Stolen Vows

by Sterling, Stephanie

  “Ye seem to be under the impression that I believe ye to be innocent, Cameron,” he said coldly, wondering if the guard was listening on the other side of the door.

  Ian chuckled darkly. “Oh aye? So tis like that is it?” he snorted. He looked gravely thoughtful for a moment. “If ye execute me, will that save ye from going to war and killing other Camerons?”

  Roan opened his mouth. He wanted to give Ian some kind of assurance. They’d had their differences to be sure, but Isla’s brother wasn’t a bad man. However, he was all too aware that the walls had ears, and if he appeared in any way compassionate towards the prisoner then the clan really would believe the evil theory his mother had spouted.

  Ian didn’t wait for his question to be answered anyway. “Ye - ye will nae let her come down here, will ye, MacRae?” he asked hoarsely. “Ye’ll keep her safe? I ken what people will think.”

  “Aye, I’ll keep her safe -”

  “And ye’ll keep her away?”

  “That too,” Roan nodded.

  He withdrew from the cell, nodding at the guard to lock the door again, while his mind whirred. Graem had told him to go speak to Ian, convinced, even as he lay on the point of death, that he couldn’t have misjudged the Camerons so utterly, and that Roan would be able to draw the truth from the prisoner.

  Roan agreed with his Laird, up to a point - he hadn’t misjudged the Camerons, just Tavish MacEantach. But how he was meant to prove that, Roan didn’t yet know.

  “Sir?”

  Roan glanced up; Captain Ross was striding down the corridor towards him. “What is it?” Roan frowned.

  “Our two other guests are making quite a song and dance about wanting to leave, sir,” he sneered. Roan gave an unsurprised nod.

  “Aye, I thought they might. Ye’ve made it clear that they’ll be residing with us for some time yet?”

  The Captain smirked and nodded. “Their tanist seemed to accept it in due course, but the other man -” Ross frowned, as if he couldn’t quite puzzle something out. “Well, if I dinna think they’d all been in it together, his reaction when he was told he was nae leaving would have convinced me.”

  “Hmm,” Roan murmured thoughtfully. He didn’t think it would be too hard convincing people of Tavish’s guilt, but how was he going to persuade everyone that Ian and Donaid were innocent? “I think I need to talk -”

  “Master?” a little voice squeaked.

  Roan frowned. “Liane?”

  “Aye, sir, tis me.” His wife’s maid stepped out of the shadows in which she’d been standing and presented herself nervously to the two men. Ross shot Roan a questioning glance, surprised that the tanist was prepared to listen to the servant.

  “What’s wrong, Liane?” he asked.

  “I - I wanted to ken if tis true, what they’re all saying about Master Ian Cameron?”

  “Tis true,” Ross barked. “Now get out of the way, we dinna -”

  “Why do ye ask, Liane?” Roan interrupted the captain, speaking gently to the trembling woman.

  “Well, because, everyone is saying that Master Ian must have crept down to the kitchens sometime during the night - after the maids left and before they went back to work this morning?”

  “Aye, that’s right,” Roan nodded.

  “Well then -” Liane twisted her hands in her apron frantically. “Ye see, sirs, Ian could nae have sneaked down to the kitchens then,” she mumbled.

  Roan and Ross exchanged a suspicious glance. “Why do ye say that, Liane?” Roan coaxed.

  The maid raised her teary face to him. “Because he was with me,” she confessed, dropping her gaze to the ground. “I - I saw him in Lady MacRae’s room the other day, and he recognized me last night. I’d turned my ankle on the stairs and he carried me up to my room, and then -” Liane’s cheeks were crimson.

  “He was with ye all night?” Ross asked suspiciously, not batting an eyelid at the little sordid tale. “There was nae a time when he could have slipped away?”

  Liane shook her head, looking flushed and breathless. “Oh, nae sir, he was with me all night,” she said, turning crimson. “Besides the other girls would have heard someone leaving - the stairs are proper creaky, Captain Ross. June MacDonald curses something rotten if something wakes her when -”

  “If Cameron has such a solid alibi why the hell dinna he say so?” Ross swore in confusion.

  Roan swallowed a smile. “Probably afraid we’d make him marry the girl,” he chuckled to himself.

  “Sir?” Ross frowned, not catching what he had said, but Roan waved his curiosity aside.

  “If Ian Cameron was out of his room all night -” he began slowly, thoughtfully, and the Captain seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

  “- then one of the other two would have had the opportunity to plant those bottles in his room,” he finished for the tanist. “I thought it was strange that they had nae been destroyed… almost like someone had left them there to be found,” he mused angrily.

  Roan gave his head a silent nod. If they had been made alone, his accusations would have looked highly suspicious, but with the backing of the MacRae’s war chieftain, Roan was beginning to think that they might have a chance of seeing that justice was done and Tavish was caught.

  “Thank ye, Liane, ye’ve been a great help,” he murmured distractedly, dismissing the maid. She hesitated for a moment, but then bobbed a little curtsey and disappeared along the corridor.

  “What are ye going to do about her?” Ross frowned after Liane’s retreating figure. “Dismiss her? Marry her to him?”

