The Highlander's Stronghold (Searching for a Highlander Book 1)

by Bess McBride

  “He was injured pretty severely by Angus a few nights ago when the Macleods kidnapped Mary and the kids,” I said, but hurried to finish when Mrs. Mackay whipped around with a startled face. “He’s going to be okay! But he sustained a head wound and a severe laceration to his back and neck in a swordfight.”

  “Och!” She shook her head. “Those two will kill each other afore long.”

  I feared the same thing and wanted to say something about John coming for Mary, but the less I said about that, the better. Angus expected John to come and was probably ready for an attack.

  “The young laird will no let an injury stop him from rescuing his family,” she said, as if she read my mind.

  I relented.

  “But Angus will surely kill him this time,” I moaned. “John simply cannot win in a physical battle, not with those injuries. They were awful!”

  Mrs. Mackay bit her lip.

  “I truly hope that will no come to pass.”

  She moved toward the door.

  “I must return to my duties, lass. And ye heard the Macleod. I am to lock the door. I will return soon with food and drink. Rest a bit. Ye look fair done in.”

  I wanted to cling to her, to beg her not to leave me, but I resisted.

  “Thank you” was all I could say.

  Mrs. Mackay nodded silently with sympathetic blue eyes before slipping out the door and locking it behind her.

  I stared at the closed door forlornly for a moment before turning to study the room. The dank chill begged for warmth, and I surveyed the small stone fireplace flanking one end of the room, regretting that I hadn’t asked Mrs. Mackay to light it for me. I saw no wood, nothing that remotely resembled a tinderbox, and I wasn’t sure I could work flint and steel even if I tried.

  I grabbed a soft gray blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders. The window lured me, and I moved toward it. Thankfully, it wasn’t high on the wall but was at eye level. I looked out. My room faced the sea, and I strained to see the water through the mist that continued to sock in the castle.

  When would John come? I imagined they had returned to Dun Eistean after burying their kin and discovered not only that they had been attacked yet again but that Angus had taken me. How had John reacted to that information? I knew he felt responsible for me, that he would regret he hadn’t forced me to take the dagger the previous day. I hoped he wouldn’t do anything foolish, take any unnecessary risks, rush headlong into danger to save me.

  Mary and the children were probably safe from harm. I remembered the vile touch of Angus’s hand around my neck as he pulled me to him. I wasn’t so certain how safe I was.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The sound of a key in the door awakened me, and I opened my eyes. The window showed twilight seeping in, and I wasn’t sure how long I had slept. The door opened, and fearing the arrival of Angus, I scrambled off the bed to a standing position.

  But it was only a rosy-cheeked Mrs. Mackay and a young, mousy brown-haired girl bearing a tray of food and drink.

  “Set it there, lass,” Mrs. Mackay said, pointing to a small round wooden table in a corner of the room near the fireplace. The petite pale-skinned maid complied before she turned and hurried from the room.

  “Did ye rest then, lass?” Mrs. Mackay asked, nodding toward the unkempt cover and loose blanket on the bed.

  “Yes, I did, a bit,” I said. “Thank you for the food.”

  “I have brought ye a bit of carrot soup and some oat bread—a tankard of ale as well.”

  I would have killed for a cup of hot tea but decided not to ask. I assumed the kitchen was at least on the first floor, if not a basement, and I remembered the climb up the steep stairs.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Have ye need of aught else afore I go?” she asked.

  Just some company, I thought, but I shook my head.

  “Do ye wish to bathe after yer meal?”

  “Oh, yes, please!” I couldn’t help it. I didn’t care how many flights of stairs someone had to climb. Yes, please!

  Mrs. Mackay grinned a toothy smile.

  “I suspected as much and have had Igrid boiling water. Some of the lads will bring up a few buckets. Ye will find soap and linen in the cupboard.” She nodded toward the dresser. “I ken ye only have what ye are wearing, and yer skirts appear soiled. Igrid will bring ye a clean shift, and she will wash yer skirts this evening.”

  “Thank you, thank you, Mrs. Mackay!” A relaxing hot bath would go a long way to normalizing my life. I just knew it.

