The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “Aha, we meet again, Miss Compton,” said the voice of her captor.

  “You, you did this to me,” Georgina protested, as the sight of him hit her like a slap to the face. She’d been wondering when she’d catch sight of him again, but she wasn’t quite prepared for the sheer rage she’d feel when he did reappear.

  She was on her feet in seconds, her entire body pulsing with adrenaline.

  “Careful now, you don’t want me to have to administer treatment for aggressive behavior now, do you?” he asked calmly.

  “No, because we both know that I’m not crazy,” Georgina retorted, her voice shaking in a mixture of fear and anger.

  “How am I here? How did you do this?” she demanded.

  “Well m’ lady, as you can see I am a member of staff in this here institution. I needed a place to keep my prisoner that was safe from both my brother’s prying eyes and those of Bolton and McGowan. After all, if you were easy to find, then there would be no need for them to come up with the ransom, now would there?” he explained.

  He spoke in an unsettling calm tone of voice which chilled Georgina to the bone. He must be thoroughly unhinged to have thought up this plan and to have gone through with committing an innocent young woman into an insane asylum just so that he can hold her ransom.

  It made her shudder just thinking about it. Or perhaps he’s acting in desperation. I wonder what he did to get on Morgan’s bad side in the first place.

  “You’re a vile, sadistic excuse for a man,” she spat out.

  “I’m just doing what I need to do to get by, sweetheart,” he said tauntingly.

  “I’ll expose you, I’ll tell everyone in this awful place what you did,” Georgina threatened.

  “Mmhmm, and who’d believe you, love? You’re a hysterical young woman, liable to cause outbursts and misjudge and interpret situations as threatening or harmful. You can shout any old nonsense all you like, no-one will listen,” he said with that horrible calm voice, like he knew he was taunting her.

  “Now, I’ll take that,” he said, picking up her half-eaten tray of food, “and it’s time for me to press on with the rounds.”

  She glared at him as he moved out of the room and locked her back in behind him, leaving her shaking with the aftermath of the shock of seeing him.

  That vile, cruel creature. Oh, I want him to pay for this. Hysterical, am I? Well, from now on, I’ll be the calmest and most polite patient in this place.

  She vowed then and there that she’d get out of here and make sure he got what was coming to him.

  Chapter 14

  Marcas and Conall approached the inn that the fellow who had captured Georgina mentioned. Conall was to enter, ask for Greg and then he’d be taken to the right person where he would have the opportunity to negotiate for Georgina’s freedom.

  “Let me do the speaking,” Conall had instructed, “I’m the one that they’re expecting. Yer job is to listen in and if they reveal her location, or any clues that can let ye figure it oot, then ye go right then and there while I stall them.

  “If they say nothing, that’s when ye threaten the bastard and get him talking,” Conall continued with menace. They’d come armed that was for sure. I can hardly wait to get my hands on the bastard that had taken her. If he has harmed her in any way, he is dead.

  They walked into the Quoyburray Inn, just another regular village inn filled with local folk enjoying a glass of ale and visitors having their tea. Marcas could smell the roasted beef, making his stomach growl.

  “Evening gentlemen,” the barkeep greeted them. He was in his sixties, grey and well-rounded.

  Doesn’t seem like the type to be having dealings with criminals, but then again, what do I know? The man could easily be keeping secrets. Och, I’d just love tae hold ye by the neck and demand some answers.

  “Evenin’ sir,” Conall greeted pleasantly in return.

  “Will ye be needing beds fer the night?” the barkeep asked.

  “Och, aye, that would fairly be splendid,” Conall replied jovially.

  “Sounds like yer from up north a way, what brings ye to Midlothian?” he asked.

  “That we are, fine fella. We’re just on a trip fer some business dealings doon in Edinburgh,” Conall said.

  “Long way to travel. Ye’ll be needing a spot o’ tea an’ all, surely,” the man behind the bar said, as he finished polishing up two glasses and began pumping them full with ale.

  “Me mouth is watering just walkin’ in tae the room. Smells delicious,” Conall answered.

  At these words, the man softened slightly, extending his hand across the bar. “The name’s Harris, Bill Harris,” he said as Conall shook his hand.

  “Laird McGowan, nice tae meet ye,” Conall responded, “and this here’s my brother Marcas.” Bill’s eyebrow shot up at Conall’s mention of his title. No doubt sensing money to be made.

  “Laird McGowan, eh? Well, I’ll be sure to make up some o’ me best rooms for the pair o’ ye.” Bill said as he placed the two pints of ale down on the bar.

  Conall placed down some coins before picking up their drinks, “I trust that will cover our stay?” he asked, already turning away to look for a seat.

  “Aye, aye indeed,” Bill said.

  “Thank ye for yer warm welcome Sir, it’s fine tae meet ye,” Marcas said, making up for his brother’s rude exit.

  “And ye, son,” Bill nodded before his attention was caught by another patron waving him over.

