Highland Conquest Page 23

  He moved to the other side and wrapped his arms around it. Callum did the same from his side, and they slowly pulled the heavy cross from the wall and laid it on the floor.

  Lachlan examined the stone at the back. “It’s wrapped in some kind of greased material.”

  “To make it easier to move?”

  “Aye. Or perhaps ’tis similar to the trap that Gregor set off. Fire on top of the altar would deter anyone from going in.”

  A door banged shut, and Gavin reentered the sanctuary from the priest’s solar. Kerr was at his heels, carrying a sack that rattled—most likely filled with the knives that had tried to carve them to pieces. He tossed the bag to one of his men. “Take this to Amber. Tell her the blades may be poisoned, and that I caught every one of them with my teeth.”

  Lachlan let out a humorless laugh at the jest. It was either that or scream with frustration that Murray was slipping through his fingers—again—while they slowly undid his clever machinations.

  “What did you find?” Gavin asked.

  “The crucifix’s been rigged to fall on the altar. And possibly to cause a fire.”

  “We found a passageway,” Gregor yelled, his voice coming from the other side of the wall. A moment later, light shone through the hole. “It’s rigged back here. Do you want us to spring the trap?”

  “Go ahead,” Lachlan said, looking up to see a heavy battering ram swing through the hole.

  “Ingenious,” Kerr said.

  “He’s masterful at killing, torturing, and raping people,” Lachlan replied, his anger getting the better of him.

  “A genius at destroying lives,” Gregor added. “Think what he could have done if he’d wanted to help people instead.”

  “Laird MacKay, this is the last, heaviest piece. Should we lift it off now?” Malcolm asked.

  “Aye, but let’s use some ropes and keep our distance, just in case.”

  They slipped ropes around the broken column, then dragged it off the stone slab behind the altar. “Clear,” he shouted.

  He heard a thud and looked up to the hole in the wall.

  “That was it,” Darach said a moment later. “The release of pressure triggered the battering ram—or tried to—but we’d already dismantled it.”

  “Good work,” Lachlan said. He kneeled at the slab and wrenched it up, as eager to continue as Darach’s hounds were to sniff Murray out. He had a half-hour lead on them.

  Lachlan ground his teeth as fear chewed at him from the inside. How could he protect Amber if Murray got away again?

  “Let the dogs go first,” Darach said as he called Hati and Skoll over.

  “Nay, there may be other traps, and if he makes it out of the tunnel and escapes the net, we’ll need Hati and Skoll to track him. It’s my wife he’s going to come after; I’ll go first.”

  Lachlan reached for the torch Gavin carried, but Gregor took it instead. “I’ll go first. My Kellie’s already gone. If I die, I’ll be going to meet her and my three wee girls at long last. You canna begrudge me that. You all still have families to create.” He sat on the edge of the hole, legs dangling down. “I made my family when I brought the five of you to live with me. You’re grown men now. Let me do this for you—for all of you when the time comes.”

  Quiet descended. Lachlan wanted to grab back the torch, wanted to race after Murray and take him out for all the harm he’d done to Amber and to Donald—not to mention the rest of the clans. But Gregor was right. He might die, and Lachlan had Amber to consider now.

  “I doona know why you’re even thinking about it; it’s not like you have a choice,” Gregor said, dropping the torch down the hole. “I’m bloody well going first.” He grabbed his shield, shoved off the ledge, and landed in a crouch on the tunnel floor.

  “’Tis not as if anything could pierce that thick elephaunt hide of his anyway,” Darach said.

  Then the sound of arrows being released reached their ears, and Gregor groaned like he’d been hit.

  God’s blood!

  Lachlan dropped into the hole, his shield out, and rolled to the wall. His brothers dropped in behind him, covering Gregor, who lay prone on the dirt floor. More arrows hit their shields.

  Lachlan peered up the torch-lit tunnel, more a lengthy, open room that looked like it had been built and reinforced many years ago—long before Machar Murray arrived—and saw a man jump out from behind a rock, bow in hand, and take off in the opposite direction.