  “My wife’s rather fond of her maid,” Roan said absently; Liane was the least of his worries. “I think we need to have a talk with our other two suspects, Ross,” he said carefully.

  “Right!”

  “Only -” Roan paused, wondering how much he ought to tell the other man. “I have reason to suspect that the man we want is Tavish MacEantach. Here’s what I’d like ye to do…”

  ..ooOOoo..

  “Ye understand yer instructions?” Roan asked Ross quietly. The two men were standing outside the room where Donaid Cameron and Tavish MacEantach were being kept, under armed guard.

  “Aye, sir,” Ross nodded, smiling grimly.

  “Good,” Roan sighed. He looked at the two guards, and indicated that they were ready to go in.

  The chamber was one of the formal staterooms, lavishly decorated, and seldom used given that the Laird rarely left his own chambers. Roan gave himself a second to dwell on his dear old friend, before focusing his mind on the task at hand.

  Donaid had been sitting quietly in a chair by the unlit grate, looking serious and thoughtful. He got to his feet when he heard the men enter, and instantly asked after his cousin. Tavish, in contrast, appeared to have been pacing up and down by the window restlessly.

  “Ian? Where is he?” Donaid pressed, when he wasn’t immediately given an answer.

  “Still alive,” Ross revealed bluntly. Roan saw the Cameron’s tanist give a little sigh of relief. He looked too young for his current woes.

  “We’ve decided we need to ask each of ye a few questions,” Roan revealed slowly. Both Cameron men tensed with suspicion. “Cameron, if ye’d be so good as to accompany, Captain Ross? I’d like to speak to MacEantach alone.”

  “Do ye really think tis necessary?” Donaid frowned, but Roan nodded.

  “Most definitely,” he breathed coldly, staring at the man by the window with barely conceal loathing.

  Tavish returned the stare without even attempting to conceal his hatred. Fool, Roan thought, knowing that Ross was too astute to have missed the look in the other man’s eyes. He nodded in the captain’s direction, waiting for him to lead Donaid out of the chamber before turning his full attention to Tavish.

  “So when are ye letting us leave?” Tavish snarled. Roan took his time before answering.

  “Nae enjoying yer stay with us, MacEantach?” he asked evenly. Tavish snorted insolently. “I was surprised that ye were amo
ng the party that accepted Laird MacRae’s invitation,” he continued lightly.

  Tavish opened his mouth, as if to snarl something, however he stopped himself at the last possible moment, and smiled sneeringly instead. “How is the good Laird MacRae?” he hissed. “Or would that be ye now?”

  “Laird Graem MacRae is still with us.” I hope. Roan prayed.

  “Ye ken what they’ll say of course?” Tavish grinned dangerously. Roan took a seat by the fireplace, as if the answer was of no consequence to him. “That yer involved?” Tavish snapped, when Roan refused to be baited. “That tis yer brother-in-law who did it, that ye stand to gain the most from the Laird’s death. That’s what people are going to be saying.”

  “Do ye think so? Dinna ye think people might start asking themselves if ye were involved before worrying about me?” Roan asked innocently.

  “Ye’ve already got yer man locked up downstairs in the dungeons,” Tavish said confidently.

  “We have a man locked up downstairs in the dungeons, whether or nae he’s the right man remains to be seen,” Roan argued lightly.

  “Is that so?” Tavish breathed, walking closer to where Roan was sitting. “And what would make ye think that ye had the wrong man?”

  “What would ye say, MacEantach,” Roan said briskly, suddenly jumping to his feet in an unexpected display of energy. “If I told ye that I had a witness who says that ye were down in the kitchens during the earlier hours of this morning?”

  “I’d say yer a liar,” Tavish gave an oily smile.

  “Would ye? That’s interesting. I think my witness would disagree,” Roan remarked mildly.

  “There is nae witness,” Tavish argued, so convincingly that Roan might have believed him if he didn’t already know the truth. “I dinna leave me room all night.”

  “Nae? Nae even for a glass of water? A midnight snack?” Roan pressed calmly. “So ye would nae have been in the little pantry on the left of the main kitchen at about 3 o’clock this morning?”

  “Nae!” Tavish snarled, and Roan saw a revealing flicker of something spark in the other man’s eyes.

  “Yer quite sure?” he asked again with a smile.

  “I dinna ken what yer trying to prove -”

  “That ye tried to murder the Laird, and countless other members of this clan to start a war,” Roan said simply, calmly, as if he had commented on nothing more remarkable than the weather.

  Tavish’s greasy grin grew in a display of confidence. “And who would believe ye?” he smirked. “I’ve just told ye what everyone will think. Tis only yer word and they’ll think yer trying to cover yer own back. They’ll kill ye without blinking for plotting against their beloved Graem.”

  A muscle was ticking in Roan’s jaw, but he reigned in his temper. “And ye’d love that would ye nae, MacEantach?”

  “Tis nae less than what ye deserve,” Tavish hissed, glaring hatefully at the other man.

