by B. J. Scott
“You’ll na convince me to go, so best you stop trying to sway me,” Fiona replied adamantly. “I may have been your lady’s maid since I was thirteen summers. But I’ve called you my friend for much longer. I’ll na leave you when you need my help.”
Roslyn balled her fists and glared up at Fiona. “Then as your mistress, I demand you go. Or I will call the guard to arrest you.” Roslyn inwardly cringed. She’d never spoken a harsh word to Fiona before now, but she had to do something to persuade her friend to leave.
The sound of voices approaching put an end to their discussion. Roslyn glared up at Fiona. “Someone is coming. You must leave at once. For you to stay and be captured willna do either of us any good.”
“I heard tell that the lad being kept in the south tower is the laird’s bastard son,” a man said, his words echoing in the dungeon hallway.
“Aye. I heard the same thing,” another replied. “What’s more, Lord Morgan was planning to make him his heir if his wife doesna give him a son this time around.”
“I wouldna want to be the foolish bugger who absconded with the sniveling little brat,” the first man said. “Apparently, Lord Roderick went through a lot to get the bairn here. Duncan was with them and told me the lad carried on, kicking and squealing like a trapped piglet the whole way.”
“I’m na fond of bairns,” the second man said. “If it were me, I’d have bound and gagged him, then tossed him over my lap and wailed the tar out of him.”
“I’m sure the laird was tempted. And when he gets ahold of the man who took the lad, he said he’d rack the blackguard, disembowel, then draw and quarter the poor sot.”
Roslyn grabbed Fiona’s upper arm. “They draw nearer and will soon be upon us. If you go now, there still might be a chance you’ll get away. Please.”
Fiona rose. “I’ll take my leave, but I’ll come back to tend to your wounds as soon as I can. I promise.” She headed for the door, but came to an abrupt halt. “I fear it’s too late, the men were just outside the cell.”
“Hide behind that barrel,” Roslyn whispered and pointed to the corner.
Fiona slipped behind the wooden keg and crouched in the shadows, just as two men arrived.
“What in damnation is this door doing unlocked?” one of the guards growled.
“Dinna ask me,” the other man said.
“You were the last one in here, where you na?” the first man snapped.
“Aye. But I secured the door and hung the key on yonder hook.”
“Well it isna locked now,” the first man grumbled as he entered the cell, carrying a tray. “If the laird finds out, he’ll tear a strip off your hide, the way he did hers.”
Roslyn shut her eyes, and lay very still, hoping the men would think her asleep and go. She prayed they wouldn’t notice Fiona hiding in the shadows. But then something she’d not yet considered came to mind. If they did depart and locked the door behind them, her friend would have no means of escape.
“Poor lass. Her brother really laid a beating on her this time,” one of the men said. “How long do you think the laird will keep her locked away?”
“It’s hard to say. But I imagine it will be for a while,” the other responded. “I heard she insulted her betrothed and the man left, but na before breaking the engagement. Her brother also thinks she had something to do with the disappearance of his bastard whelp.”
“Well, rumor has it the mistress, Lady Jean, was spitting like a viper when Lord Morgan brought the son of a whore into their home. Threatened to drown the bairn in the well, she did,” the other man added.
Appalled by what she heard, Roslyn’s stomach twisted with disgust. And men said women gossip. She had to bite her tongue to keep from commenting aloud, and was thankful Quinn was not here to bear the brunt of the insults being tossed about. But right now, Roslyn’s concern was focused on Fiona. There had to be a way to catch the guards’ attention so her friend could slip out unnoticed.
Hoping to lure them closer, Roslyn began to moan and thrash about wildly. “Roderick, stop. I’ll tell you what you want to know,” she called out, then her eyes flew open and she glowered up at the guards. “What do you devils want?” She recognized the dark-haired man immediately. While she didn’t recall his name, he’d been one of her brother’s loyal minions for many summers. But she’d never seen the one with ginger hair before today.
“We brought you some food.” The man with dark hair squatted and placed the tray on the floor beside her.
