a priest. I am going to get you out of here somehow.

  No one knows who you are. If I can only get you back to Moncrieffe Castle…”

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “The Butcher might have been able to slay twenty men and carry you out of here with one hand, but I am broken now, lass. I’ll not be slaying anyone, and I’ll not be leaving this place.”

  She sat back on her heels, stared at him furiously, then stood. “Yes, you will , because I will not give up. Guard! ” she shouted. “Let me out of here! And for God’s sake, be quicker with your keys this time!”

  * * *

  The door to the officers’ quarters burst open, and five uniformed soldiers marched in with muskets at the ready. “Major Jack Curtis, you are under arrest.”

  Curtis, who was seated at a table with four other officers, quickly stood. The others stood up as well , all of them startled by the commotion.

  “What are the charges?” Curtis asked incredulously.

  “Drunkenness and attempted rape.” They swarmed around him, confiscated his pistol and sword, and seized him by the arms.

  “I demand to know the name of my accuser!”

  “The Duke of Winslowe, on behalf of his niece, Lady Amelia Templeton. Tsk-tsk, Major. Trying to have your way with a noblewoman? Shame on you.”

  They dragged him out of the room and escorted him roughly to the prison.

  * * *

  Sometime during the night, a surgeon entered Duncan’s cell , and after he was gone, Duncan dreamed of angels and his mother’s pearls and Amelia’s mossy green eyes. He felt her hands upon his wounds, healing his bones, and was vaguely aware of her softly kissing his forehead, washing his face with clean, warm water, and rising occasional y to keep the red soldiers from his door. He was alone, of course, chained to the wall . None of it was real. Amelia was not in the cell with him. She was somewhere else. But he slept soundly that night. And he felt no pain.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Amelia fought to stay calm and focused during the night as she paced in her room. She could not allow herself to give way to melancholy or helplessness. She could not fall into the trap of weeping or lamenting. If she fell apart, she would accomplish nothing.

  Duncan was injured and imprisoned, but at least he was alive. It was something to be thankful for when the circumstanc
es of his capture could have easily resulted in a different outcome. all was not lost. As long as he was alive, there was hope, and where there was hope, there was still a chance to save him.

  Perhaps she could state his case to Colonel Worthington and explain how Duncan had always treated her well and how he had rescued her from Major Curtis’s abominable attack on the beach. They might consider those facts and offer some leniency in his sentencing. If they were not willing to release him of all charges, perhaps they would at least spare his life. Instead of the noose, he could be taken to the Tolbooth, and perhaps one day …

  Al her thoughts seemed to be whirling about in her brain like dry leaves in a storm. She sat down on a chair, then immediately stood up again and paced.

  Perhaps she should appeal to her uncle for help. She had already revealed what had happened with Major Curtis at the lake, and her uncle had taken steps against the major with great effectiveness. He was now in custody. But could she confess everything to her uncle and reveal Duncan’s identity?

  No, she quickly decided. That would not be helpful. They might accuse her uncle of being a spy, for he had spent time at the castle. Some might even suggest he had colluded in planning Richard’s death. She, too, could be charged with treason if her knowledge became known. How would that help anyone? It certainly wouldn’t help Duncan. Iain and Josephine would then be implicated, and Duncan would die a miserable death, knowing his family would suffer for his crimes.

  She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples and squeezed her eyes shut. Forcing herself to breathe slowly, she decided it would be best to keep Duncan’s identity a secret, even if the Butcher was sentenced to death. If it did come to that, Iain would inherit the title, and perhaps they could stage the Earl of Moncrieffe’s death weeks later.…

  Stop it, Amelia. Stop it!

  Why was she even thinking such things?

  She went to the bed and flopped down on her back. If only there were more time. all she had managed to do thus far was arrange for the surgeon to visit Duncan’s cell and give him some laudanum for the pain, and she was still torturing herself over her refusal to send for a priest, when that was all he had asked for. Just that one thing, so that he might repent for his sins before the final moment of judgment, and be forgiven and depart from this world with some feeling of peace.