The Highlander's Captured Bride (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Eloise Madigan

  Her eyes narrowed, “If I recall, ye were offering me that before ye declared me a traitor.”

  “That was me mistake, a lapse of sound judgment, irrationality, call it what ye will,” he shrugged. “Now that I’ve seen ye are alive, I am here to offer ye an offer.”

  Violet decided to play his game, “And that would be?”

  “I’ll tell yer faither ye ran away,” he said. “Or went to the loch and drowned, or took a ride out and had a nasty fall from yer horse. Really, yer death is only limited to the bounds of me imagination, he will leave this place heartbroken and ye will live, admittedly in bondage for the rest of yer natural days, but if nay, ye’ll both die; so choose.”

  “Never,” she said coldly. “Ye’ll never have me dae anything like that.”

  He sighed. “Then ye leave me with nay choice. Yer faither will die when we find him, if he isnae dead already. I’ll give ye till dawn to sunset tomorrow to ken over yer actions, little lass. Dae some soul searching. I must bid ye adieu.”

  With an ostentatious bow, he left the room and it was only when the door closed and the lock grated shut she slipped down the wall.

  Have I just sentence me faither to death?

  * * *

  He had ridden away, needing to find one of the people who he knew, a guard, a servant-woman, anyone, who had seen what had happened the days he had been gone. But then, being dismissed so suddenly would have birthed some bad blood and he prayed that if he did find anyone, they would set those grudges aside and speak to him. A thin memory told him where the captain of the guard lived, at near the loch with his wife, so he rode straight there.

  As he took a path near the water’s edge, he briefly glanced at the water noting its deep shade of blue and the sunlight transforming the surface into glittering crystals, but Ethan did not see the beauty in it. He had no time to admire anything until he got Violet back safely beside him.

  There were only three houses near the waterway and one looked old, decrepit and abandoned so he only had two to choose from. As he neared, the first, he spotted a young woman, her dark auburn hair a red shimmer down her back while she swept the porch. Could that be Adairs’ wife?

  I bet Finley would have kent who she is. That’s what Lairds do.

  Burying the urge to begin counting his short-comings, Ethan alighted of the horse and went near. The lady spotted him and stopped sweeping. “Ye must be Master MacFerson.”

  “Aye,” he bowed. “Pardon, but are ye Commander Rogan’s wife?”

  “I am his sister, actually, Genevie Rogan,” she said. “Please, come in, I’ll get him for ye.”

  Ethan didn’t want to refuse her kind request but he did not have time to linger either. “Thank ye but I cannae stay. I’d rather we just speak here.”

  “A moment then,” she said before going back into the home.

  Lingering on the front walk, Ethan faced the glistening waters of the loch and tried to put his words together. When he heard the stomps of boots on the wood behind him, he turned. The commander did not look angry as he approached so he hoped there was no acrimony between them.

  “Master MacFerson,” he dipped his head, “To what dae I owe this visit?”

  “I won’t take much of yer time, Commander,” he said. “I’ve been told how this…dismissal happened and I will dae all I can to reverse it. But I need to ken, before ye were sent off, did ye see Miss O’Cain at any time?”

  The head officer, leaned on a post and crossed his arms over his chest. “I cannae say I had. Nae in the castle or on the grounds, but then, I was nae placed in the position to dae so. I ken ye would have better luck with one of the guards who were placed to watch over ye all. Me position was on the field, nae in the house.”

  “If I get me will, yer position will be back in the field,” Ethan said solemnly. “Yer one of the best commanders me family has ever had. And ye will be again.”

  “Careful,” Adair cautioned. “Dinnae ye go making vows ye cannae keep, but I have faith in ye. I kent ye would step into the place Finley left. Ye are a smart man, Master MacFerson, aye, ye need help in many areas, we all dae but ye have people around ye who can help and if ye dae get back at the helm of this ship, I’ll be the first to stand at yer side.”

  “Who can I find to help me with Violet?” he pondered.

  “Mister MacTyre, her guard, lives in Sellek, if anyone kens what happened to her it might be him,” Rogan said.

  A rush of gratitude filled Ethan at the assuring words and he stuck out his hand, “Thank ye, Commander.”

  Riding out to Selleck, Ethan held those words to his heart. It felt comforting that another person saw what he was beginning to see in himself. His father had, Violet had, and now he was starting to see it himself.

  Riding hard, he got to Selleck before the sun made it to noonday position, high in the sky. A few questions had him finding Mister MacTyre’s home but the man was not there.

  “Funny seeing ye here, Master MacFerson,” a calm voice said from behind him. “I was of the notion that Mister MacFerson had gotten rid of ye too.”

  Standing, Ethan said, “If I have me way, he won’t be putting anyone else away. Happy to see ye, MacTyre, but why is it funny? I ken what me uncle did to all of ye and I am nae in agreement.”