“Take it away! I dinna want any of this slop,” she shouted, then lashed out, catching the trencher with her fist and sending food flying everywhere. She watched as the men circled around her, their eyes fixed on her every move. Exactly what she’d hoped would happen.
“Now look what you’ve done,” the man with ginger hair said. “If you dinna want to eat, fine. Starve if you wish.”
In the commotion, Fiona scurried out of the cell while the guards had their backs turned.
“What was that?” The ginger-haired guard spun around. “I thought I heard something or someone in the hallway.” He swiftly moved toward the door, raised the torch he carried, then peered into the darkness.
“You’re letting your imagination get the better of you. There is no one down here besides us. And the rats of course.” The dark-haired man chuckled. “Let’s get out of here. And be sure to lock the door this time.” He tossed his friend the key.
The two men left the cell, the iron door clanging shut behind them. As their voices faded, Roslyn blew out a sigh of relief. Fiona had gotten away and Roslyn prayed the lass would not return. But that didn’t put an end to her worries. Her brother would not take his son’s disappearance lightly and would give chase. If caught, he would drag Quinn back in irons and kill Ian. While he’d managed to rescue her nephew, she hoped Ian had the good sense to put as much distance between them and Morgan Castle as possible.
“Please, Lord, keep them safe. Dinna let my brother continue his tyranny.”
Chapter 14
By the time Ian arrived at Morgan Castle, a thick, heather-scented mist rose from the moor and the sun crested the horizon, heralding the dawn of a new day. He only hoped it wouldn’t be his last.
He squatted in a thicket at the edge of the forest and peered up at the curtain wall, searching for guards. Reentering the castle would not be easy. When he and Quinn escaped, Roderick was busy with Roslyn and no one knew the bairn was missing. By now the castle was under full alert, everyone hunting for the lad and those responsible for setting him free. He raked his fingers through his hair. Perhaps Alasdair was right, he had lost his mind.
Concern for Quinn and the other members of the Clan Fraser rescue party tugged at Ian’s gut. He could only imagine Roderick’s fury when he discovered his son was gone. And he had no doubt the bastard was planning to go after him, killing anyone who got in his way.
When he began his quest to rescue Quinn, Ian’s path was clear. But after he met Roslyn, he found himself torn between honor and duty, faced with the choice of following his head or his heart. Ian felt compelled to find the Frasers and stand with his cousins. But he’d promised Roslyn he’d return for her and see her safe. Connor and his brothers were aware of the pending danger, and while he wasn’t even certain she’d agree to accompany him, he had to try.
His mind set, Ian needed a plan. He’d left the keep via the secret tunnel leading into Roderick’s chamber, so it made sense to return the same way. Once inside, he would go about his normal routine like nothing had changed, find out what the laird was up to, and Lord willing, he’d locate Roslyn. Ian crossed himself and mumbled a prayer. He’d never been an overly religious man, and believed men governed their own destiny. However, at this moment he could use all the help he could get.
When two archers appeared on the parapet, Ian crouched as low as he could go, brambles and thorns amidst the bracken piercing his flesh. He bit down on his lower lip and held his breath. The slightest movement, the rustle of a leaf,
or the sound of a snapping twig would alert them to his presence and put an end to his mission before it began.
His legs cramped and his back ached, but he remained still, waiting until the warriors disappeared from sight and he could no longer hear their voices. Certain no one else was around, he dashed for the curtain wall and the secret passageway leading into the castle.
Relief washed over him when he arrived to find the brush he’d left hiding the entrance undisturbed. He quickly moved the branches and crawled inside. Once he’d rescued Roslyn, this might be their only way out, so he hoped no one would find it until after they’d made their getaway. To be safe, he recovered the opening, then closed the door.
Surrounded in darkness, Ian fumbled his way along the tunnel, the stone wall damp beneath his fingertips. Upon reaching the end, he hesitated and pressed his ear against the door, uncertain what was waiting for him on the other side.
