Pewterton motioned toward the south. “Not far. I’ll wait for you at the base of this rise while you fetch your mount. You can see Hestlemoor in the distance from there.”
Alasdair and Ian hastened back through the woods.
“Should we trust them?” Ian asked as they saddled up and turned their horses southward.
“Not yet.” Alasdair took the lead, noting movement through the trees to his left.
The English. On their horses. Apparently, the soldiers didn’t trust them either. He motioned for Ian to follow and turned his mount to come up behind the soldiers who had decided to join their lieutenant. He kept some distance between them. Enough to watch. Enough to be ready.
“The man was right,” Ian said as the thinning trees revealed a rolling green landscape ahead. He pointed toward the horizon. “If that’s Hestlemoor, it’s not what I expected.”
Alasdair agreed. Centered on a tract of land overlooking the sea and surrounded by stone fortifications, the place looked more defensive stronghold than country estate. Pewterton had said the interior resembled a prison. The exterior looked the same. “Removing Isobel and Connor should prove interesting.”
“Aye,” Ian agreed as he scowled at the challenge ahead. “I wish the MacCoinnichs were here rather than all these bloody English.”
Alasdair urged his mount onward at a slower pace, all the while studying the building. “Aye, brother, I as well.” He halted his horse once again.
Hestlemoor faced inland, and the structures within the boundary wall laid out in the shape of an arrow. Two wings, each two-stories high, and at their apex, a hexagonal building of at least four levels. All the buildings were constructed of the same thick stone blocks as the defensive walls. “The lieutenant said they took her to the right.”
“Aye.” Ian pointed to the wing in question. “We need to see it from the seaside.”
“I dinna see any guards walking the wall.” He set his horse in motion again. The corners of the walls were rounded towers bereft of windows but fitted with arrow slits at different levels. Guards could be behind those arrow slits. Watching.
“You see what I mean, sir?” Pewterton asked as they joined him. “Not quite what one would expect when reference is made to a summer home.” He frowned at the place. “And according to the nearest village, the duke is rarely seen.”
“But he’s due to arrive any time?” Alasdair shifted in the saddle, itching to charge into the place and tear it apart stone by stone until he recovered his precious love and the lad. “Ye discovered this, how?”
“The duke’s man, Hawkins.” The lieutenant cleared his throat. “I understand your distrust. I would feel the same if in your position.”
Alasdair didn’t reply. It took all his control to keep from throttling the man for what he’d done. If not for that sorry fool, Isobel and Connor would be safe and dispatched to France by now. A glance skyward told him they had some time before nightfall. He dismounted and yanked a pair of trews from the bag behind his saddle. His beloved kilt would betray him here. “Don yer trews and stow yer kilt. We’ll ride to the sea.”
Ian complied without question.
His colors folded and tucked away, he remounted and spurred his horse forward, galloping across the open landscape toward the sea. He gave Hestlemoor a wild berth but studied its barrier wall with stolen glances as he rode, Ian thundered along behind him. Pewterton and his men had the good sense to stay behind. Alasdair allowed himself a deep-throated growl. So far, the Englishmen appeared genuine, but time would tell. They halted at the cliff’s edge, riding back and forth along the rim as though admiring the view.
“Whoever built this didna fear attack from the sea,” Ian remarked with a glance at the skirting wall surrounding the back of the castle. “No guard tower. No arrow slits.”
Alasdair drew closer to the edge and peered downward. “Look below.” No wonder the builder didn’t fear an enemy from the water. Dense clusters of rocks, a jagged barrier sharper than dragon’s teeth, abutted the base of the cliff. Waves crashed and swirled around the deadly spikes, honed and blackened by the briny caress of the water. He retreated from the dangerous edge and faced the fortification. “This is where we shall enter.”
Ian studied the wall. “The English could provide a diversion.”