  Marcas sat down opposite Conall at the corner table he’d chosen. “What are we doin’ sitting here and exchanging pleasantries when we should be oot there looking for Georgina?” he hissed.

  “Brother,” Conall sighed, “we’re no good tae anybody weak ‘n’ tired. Let’s just fill up, get a bit o’ rest and then we can get tae work in the morning.” He stopped to gulp down a few sips of ale.

  I suppose he does have a point. Marcas’ stomach was crying out for a decent meal and he ached all over with tiredness.

  “Besides, we cannae barge in here and ask questions right away. We need tae establish a bit o’ trust wi’ Mr. Harris here or we might end up deeper in shite than we already are,” Conall continued, keeping his voice low.

  “Well, if he is the person that can point us in the direction o’ Greg, then I reckon he’s already cottoned on to what we’re doing here. It’s no’ like ye made our names a big secret or anything,” Marcas argued back. Conall can be a right arrogant idiot sometimes. Always having to push his weight around and never stopping to think.

  “Relax man,” Conall hissed, “Let’s just take a break to cool off and eat up,” he said as Bill approached their table with two plates of hot food.

  “Being served by the owner himself, what a fine welcome indeed,” Conall said as Bill placed the plates down in front of them.

  “Ach, well it’s a slow night and best show me manners tae a Laird,” Bill said before wishing them a fine meal and turning back toward the bar.

  “Well, now ye’ve done it,” Marcas hissed. Harris was on the verge of politeness, but there was a bit of sarcasm mixed in. He must know something; they had to get it out of him.

  “Och, hald yer wheest, I was only making conversation wi’ the man,” Conall retorted, unfazed as ever.

  “Ye were the one banging on aboot no getting us in the shite as soon as we walk in the door. Ye really think he’s gonnae be any help wi’ ye mouthing off at him?” Marcas asked.

  He couldn’t help being frustrated. Every moment they spent not hunting down Georgina and her captor was a moment wasted. It was killing him imagining her locked up somewhere, held there against her will all because some bastard was desperate enough to use her as a pawn to get the ransom money.

  Well, Marcas was damned if he was going to let this arsehole get away with it, that’s for sure. Even if he had to kill the man, he’d do it to save Georgina.

  “Eh, Marcas look, calm doon,” Conall urged, taking in Marcas’ demeanor. His leg was jiggling up and
down with impatience and both fists were clenched.

  “I care aboot making sure that she’s fine and getting her to safety as much as ye do, but right now we don’t ken where that bastard is or where he’s got her. There’s no sense in charging off into unfamiliar lands when we have no idea where to go,” Conall said, his tone having lost its edge and showing a rare moment of soothing.

  “Fine that,” Marcas admitted, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward to taste the untouched ale in front of him. He was loathed to admit that his brother was right, but he didn’t know what else he could do.

  “C’mon lad, eat up, yer gonnae need yer strength,” Conall urged, slapping Marcas on the back in encouragement before turning his attention to the food in front of him.

  Marcas followed suit, unable to deny that he was ravenous. Hell, this is good, feels like I’ve no' eaten a right meal in a week.

  I haven’t really, he supposed. He and Conall had been on the road for days now, gathering their men, tracking down possible sources of information and travelling down to the dreary expanse of Midlothian. A part of him felt guilty for enjoying a proper meal when Georgina might be given next to nothing to keep her going.

  Don’t you fret my love, we’re coming for you.

  Despite his reservations, Marcas slept soundly, and he was out of it the second his head hit the pillow.

  Conall was already up and chatting away to Bill Harris as Marcas emerged from the upstairs sleeping quarters, laughing away like they were old friends. He made a beeline for the pair of them, anxious to get going and figure out a plan.

  “Ach there ye are, brother,” Conall announced as Marcas joined them.

  “Mornin’ Mr. Harris, Conall,” he greeted them both.

  “Now Mr. Harris,” Conall said, his voice lowering slightly.

  “Oh, please, call me Bill,” the landlord said affectionately, waving his hand like it was pure nonsense that they needed to be so formal with him. Christ, Conall could charm a sheep if he tried.

  “I’m looking fer a fella by the name o’ Greg,” Conall stated.

  “I see, and is this business dealing o’ yours got anything tae do wi’ him?” Bill asked skeptically.

  “Sadly, it does me man,” Conall responded, his voice serious in response to Bill’s tone.

  “He has indeed put us in a tricky spot ye see, sir,” Marcas pitched in apologetically. Hopefully he’ll see that we don’t want to be associated with whoever this bugger is.

  “Ach, I’m sorry tae hear that indeed. He’s not the most stable o’ men and can be right thrawn, when something gets his temper up,” Bill explained.

  “I ken he’s staying out by the asylum, Greyfriars that is, coupla miles east o’ here. Stoney Cottage I think the place is called,” he continued.

  “And have any Englishmen been in askin’ about him?” Marcas asked. He had to know whether or not Bolton’s men were already on Greg’s tail and whether there was a chance that they’d already gotten to Georgina.