“Please, m’laird, dinna do this. Have mercy. You’re hurting me,” a woman cried out, her plea followed by the sound of a slap, and then another.
“Stop whimpering, wench. You’ll do as you’re told,” Roderick growled. “Lie still while I find my pleasure or I’ll make you wish you had.”
“Please,” the lass sobbed, “dinna strike me again.”
Outraged by what was transpiring, Ian called upon his last bit of self-control to keep him from bursting into the chamber and putting a stop to the assault. He cursed and pounded his fist against the wall. If he intervened, his action would destroy all hope of saving Roslyn. But how could he stand idly by and allow Roderick to violate another lass?
He couldn’t. Not and expect to live with himself afterward. “Forgive me, Roslyn,” he murmured as he reached for the lever that would release the hidden entrance.
“Lord Morgan,” someone shouted and began pounding on Roderick’s door.
“Damnation!” Roderick cursed. “You wait right here, lassie, while I see who dares disturb me. I’ll finish with you as soon as I flay the bugger.”
The pounding continued and so did the yelling. “Open up, Roderick.”
“What in the blazes do you want?” Roderick bellowed.
Ian peered through a crack in the chinking between the stones. He caught a glimpse of Roderick, stomping across the room with no regard for his state of undress. “This had better be important,” he said and yanked open the door.
The captain of the Clan Morgan guard, Roderick’s best friend, Ciaran MacRae, entered the chamber. Ian recognized him immediately. He’d heard the two men had known each other for many years, having met as lads when they fostered together with Clan Grant. Since then, Roderick seldom went anywhere without him. Some say they were joined at the hip.
“I dinna mean to disturb your fun,” Ciaran said with a distinct hint of sarcasm in his voice. “But the men are assembled and ready to ride. They’re awaiting your orders.”
“Tell them I’ll be down when I’m through here.” Roderick fondled his shaft as he glanced over his shoulder at the bed. “It willna take long. Be off with you and I’ll join you soon,” he said then dismissed his friend with a flick of his hand.
“I thought by now you’d outgrown your randy ways and had tired of rutting with women who dinna want you,” Ciaran said. “Or at least curbed your lust once you’d married. Do you na have enough bastards out there?”
Roderick fisted the neck of Ciaran’s tunic and yanked him forward, their faces nearly touching. “You’re one to talk. If I recall correctly, you’ve never had a problem taking a tumble with any of the chits once I finished.” He glared at his friend for a moment, then shoved him backward. “Half those bastards could be yours.”
“Why do you care about getting this particular lad back? What makes him so special or different from all the others?” Ciaran asked. “Or are you just trying to get even with his mother for refusing you, then running off after you violated her and warned her not to leave the village?”
“The lad is my son!” Roderick growled. “And I mean to get him back.”
“How do you know he is from your seed?”
“Because Sheena is one lass you never laid ballocks to,” Roderick spat. “And after I satisfied my needs, I cut her face so no one else would want her.” Roderick glared at the lass in his bed. “Remember that, bitch. Defy me and you’ll bear more than my bastard. You’ll carry the mark of a whore for the rest of your life. Unless of course, I decide to slit your throat.” He stomped toward her and yanked off the pelt she used to cover herself. “Get out of here. I’ve lost my appetite for you.”
Naked and trembling, the lass picked up her gown from the floor and raced toward the door.
As she passed, Roderick clasped her upper arm and squeezed until she cried out in pain. “Breathe a word of what transpired in this room and I will find you and cut out your tongue,” he threatened, then released her. “Get out of my sight. But be prepared to pick up where we left off when I return from getting back my son.”
The lass bobbed her head and ran out of the room, not bothering to dress.
“What are you staring at? You act like you havena seen a naked woman before.” Roderick picked up his trews and began to dress.
“They’re getting younger all the time,” Ciaran replied. “That one couldna have seen more than eleven summers.”
“Thirteen.” Roderick tugged his tunic over his head. “What do you think I am, a cradle robber? I like them young and untried, but prefer them to be weaned.” He threw back his head and laughed.