  The seasoned soldier took off his cloak and hung it over his arm, “I’m happy that ye have our best interests at heart but that isnae what I meant. I was trying to find ye actually, for the past couple days but I am barred from entering the castle grounds and those city guards are devilishly efficient in spotting those who were expelled from it. I’ve been trying to get ye a message but no avail.”

  “And why were ye trying to find me?”

  A grave look covered the guard's face. “Yer Uncle did a lot of things that were nae right, Master MacFerson, but he stepped over the line three days ago.”

  The tightness in his chest wound even tighter, “By doing what?”

  “Miss O’Cain,” MacTyre said tightly. “He imprisoned her in the bailey’s dungeon the night of the storm. Ordered another guard to walk her right through the tempest and I dinnae ken if she survived it.”

  25

  The earth could have split in two, swallowed him up, and he would have barely noticed. Numbness iced his bone and forced him into a standstill. Perhaps he had not heard right—that had to be it.

  Clearing his throat, he asked, “Pardon?”

  MacTyre shook his head and his jaw went flinty, “Ye heard what I said, yer bastard Uncle shoved Miss O’Cain into a dungeon and that was after claiming her had caught her sewing poisonous leaves into yer clothes, which we all ken is a heap of dung. Anyone with eyes can see that lady loves ye and that ye love her in return. Nay one would believe that, but since yer faither is absent, they will have to swallow it like bitter medicine.”

  As the words sank in, every inch of his lean and muscled frame, every drop of his blood and down to his bones vibrated in thinly leashed anger. “He did what?” The question was rhetorical as his eyes flew open and he felt the burn in his body make its way to his eyes.

  His verdant eyes were no longer calm if MacTyre’s flinch was any indication. “I kent he had put Mister O’Cain under interrogation and told me that he’s barring me from seeing Violet. All this time I kent they had her locked up in her room but he threw her into a dungeon.” Seething Ethan vowed. “I will nae let him get away with this. He crossed the last line.”

  MacTryre reached out and grasped his shoulder, “Dinnae act out on anger, Master MacFerson, this isnae the time for that. Yer Uncle has men that are more mercenaries than normal soldiers. They will kill ye if ye act without caution. Ye need to go back to the castle, consider all yer options and then act.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Ethan nodded, “I might need men in case it comes to a firefight, but I dinnae see how—” he paused. “—is there any way I can have men on standby? All our men are gone, scattered between here and Ackwell. How am I going to get the men I’ll need?”
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  “If ye are sure in taking down yer Uncle,” MacTrye said with his brows dipping, “And I ken ye are, then I’ll dae ye a favor and find the men for ye. When dae ye ken ye might act?”

  Pressing his lips tight, Ethan considered Violet and her dire condition of being locked in a dungeon. He could never allow himself to wait any longer. “Tonight. Listen for the distress horn.”

  That should call ye and me faither home.

  “Will dae, Master MacFerson,” MacTrye bowed his head. “Again, go over yer plan twice and put yerself on the receiving end of yer attack. Find ways to poke holes into yer own plan because that is what yer Uncle will dae.”

  “Aye,” Ethan said, and hopping onto his horse, he was off.

  As he rode, his fury began to settle from a blazing fire into smoldering coals. He was seething on the inside but he had to go home with a mask of calm. He had to avoid his uncle as best as he could, so there would not be any mistakes or diversions.

  All this madness started from Finley’s death, that up till then, they had not even solved. Every time they had taken one step forward, chasing some clue—Miss O’Bachnon, the tall slender man, Laird Russell of Clan Hofte—it all panned out to nothing.

  Whoever was trying to kill him and his father had been steps ahead of them every time. He had successfully killed the one witness they had, and sent them on a merry wild goose chase to Clan Hofte—seeking the supposed murderer there and nearly putting themselves back into war with that clan by implying the Laird had something to do with it. But who would be that person?

  He was forced to consider all possibilities; they were looking for a man very wise in covering his track, subtle enough to get through the castle without anyone seeing him and had the means to not only find Miss O’Bachnon, when even Mister O’Cain couldn’t, and on top of it, he was slender and tall.

  The only person I could match that to… is Uncle.

  Moments later, Ethan shook his head. It was insane to even think his uncle—soft, placid, bookish uncle—could do those gruesome acts. It had to be someone else so he dismissed the thought.

  But then…he put Violet in a dungeon and is torturing her faither…

  Arriving at the castle gave him little comfort. The sun was dimming to the afternoon, and though early, shadows were beginning to be cast on the grounds. He set his horse in order and went inside, nodding to the strange guards, he aimed to take a quick run to the kitchens to get some food, then go to his room to rest, but his plan was stopped by his uncle.

  “Nephew, ye’re back,” he called jovially.

  Instantly, his jaw went stiff. Luckily, he was turned away from the man and managed to school his face into one of calm tiredness. Turning, he swallowed over his repugnance for the man and lifted his hand to wave. “Aye.”

  “Come, join me,” his uncle gestured, “I’m feeling lonely all by meself up here.”