  “Ye’re most welcome, dearie. Eat yer dinner.” She turned and left.

  I heard the key in the door as I sat down at the table to enjoy a wonderfully hot soup. My stomach warmed, reminding me that I’d forgotten to ask Mrs. Mackay to set the fire. I promised myself that I would ask whoever brought up the bath water.

  Famished, I ate quickly, and a knock on the door and the clanking of keys brought two young teenage boys into the room, carrying four buckets of hot water. Igrid followed them in, keys dangling from her hands, and she laid some clothing on the bed. The boys, both tall and lanky, and resembling each other so much that I thought they must be related, pushed the screen aside and poured water into the tub.

  “Igrid, could you set the fire or ask one of the boys to do it?” I asked.

  “Aye, mistress,” she said. “I will send the lads back with peat for the fire.”

  Ah! A peat fire. That would be thrilling, I thought with a sigh. A great smell.

  “Thank you!” I said.

  The boys directed curious stares at me as they backed out of the room, and Igrid, chiding them in a matronly way, followed them. Just before reaching the door, she turned and spoke, her expression sympathetic.

  “Mrs. Mackay said I am to lock the door again, mistress.”

  “I know. That’s all right, Igrid.”

  She nodded and left. I heard her lock the door behind her. I hurried around to the back of the screen and dipped my fingers into the steaming water.

  On the verge of shedding my clothes and climbing in, I realized that, thanks to me, I had to wait for one of the boys to come back and make up my fire. Restlessly, I paced back and forth between the door and the tub, awaiting someone’s return and hoping that the water wouldn’t cool before I could get in. I stopped once and retrieved the soap and linen towels from the cupboard, laying them on a small stool near the tub, before resuming my pacing.

  Both boys came back with a bucket of peat, and they bent to set the fire, again throwing curious glances at me out of the corners of their eyes. I smiled and stepped from foot to foot impatiently as I waited for the fire to take hold.

  “Okay, that’s good! Thanks!” I said, hurrying them out of the room like a gaggle of geese. I heard the keys in the door once again.

  I shed my clothing as fast as I could, dropping my soiled garments onto the floor. Grabbing up the soap, I stepped into the hot tub. The water had lost some of its steam, but the fire, now burning brightly, made up for the loss of heat.

  I wanted to close my eyes and luxuriate, but I found it hard to relax knowing that I was a captive in a castle under the control of a man who had kidnapped me for some nefarious purpose. Angus had said I wasn’t a hostage, and he must have known that John probably didn’t have money for ransom. I assumed the bulk of any money John had was tied up in the estate in which I was now imprisoned.

  I soaped up and washed my hair as best I could before succumbing to the warmth and leaning my head back in the small tub. Closing my eyes, I dreamed of a tidal-stack island surrounded by sparkling blue sea, a majestic tower house standing alone on a cliff and the handsome Highlander who took my breath away.

  A jingle of keys startled me out of my reverie, and I started up out of the tub to grab a towel, when the door burst open. Angus Macleod strode in, and I shrieked and fell back into the tub to bury my body under the water.

  He heard my shriek and looked toward me. Rather than excuse hims
elf or turn away, a slow smile spread across his face. He carried a glass decanter of some sort of dark liquid.

  “Mistress Borodell,” he almost purred, taking a sloppy sidestep. I heard a slur in his words and realized he was drunk.

  “Get out!” I shouted, though my voice came out in a rasp. “Get out!”

  “I think no,” he said, moving toward me. “Will ye no have a drink with me?”

  I cowered under the water, desperately searching for a way out of what was likely to happen. I could jump out of the tub and grab a towel to hide behind. Or maybe just grab the chair and smack him. But I hated to think of the consequences if I missed or if he didn’t fall. And even if I knocked him out, what would happen when he exacted revenge on me for attacking him?

  I was just on the point of screaming, when Mrs. Mackay hurried into the room, Dugald behind her.

  “Help the laird to his room, Dugald,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. Dugald, to my surprise, did not argue, but took Angus by the arm and pivoted him around. The drunken chieftain only laughed as he spun.