  “Ach, I’m no sure I should be tellin’ ye that,” Bill said, sucking the air through his teeth like he was unsure about crossing a line.

  Oh, come on old man. Marcas’ stomach was in knots with all this uncertainty, wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms again.

  “Bill, please,” Conall urged, “I assure ye, we wouldn’ae be askin’ if it weren’t important. He has taken someone from us, a young woman, and she could come tae harm if we don’t find him and get her back. Surely, if it were a woman ye loved, ye’d do anything to save her from the likes of someone like Greg?”

  Bill’s face was somber, and his eyes darted to the back where his wife was doing the washing and getting the linen prepared for the rooms upstairs. He flicked his gaze back to Marcas and Conall, measuring them up before opening his mouth to speak.

  “Alright,” he said, his voice hushed, “Two Brits came in last night, no' too long afore ye. Came right up tae the bar and asked fer Greg. I says to ‘em, ye buy a drink first ‘fore demanding anything fae me.”

  “They showed some coin pretty quick an' I gave the bare details. They got themselves a room and as far as I ken, they’re no’ up yet so ye’ve got the advantage so far.” He finished.

  “Thank ye very much, Bill, we appreciate yer help,” Marcas appealed.

  “Yes, ye’ve shown us great hospitality indeed,” Conall agreed.

  “Right, well ye’d best be gettin’ on. I wish ye the best in getting yer woman back and I’d appreciate yer discretion gentlemen. This here’s me livelihood and I don’t want folks up to no good in here,” Bill said firmly.

  “Of course, we understand,” Conall agreed, shaking Bill’s hand and wishing him a warm goodbye before his hand landed on Marcas' shoulder to steer him in the direction of the door.

  Soon they had saddled up their horses and were setting off east, following Bill’s instructions.

  All I want to do is set off running, find this Greg and grab him by the neck. Of course, that would be drawing attention to ourselves and raise Bolton’s men to no doubt be right on our heels. Marcas was unable to keep his mind calm as he rode next to Conall.

  It was a dreary day outside, nothing but clouds and drizzle as they steered their horses at a nice slow pace while they were still in view of the inn. Once they were down the hill and past the cover of the trees they could go full pelt.

  Marcas couldn’t stand the waiting around. Once he knew exactly where she was and what to do, then he could focus properly and switch off from all the anxious fury inside of him. Then he could take back control of the situation. He hated the fact that someone else was essentially playing them like puppets.

  Finally, they were able to lengthen their pace and run against the drizzly air. They were soaked to the skin in no time, but they were long hardened to the volatile Scotland weather, so this hardly made a dent on them. Let’s hope the rain puts off those dozy English bastards.

  Of course, he knew that they would follow eventually and be on this same route, but Marcas was ready to fight them when that happened. He wasn’t going to let Morgan Bolton snatch the girl he loved from right under his nose. Let him see what us McGowans are made of.

  It wasn’t long before they arrived at Stoney Cottage, a crumbling wreck of a place. It didn’t look like much of a home and bore little evidence of life.

  Was this a set-up? That Bill could easily be having them on.

  “Ye sure he didn’t send us on a wild goose chase?” Marcas asked, dismounting from his horse.

  “Na, I reckon there’s more to it. He made a point of mentioning the asylum, but we could have found this place easily enough without knowing about it,” Conall mused, pacing back and forth as he worked out their next move.

  “What if that was a clue? That the asylum is where he’s keeping her?” Conall asked.

  Marcas snorted, the idea was ridiculous. “What the hell wid she be doing there?” he asked.

  “Think about it,” Conall continued, “he could easily hide her amongst all the other troubled women. She’d be locked up, secure and unable to run, and it’s just clever enough to win over the stupidity o’ the English. I doubt they have the space in their thick skulls to think o’ it.”

  It was a hunch, but maybe Conall was right. Even if he wasn’t, Marcas needed to be sure that she wasn’t trapped in such a horrible place.

  “Right so —” The sound of hooves approaching stopped Marcas from speaking any further and he met his brother’s wide-eyed gaze for a moment.

  “Go! I’ll raid this shitepit and find out what I can,” Conall ordered.

  Marcas leapt back up on his horse, nodded at Conall and took off as fast as he could, the time for dillydallying over.

  As Marcas pushed his horse to keep on in the direction of Greyfriars Asylum, he could hear the thundering of two sets of hooves approach his brother who was there alone, without back up.

  “Oi, ye yellow-bellied bastards!” Marcas yelled out, in the hopes of distracting them and splitting
them up so that they could each take one of them on.

  He didn’t pause to listen in and find out whether his call had any impact on the two Brits. Instead, he focused on the route to the institution, going over in his mind the best course of action.

  I could storm the place, demanding for Georgina’s release. Or pose as a family member come to sign her release. Maybe I’ll just track down the bastard that did this to her and make him pay.

  Conall was usually the battle-hungry one of them but now that Georgina was involved, a fire — nothing like Marcas had ever felt before — engulfed him.

  Come and get me, just ye try.