The things Roderick said and the way he made light of his despicable acts caused Ian’s stomach to churn and his blood to boil with anger. He hated Roderick Morgan and everything about the man. If he had his way, once Roslyn was safe, he’d tell him exactly what he thought of him, lop off his ballocks and run the bugger through.
Roderick pinned Ciaran with his stare. “The same goes for you, my friend. Breathe na a word of this to anyone or I will kill you.”
“Jean is my sister and you dishonor her by your actions,” Ciaran replied. “I willna say anything about this incident, but ask that it be your last tryst.”
“Your sister is a lazy old coo when it comes to satisfying me beneath the sheets. Not to mention, she hasna given me a son.” Roderick slung a baldric over his shoulder, then faced Ciaran. “I married your sister as a favor to you and your father. Otherwise she would still be rattling about Glengarry Castle, an old maid. But hear me and hear me well, Ciaran. I will rut with who I wish, when I wish. If you’ve become a milksop and have lost your taste for women, tell me now and I will replace you as both captain of my guard and my friend with a real man.”
“You’re still in your cups from last night, Roddy, and there isna any point in trying to reason when you’re spouting off like a fool,” Ciaran responded. “You and I both know how you get when you have too much spirits. Finish getting ready and I’ll meet you downstairs.” He turned and left the room.
“I’ll show you who’s a fool,” Roderick shouted after Ciaran. “Insolent bugger. When we get back, I’ll strip you of your rank and offer it to someone else,” he threatened, then left the chamber.
Ian waited to enter the room, giving Roderick time to reach the lower level of the castle, before opening the door.
“Discord amongst the ranks of your enemy is a good thing,” he said aloud. “But I’m afraid it willna do me any good.” He went to the hearth and removed the cornerstone, as he had seen Fiona do so he and Quinn could escape. After making certain everything was as Roderick left it, he gathered up some of the dirty tankards and trenchers, placed them on a tray, then headed to the door. If Roderick returned, he’d merely say he’d come to take the dishes back to the kitchen. A clever ploy he’d learned from Roslyn’s friend.
Ian opened the door a crack and peered out into the hallway. Servants bustled about, but there was no sign of Roderick or his warriors. He opened the door a little wider, prepared to step out when he spotted Fiona talking to a man at the end of the hallway
. If only he could get her attention so they could speak privately.
He had to work fast, or she’d be gone, so he stumbled out of the chamber and deliberately dropped the tray on the floor. “Damnation. If the laird sees this mess, he’ll have me flogged.” Certain he’d caught the lass’s attention, he squatted and began to pick things up.
“Och, you clumsy buffoon. Let me help you with that.” Fiona rushed to his aid and crouched beside him. “What are you doing here?” she whispered. “I thought you and the lad would be long gone by now. Perhaps even at Fraser Castle collecting a hefty reward for saving him.”
“Quinn is safe. But I couldna leave without Roslyn,” Ian replied so only she could hear him.
“What in tarnation is going on here?” The man Fiona had been talking to lumbered down the hall.
“As you can see, this inept fool has spilt the laird’s tray all over the floor.” Fiona peered up at the man, smiling. “I will help him pick it up. You go along with your business, Torren. Tell Cook I come anon.”
Torren studied them for a moment, then laughed. “Best you do what she says and clean up that mess, laddie. Or you’re right, the laird will have you flogged.” He turned and headed down the stairs, still chuckling.
Fiona lowered her gaze and shrugged. “I’m sorry I called you a fool and inept, Ian, but I had to think fast if I wanted him to leave.”
“What you said is true in many ways, but in this case, I, too, did what I had to in order to catch your attention.” He picked up the last of the dishes and stood. “Is there somewhere we can go and speak privately?”
Fiona nodded and ushered him back into Roderick’s chamber. “This will do nicely.”
“What if Morgan returns?”
Fiona shook her head. “He left with his warriors. They’re going to try and get Quinn back.”