“Aye,” Alasdair agreed. “At the front.” The redcoats could draw Hawkins’s attention by visiting to warn him of some such lie. He didn’t care what they said as long as it kept Hawkins and the other servants occupied long enough for him and Ian to breech the wall and get inside. Damn, he wished they knew more about the inside. He gave a decisive nod. “As soon as the sun sets, we scale the wall. Those supports should give us good enough foothold.”
“Aye.” Ian risked riding a few yards closer. “’Twill be a chore. Especially with ye still healing.”
He ignored his brother’s observation. Chore or not, it would be done.
They rejoined Pewterton and his men.
“Have you formed a plan?” the lieutenant asked. The others drew closer, their eyes wide with rapt attention.
“As soon as the sun sets, ye and yer men need to visit Hawkins. Keep the man and as many of the servants occupied for as long as possible.” Alasdair glared at the four men. They had to realize the importance of what he was asking. “Can ye do that?”
Pewterton reacted with a worried frown, but Atchison edged his horse closer. “What better way to keep their attention then to notify them we received a report you’re in the area?”
“So ye want them to double the guard whilst we’re trying to breech their enclosure?” Alasdair rubbed a hand across his brow and groaned. Fate had saddled him with a bunch of damned fools.
“Ah…yes. Well, I guess that would be ill-advised. Forgive me,” Atchison retreated, his cheeks scarlet as he ducked his head.
“Tell them ye bring word the duke is injured,” Ian supplied. “Carriage accident and they must come at once to fetch him and send for help. Ye said they’re expecting him, aye? Such news wouldna stir suspicion.”
His brother impressed him. He’d never known Ian to be such a good liar.
Pewterton brightened. The man even smiled. “Yes. We could tell them we came upon the wreck whilst returning to the garrison. There’s no help nearby for the duke, and he needs them immediately.”
Fields, Atchison, and Ladney nodded. “We could tell them we left half our regiment there to guard him. That way, none of them will question our fewer numbers since we all crowded into the ward before,” Ladney said. “I heard’m complaining ’bout all the horse shite we was leaving in their courtyard.”
“I dinna care what ye tell them as long as they believe ye, and we’re granted time to find Isobel.” Alasdair turned and looked back at Hestlemoor. God grant me the patience not to kill these fools, he prayed. And help me get Isobel and Connor back, he added.
*
“I made it so easy for you. Simple as could be. All you had to do was return my son.”
Wrists locked in iron shackles attached to the outer sides of the cuffs around her ankles, Isobel fisted her hands as she crouched at Temsworth’s feet. She twisted, adjusting her awkward position, and leveled her glare with his, knowing how much he hated eye contact. She didn’t care. If this was to be her end, she’d die fighting. “Why do ye even want him? Ye’ve never loved him.”
The duke limped around her, the tip of his cane thumping with every step. “Wealth.” He jabbed the end of the walking stick between her shoulder blades and shoved downward until her face touched the floor. “You see, to ensure I didn’t squander away all he had worked so hard to acquire, my father placed a brutish provision in his will. I received a mere tenth of my inheritance upon his death. Barely enough to survive, really. Once married, I received another tenth. That was still a laughable amount. Upon the birth of my heir, another tenth. Year by year, my allotment has increased. By the time the boy reaches his seventh birthday, I shall at last come into my full inheritance.”
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“And then what?” She turned her head to the side and boldly stared at him as he walked past.
The cane came down hard across her shoulders. She locked her jaws. She would not cry out. Temsworth fed off the pain of his victims. “It appears you have forgotten your lessons, dear wife. You are to keep your eyes lowered unless given permission to lift your head.”
“Why should I?” she dared, riveting her gaze back to him. “I know what ye’ve planned for me.”
“My, my, haven’t we become the brazen little bitch.” He limped out of her range of vision. “But you are correct. You are no longer necessary.” The sound of his footsteps silenced. “Of course, there was a time when you provided ample enough amusement. Several prominent members here at Hestlemoor have commented on your absence. They would be most pleased to learn of your return. Perhaps that’s how I shall dispose of you. I could allow them the full rein of their passions this time.”
She closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing and escaping this hell. She would not revisit those terrible memories no matter what the bastard said.