  “Well I ken that’s what ye think, but what I’m trying to work out is if ye actually had the nerve to do anything about it,” Roan growled in reply. “Yer very good at throwing your weight around when the victim of yer assault is too weak to fight back,” he snarled bitterly, thinking about all the times that Tavish had tried to harm Isla. His fists clenched into two tight fists. “Ye ken, something as cowardly as indiscriminately poisoning half of the castle does sound just like something ye’d do.”

  “And yer a man of honor are ye?” Tavish barked. “Ye stole my fiancé!”

  “Good God man! Ye tried to rape her!”

  “She was mine!”

  “Isla was never yers,” Roan spat, his temper fraying. It took every ounce of self-control that he possessed to stop him from reaching forwards and snapping the other man’s neck.

  “What about when yer dead, MacRae?” Tavish whispered. There was a truly manic glint in his eyes now, Roan couldn’t help but notice it, and prayed that the other man was about to slip up and reveal something crucial.

  “Dead?” he echoed slowly.

  “As I said before, once the rest of yer clan have put the pieces of the puzzle together ye will nae last long,” Tavish gloated. “Ye’ll be executed along with yer dear brother-in-law. The clans will go to war. Nae one here will want a Cameron woman to stay, and so nae one will miss Isla when I take her back to Castle Cameron.”

  “Ye did all this to get Isla?” Roan gaped, a cold trickle of dread slithering down his back. He hadn’t considered that - he’d thought it was just the usual terrible clan rivalry and hate spurring Tavish on. True, he had considered that Tavish had personal reasons for lashing out at him and Ian, but he’d never thought he’d try and steal Isla away.

  “I’m going to make her pay for the humiliation she caused me!”

  “Do ye honestly think I’d let ye?” Roan roared.

  “Do ye honestly think that ye can stop me?” Tavish smirked wickedly. “I’m going to enjoy watching them hang ye. Ye should have kenned the second I stepped inside this castle that things between us were nae over, but nae, ye were so smug, so secure. It was ridiculously easy. Setting ye up.”

  Roan drew a deep breath and glanced over at the portrait that hung above the fireplace, and then his eyes flickered back towards Tavish. “Ye sound very confident about all of that, MacEantach,” he drawled icily. “Remarkably so, for a man still being held in my castle.”

  “Ye canna tell anyone the truth. They’d never believe you.”

  “I’m nae so sure about that,” a new voice hissed.

  Roan smiled grimly. He turned his head a fraction, just far enough to see that Ross and Donaid had emerged from the secret passage that ran around the periphery of the stateroom.

  Roan had instructed Ross to take Donaid, and for them to listen to whatever exchange took place between himself and Tavish. The Captain looked ready to kill Tavish on the spot. Donaid looked pale and betrayed, but there was a grave look in his eyes that told Roan he believed every word of what he had just heard.

  When Roan turned back to Tavish he saw the man bore the look of a snared animal - wild, and trapped, and ready to lash out recklessly, which was exactly what Tavish did.

  “Ye bastard!” he swore, and then he lunged at Roan, drawing a small dagger that had been concealed on his person and striking at Roan’s face. The blade slashed across the tanist’s cheek before he had a second to react.

  Ross and Donaid rushed forward to help, but Roan was quick to recover from his lapse. He blocked Tavish’s second strike, grabbed his wrist and wrenching the weapon away from his face, gaining the upper hand for long enough to enable the guards to be called. Once Tavish was adequately restrained, Roan gave his orders.

  “See that MacEantach is installed in one of the dungeons, Ross,” he sneered, wiping the blood from his cheek. “And release the Cameron with our apologies. I’m going to report to the Laird.”

  “Aye, sir,” Captain nodded, indicating for the guards to follow him with the prisoner - who was staring blankly at the floor, no longer appearing engaged in what was happening to him. “Sir, do ye think the Laird is -” Ross began hesitantly.

  “We would have heard if he was nae,” Roan interrupted before the other man could put into words what they were both thinking. What if Graem was already dead? He murmured something apologetic and curt to Donaid, and then left, hurrying towards Graem’s chambers.

  Everything appeared much the same as it had when he left. The guards were still on duty outside, and there was still an eerie hush about the place. No one was mourning yet. The Laird was still alive. Roan walked quickly passed the guards, and through Graem’s private chambers towards his bedroom, ignoring the curious stares he was receiving. He couldn’t ignore Isla’s cry when she saw him however.

  “Roan, yer face!” she gasped, rushing away from Graem’s bedside, where she had been tending the old man. Bridghe was staring at him worriedly too. The doctor, who was also there, harrumphed, and turned his attention back to his patient.

  Roan raised a distracted ha
nd to his cheek. “Tis naught,” he murmured, shrugging off his wife’s concern.

  “Tis nae naught!” Isla insisted. “Here, let me see.” She tried to drag him towards the light coming from the window, but Roan wouldn’t budge. He was staring at the still figure lying in the bed. “Who did this?” Isla hissed, but again her husband ignored her distress.

  “How is he?” he whispered instead.

  “Sleeping,” Bridghe whispered, which was followed by a grunt of disagreement from the bed.

  “Sir?” Roan said, stepping forwards and moving towards the Laird. “How are ye feeling, sir?” he asked in concern.