  The very thought galled him but he knew he had to act naturally or he would give himself away. He mounted the dais and took a seat, not ignoring that his uncle was back again in his father’s seat, at the head of the table. It felt wrong.

  “Went for a ride, did ye?” Callum said while gesturing for a servant to come to them. “How was it? Ye was gone for a long time.”

  Shrugging nonchalantly, Ethan sighed, “I just roamed the countryside, nothing took me fancy, so I laid down for a nap. Time slipped by me I suppose.”

  A cup of water was placed before him and he nodded his thanks to the woman. He drank, trying to not let tell-tale gooseflesh erupt on his skin while feeling the trail of his uncle’s eyes over him. Now that he knew his Uncle was not as innocent as he seemed, a wary sensation settled inside him, as if he was constantly on the watch for a rabid dog to pounce. Placing the cup down he languidly rubbed the back of his neck. “I keep worrying about Faither.” He lied.

  “Me too, nephew,” was his reply, then in a harder tone, his uncle added, “Which is why I will be nae relenting on O’Cain. Until he gives up where me brother is, he will nay be seeing the light of day.”

  Irked, Ethan asked, “But Uncle, how could ye suspect him? He’s been here with us through it all, finding clues to who killed Finley. How could ye ken he is a part of all this trouble?”

  He might have pushed too far as his uncle’s eyes narrowed, just as his hand tightened around his goblet. Then, the tension disappeared and the older man only smiled. He put the cup away then crossed his arms on the table, “Ye’re worried about Miss O’Cain. Dinnea ye deny it, I can see it plain across yer face. I give ye me word, she won’t come to any harm if her faither does what is right and tells me where me brother is.”

  “Why dae ye ken he has that knowledge?” Ethan asked. “When I saw him at Ackwell, Faither wasnae with him.”

  “Aye, but they left together so something must have happened when or if they truly parted ways,” his uncle added logically. “It’s simple, nephew, if he will just admit what he kens, all this will go away.”

  Slumping in his seat, Ethan murmured, “And if it doesnae, what then?”

  “Ye wouldnae object to me taking over the Lairdship, will ye?” His uncle asked kindly. “I have had so many improvements to this place but ye faither never took one of them into his decisions. In a year, I can make this place so prosperous, ye wouldnae believe it is the same place.”

  The words were light, kindly and calm but Ethan felt a chill race down his spine. Staring at his uncle, he felt the chips begin to fall in place. He knew his uncle and father had many disagreements when it came to the lairdship, then, the village boys report about a tall, thin man asking him to write the note.

  Then, his uncle disappeared before Miss O’Bachnon was found dead. Finley would have fought anyone who attacked him, but not those he knew and trusted. If O’Bachnon had only lured him outside and his uncle had given Finley the sleeping draught…

  There was no hard evidence to support his suspicions but Ethan knew that he was staring Finley’s murderer in the eye. Cold, crippling fear began to ice his inside, but he never let the trepidation for showing on his face. As the realizations settled, he decided, to drop any respect he had for this man that was once his uncle. Now he was just Callum.

  He reached for his cup but it was empty.

  “What are we eating?”

  “I was told roasted fish and steamed down with carrots and leeks,” his uncle replied. “A new cook said she had a hard time working the ovens so the bread is currently baking. Why dinnae we drink some wine instead of this plain water.” He called a servant over and requested the wine.

  Ethan was about to refuse but he did not want to do anything to draw his uncle’s suspicion, he shrugged, “I suppose.”

  When the woman came with the wine and filled the goblets, Ethan tried to limit his sips or not drink at all as he needed to be clear-headed after this, but he still drank some. When the trenchers of food came, he gladly went to eat than drink.

  The conversation was stifled from his end as he took care to have his mouth filled, but his uncle needed no prompting to begin his monologue on how he was going to change how the people went about business, and how he was going to incorporate technology from the city to make their farming more efficient.

  A servant came to take their cups to refill them, he swallowed over his last morsel. The cups were deposited with his uncle’s first then his. His large gulp had him coughing as he tasted…the same sweet, tart taste of mandragora.

  His eyes fluttered and his fingers began to tremble as he rested the cup back on the table. He swallowed again, but then, a curious aftertaste was in his mouth. It was…the wine? As he stared at the cup, his vision began to blur. He grabbed at the table as the realization came to him—his wine had been laced with the draught. Those tiny sips had added up enough to start to drug him.

  “Nephew?” his uncle asked concernedly. “Are ye all right?”

  Bastard, ye’re the son of the Devil, acting so concerned for me. Drugging me, kenning I’m already drunk from the wine.
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  His body felt heavy and his eyes were dimming more. Though the fog in his head, he heard his uncle call for men to help him. “He’s drunk. Carry him to—” his mind blurred with those words and soon all he saw was black.

  * * *

  When he woke, he was upright and his body felt weighted down with lead. The room he was in was dim and when he tried to move, he found his arms tied to the chair with rope. When his eyes adjusted to the dimness, they laid on Mister O’Cain, restrained as he was.