  “I will visit with ye later, mistress!” he crowed, allowing Dugald to guide him from the room. Mrs. Mackay grabbed the keys from Angus’s hand, hooked them on her belt and shut the door behind the men. She turned and hurried toward me. Reaction had set in, and I huddled in the tub with my knees to my chest, shaking.

  “Och, lass,” she murmured, picking up a towel and holding it out for me. “I should have kent the Macleod would do something foolish when I saw him drinking. When I saw my keys missing from the hook where I keep them, I kent he was on his way to yer room.”

  She seemed to want me to stand up, but I couldn’t. I could only shake.

  “Come, lass. Dry yerself off and ready yerself for bed.”

  “Bed?” I squeaked. “I can’t sleep! How am I going to sleep with that man running around?”

  “Dugald will take Angus to his room, and the laird will sleep off the drink. Ye have no more to fear from him this night.”

  “This night?”

  Mrs. Mackay’s face drooped.

  “Ye need to be away, lass. I think Angus plans to take ye for his own. Ye may no ken, but John’s uncle, Maurice Morrison, seduced Angus’s wife and spirited her away to Glasgow. He has long dreamed of revenge and must think he has it now in ye. He has a wife, but she is a sickly thing, and he sees her only rarely. She lives far away on his estates.”

  I had suspected as much when Angus kidnapped me, but had tried not to think about it.

  “Come, lass, out of the tub. Ye can no hide in there forever.”

  I pulled myself up, too shaky to be embarrassed at my nakedness, and I allowed the housekeeper to wrap the large linen towel around me. She helped me out of the tub, and my weakened legs could do no more than allow me to drop into the chair. I bent over my knees, long wet hair hanging down over my head, and I buried my face in my lap. Hot tears flowed, and sobs racked my body as I reacted to Angus’s intrusion into my room and the news that he planned on keeping me forever.

  Mrs. Mackay patted my back and murmured soothing words in Gaelic. When my torrent of tears subsided, I lifted my head and eyed her.

  “I have to get out of here,” I whispered.

  She nodded. “Aye, that ye must.”

  “How?”

  She shook her head. “I dinna ken, lass. I have no left the castle in a year. I am little more than a prisoner here myself. Once I decided to stay, I could no leave. The guards would never let me pass through the gate, nor would they let ye go.

  “But ye have said that the laird is coming. Will he come soon, do ye ken? Afore tomorrow eve?”

  I alerted on her last words.

  “Tomorrow eve? What happens then?”

  “Angus will come for ye again, I fear, and if he comes without benefit of drink, I dinna ken if Dugald or I can stop him.”

  I started to shake again, and Mrs. Mackay wrapped the second towel around my shoulders.

  “There now, lass. There now,” she whispered. “Perhaps young John will come afore then.”

  “I doubt it. Angus took the birlinn. I don’t know how fast John can travel on foot with his injuries.”

  “Och! It is a fair journey by land.” She clucked in her motherly way. “Still, we must no give up hope.”

  “Why would Dugald help you tonight or any other time, by the way?” I asked. “Why did he take Angus out of the room? He’s loyal to Angus, isn’t he?”

  Mrs. Mackay nodded. “Aye, he is, but he is besotted with Mary Macleod—has been for years, even when she was married to young Hamish. It was she who bade Dugald watch over ye, especially if the Macleod took to drink. She suspected Angus intended to have ye for himself, either out of revenge or because he fancies ye. I could see from the moment I first saw ye that he desired ye.”

  I thanked Mary silently for her foresight.

  “How is Mary? The children?”

  “They are well. The Macleod will no do harm to his son’s widow or the bairns.”

  “Other than imprison them against their will.”

  “Aye, other than that. The mistress is saddened to hear of her brother’s injuries and frets about him.”

  “Me too,” I murmured. I turned to stare into the flames of the fireplace.

  “Are ye fond of him then?” Mrs. Mackay asked.

  I nodded. “Very much so.”

  She put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Then ye are the one,” she said softly.

  I lifted my head and looked up at her.

  “The one?”

  She beamed and nodded.