A creaking whined to her left, then a gust of air blew across her. Briny. Damp. Cold. Waves crashed in the distance, mixed with the low rumbling of thunder. Temsworth had opened a window.
“Mama!”
Connor’s faint call reached her, followed by the duke’s cruel chuckle. “The lads are amusing themselves with the boy this evening. They must’ve told him you were in the garden maze. Have no worry, though. They did provide him with a lantern.”
“Mama!”
“Rather sounds like the bleating of a lamb, don’t you think?” the devil observed. “He’s quite persistent. His little light bounces up and down the path as he searches.”
“They’ve sent him out in the rain? In the dead of night?” She strained against the restraints. She wanted to keen out her sorrow but refused to give him the satisfaction. Connor’s cries ripped through her. “If he catches his death from being soaked to the skin, ye’ll fall short of yer inheritance, will ye not? He’s but five, remember?”
“Quite true.” Temsworth rapped his cane hard against the window facing. “Hawkins! Inside with him. Immediately. Get him dry and locked in his room.” Temsworth’s hitching step drew closer. His shadow danced across the rough wood of the floor biting into her knees. “And regarding your question as to what happens to the boy once he comes of age, never fear. Hawkins sees to the disposal of all unwanted litters here at Hestlemoor.”
“I will find a way to kill ye,” she warned through clenched teeth. “I swear it.”
“Ha!” Temsworth grabbed her by the hair and jerked her face upward. “You amaze me, wife. Cut your hair and dress you as a man, and suddenly, you display a bravado I’ve never seen in you before.” He twisted his hand tighter against her skull and brought his sneering face closer. “Whatever shall I do with you?”
Isobel spit in his face. He struck her hard enough to make her see flashes of light. It was worth it. The man’s look of shock was priceless.
“Whatever ye do, I grant ye, it willna be easy. Ye willna break me this time.” Too much was at stake. She had to save Connor. And now that she knew a promising future awaited, a life with Alasdair rather than isolation and thinking all she had ever loved was dead and gone, she’d fight to overcome anything that dared get in her way.
Temsworth’s glare hardened as he pulled a square of lace-edged linen from his sleeve and wiped her spittle from his face. “We shall see.” His head tilted as he studied her. “I have always relished a challenge.”
He thumped his way to the door. Or at least in that direction. She couldn’t tell for certain. Hinges gave a rusty groan. Good. He was leaving. “Until tomorrow, dear wife.”
She sagged forward, resting her cheek on the floor. She had to overcome this, but how? With hands bound to her feet, she had few options. But Connor. She swallowed hard, his pitiful cries replaying through her mind. Her son needed her. She had to save him. If only Alasdair was here. But Alasdair thought her and Connor safe at the northernmost tip of Scotland. A cold, choking bleakness filled her as a gust of wind sputtered the lantern out, leaving her in darkness. Lightning flashed, and thunder rumbled like horses galloping across the sky.
She would not give up. Knees scraping against the floor, she pushed with her legs and pulled her arms, doing her best to wrench her hands free of the cuffs. The rough ironwork chewed into her flesh, and a warm wetness trickled into her palms. She paid it no mind. Maybe the blood would help her slip free.
Her aching muscles rebelled against the awkward positioning. Legs and shoulders knotted and cramped. The pain forced her to gasp. “God, please help me,” she pleaded in a whisper. “Help me save Connor.” She paused in her struggling and drew in several deep breaths and blew them out. “I can do this.” Maybe if she rolled to her back. Perhaps that would be easier.
She twisted to her back, scolding herself as she stared up into the darkness. If she’d thought of this before the lantern blew out, she could’ve examined the shackles and better seen what she fought.
She narrowed her hands as much as possible and worked against the metal with a slow hard pull. Blood trickled faster up her arms as she lay with her feet and hands in the air. Her less dominant hand, the left, slid free, bloody and throbbing. Her left foot hit the floor. “Now the right,” she encouraged, panting from the pain.
She folded her fingers tighter together, pushing with her left hand while she pulled the right. With a sickening, sucking sound, she yanked free. Her right heel bounced down to the wood beside her left. She stayed there for a long moment, scraped and bleeding hands clutched to her chest, breathing hard as she flexed her aching legs.
At least Temsworth’s cruel form of shackles had no chains between them. Now that her hands were free of her feet, she could move about with ease. She crawled to the window and stiffly pulled herself upright, holding fast to the ledge as the strength returned to her limbs. Thank goodness, she’d only been bound a few hours. Much longer and she’d be sore pressed to walk at all.
She peered out the window, attempting to gather her bearings. Hawkins had called the place the temperance building. Said it lessened the rigor of even the most stubborn. She’d never been here before. Apparently, her obedience when she had thought her situation hopeless, had spared her from even more cruelty. She hung out the window, craning her neck and squinting to see through the murky night. From what she could tell, she was on the second floor of the squat round tower in the center of the courtyard behind the main keep. Interesting.
She’d always believed the odd structure to be a dovecote. She could just make out the outline of the south wing to her left and the north wing to her right. Connor’s suite was in the north wing. Or at least it had been before their escape. Her rooms had been connected to his.
Fingers spread, Isobel patted around the dark room, searching for anything that might be useful. The place was bare as old bones. She’d nearly decided to jump from the window and risk a broken leg when she brushed across something hanging on the wall. Leather whips. An entire rack of them hanging beside the door. She ran the braided leather through her fingers. The cording seemed seasoned. Supple. Strong. If she could tie some of the whips together and wedge them in the window hinge, she could get close enough to the ground to jump without injury.
Rain splattering against stone raised such a din, she could no longer hear the sea beating against the cliffs. Good. The night and the storm would hide her. She dumped an armload of the whips beside the window and knotted them together, discovering that some had razor-sharp barbs woven into their strips. By the time she finished, her fingers were as raw and bloody as her wrists.
She climbed onto the window ledge and jammed the whip with the knobbiest handle into the space between the window casing and the wall—forcing it open. “God be with me,” she whispered as she eased out the window, hanging tight to the braided leather.
Thank goodness she wasn’t any higher. Her
strength would never hold. Trembling overtook her as she worked her way downward, biting her lip to keep from crying out when barbs she’d overlooked sliced into her palms. She peered downward but couldn’t tell how close the ground might be. I dinna care. God be with me. She pushed away from the wall and let go, landing not on soggy ground but on top of a very solid person. A hard, muscular shoulder caught her in the ribs.
“Holy Mother of God!” someone cursed. A comfortingly familiar sound.
She struggled to catch her wind, holding her side as she rolled away from whoever she had hit. Nay. It couldn’t be Alasdair. He’d gone to Edinburgh, maybe even London. Her panicked state must have rendered her addled.
A hand closed around her ankle, yanked her back, then jerked her to her feet. Another hand clamped across her mouth.
“Make a sound, and it’ll be yer last,” her assailant warned in a low, deadly tone.
Isobel closed her eyes and sagged into her captor’s embrace, relief sapping her ability to stand. It was Alasdair. Thank God in heaven above.
“What the hell are ye playing at?” whispered another familiar voice.
Her heart sang. Ian was here, too.
“Kill whoever it is and toss them aside,” he hissed.
“They hit me from above,” Alasdair defended. “It’s as though they were trying to escape. They could be an ally.” One hand locked around her throat, and the other pressed across her mouth, he gave her a hard shake. “I’m going to give ye the chance to speak. Cry out for help, and I’ll snap yer neck. Understand?”
She nodded, unable to hold back relieved tears.
Alasdair’s hand slid away, but his grip on her throat remained.
“It is me, dear husband,” she whispered, struggling not to sob.
The strong hands spun her about. Hard fingers dug into her shoulders. “Isobel? Speak again, so I’ll know my ears didna deceive me.”
“It is me,” she said, struggling not to keen out her joy and alert all in the stronghold.
The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3) Page 26