  “Aye, the lass for him. A wife, a companion. John’s mother, Elsbeth, was a fanciful woman. She told the children bedtime stories of heroes and fairy maidens, dragons and beasties, love and war—perhaps to make up for her own loveless marriage to an auld man. John and Mary loved her dearly and were devastated when she died of a fever. Mary grew up to fall in love with her own hero, Hamish, but young John never seemed to find someone of his own. I wondered if he ever would. Elsbeth left her son with impractical ideals that no simple lass could ever hope to achieve—and many have tried.”

  I jumped up.

  “Oh, no! That’s not me. I’m not the one!” I cried out.

  Mrs. Mackay took a step back.

  “Och! Did I no understand ye? Did ye no just say—”

  “No! Yes! Yes, I am very fond of him. But I’m not staying! I have to go. I can’t really live here!”

  Mrs. Mackay stared at me in consternation for a moment before she blinked and allowed her features to soften into a sympathetic expression.

  “Ah, I ken, lass. Ye wish to return to England. The wilds of Scotland are no place for ye, is that it?”

  Stunned by my own perverse outburst, I nodded slowly. I was in no doubt that I had fallen in love with John Morrison, but I was torn between my love for him and the safety and comfort of my own time. Even Colonial America seemed far, far away.

  “Yes, that’s it,” I said in a bemused tone.

  Mrs. Mackay picked up the shift she had laid out, and she handed it to me. I dropped the towel and slipped the shift over my head. The older woman moved toward the bed and pulled back the red velvet cover.

  “Slip into bed, dearie. I will lock the door. The Macleod will no bother ye again tonight. I will sleep with the keys under my pillow.”

  I knew I wouldn’t sleep a wink, but I crawled into the soft linen sheets. Mrs. Mackay tucked me in like a child and said good night before leaving. I heard her lock the door.

  I became aware of a discomfort in my nether regions, and I crawled out of bed to look under the frame. Sure enough, a porcelain bowl beckoned me, and I lifted my shift and hovered. The needs of nature satisfied, I crossed over to the tub to wash my hands in the lukewarm water before sliding back into bed.

  A peek at the window showed darkness had descended, but I had no need of the wall sconces and candles I had noticed on several walls and a small bedside table. The fire lit the ro
om, lending it a warm, comfortable atmosphere. I put my arms behind my head and watched the crackling flames for a while, trying to stay present in the moment and forget about the following morning, the following day. My anxieties and fears ebbed, and my eyelids fluttered.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shouts startled me awake, and I opened my eyes. The fire now glowed softly but lit the room enough for me to find the floor when I jumped out of bed.

  Angus! Angus was coming for me! I backed away from the door and looked for a corner or something to hide behind. I threw myself down to the stone floor and wriggled under the bed frame, pushing the chamber pot aside. I held my breath. Of course he would find me here, but hopefully, Mrs. Mackay would hear him and reach me in time before he broke down the door.

  I held my breath and listened to the men’s voices raised in anger, the clash of steel and a few pistol shots. The sounds came not from the hallway but from the window. I slid out from under the bed and scooted toward the window on my hands and knees.

  Rising slowly to peer out over the sill, I looked down into the courtyard and saw a sight that was rapidly becoming all too familiar. Torches moved haphazardly across the enclosure, lighting up the chaos. I heard women screaming. Men engaged in combat, steel upon steel. Shots rang out, and I involuntarily ducked before sticking my head up again.

  The flames of one torch gleamed off the golden head of a tall man, and I screeched from my window.

  “John! John!”

  Instantly, I regretted shouting down to him. He lost his concentration and fell backward. I could only imagine his wounds ripping open. His opponent lunged at him, but another Highlander interceded, thrusting his sword into the mix and barring the attacker from striking John. Torq, the rescuer, and John’s attacker threw themselves at one another in a fierce struggle.

  John rolled to his feet and looked up.

  “I’m sorry!” I shouted. “I distracted you! I’m sorry!”

  John put a hand to his ear as if he couldn’t hear me, and then he disappeared from sight, heading toward the castle tower. I ran to my door and shook the handle. Locked! Mrs. Mackay had the key!