  “Murray!” he roared, racing after him, forcing his legs faster, determined to catch the demon of a man who was such a threat to Amber, who had killed his brother and tried to kill him.

  “Lachlan, no!” Callum yelled from behind him.

  A part of his brain screamed at him to be cautious, to go slow, but that other part, the part that was so afraid to lose Murray again and put Amber in further danger, drove him forward, feet pounding on the dirt, cool air rushing through his teeth.

  “Stay to the side!” Callum yelled again, chasing after him. “Step only where he steps!”

  Lachlan looked down, his self-preservation finally coming into play, and jumped over another wire just in time—right where he’d seen Murray jump.

  “Wire,” he yelled over his shoulder for Callum, his eyes scanning now as he ran, instead of being glued to Murray’s back.

  Murray raised his bow arm, and Lachlan brought up his shield just before an arrow struck the wood, then another. Callum loosed one from behind him toward Murray, and Lachlan started running again.

  He was close enough to Murray now to see his face—gaunt and dirty—but underneath he could see the remnants of the bonnie-looking man he used to be, which surprised Lachlan, as he’d always imagined a misshapen devil.

  The devil smiled at him and leapt forward into a small, dark tunnel, dug out where the room ended, before turning back to Lachlan, his body almost blending with the blackness.

  “You canna save her, MacKay. Just like you couldnae save your brother. Amber is dead.”

  Then he pulled a lever, and a pile of rocks dropped down from above onto Lachlan.

  Seventeen

  Amber paced back and forth in the great hall, her hands clenched with worry by her side and her eyes burning with unshed tears. The rushes crunched beneath her feet, and the air was heavy with the smell of herbs, blood, and unwashed bodies.

  She’d had five patients in the last thirty hours and had slept little. The first had been Father Lundie, his hands and inner wrists burned from a concentrated powder of dried monkshood, which had been sprinkled on the cover of the Bible he’d recovered from the chapel. The skin had reddened and blistered, and he’d become nauseated. Luckily, he’d rinsed them right away, and his symptoms weren’t as bad as they could have been.

  He’d been very concerned about the holy book, the holy water, and the consecrated bread. Amber had wanted to burn them, as the poison was deadly if ingested, but the priest had refused and instead wiped down the book and wrapped up everything tight—until he could get guidance on what to do from his superiors.

  Her next patient had been Gregor MacLeod, who’d been sliced open by an arrow along his right cheek in the exact same spot she’d been injured, which had pleased the idiot man. Except the arrow that struck Gregor had been poisoned too, and he’d also fallen ill.

  Amber had taken a chance that the arrow was tainted with the same substance that had been on the Bible and had treated the wound accordingly. It worked, and Gregor had left his sickbed against her orders to rejoin the other lairds a few hours later. She hadn’t heard anything from him or Lachlan since.

  She’d had other patients, unfortunately, including one of Kerr’s men, who’d been crushed by a pile of rocks in Machar Murray’s tunnel and was still in critical condition. Amber had treated several breaks in his limbs, a crushed hand, and tried her best to stitch a puncture in his bowel. There had also b
een further damage to his ribs and lungs that even she hadn’t been able to touch. She had little hope for his recovery. Her greatest worry for him was infection, especially in the belly wound.

  The fourth patient had been gored by a wild boar that had been startled in the woods during the sweep. The warrior, one of Gavin’s men, had been lucky. The boar’s tusk had struck him to one side of the big artery in his groin, and Amber had been able to sew it up.

  The last patient from just a few hours ago had been Adaira. Who had jumped off the stairs out of sheer boredom and fallen to the ground. Not only had she bashed her forehead and nose, but a twig from the floor had poked her in the eye. At least the injury and the pain draught had put the lass to sleep for a while.

  Now, other than checking on patients, Amber had naught to do but pace anxiously. Being restricted to the great hall, she hadn’t been able to do more than change out of her bloody clothes. So again, she was a mess—dried blood in her hair and most likely on her face.

  She glanced down at her hands, vaguely noting the crusty red in the creases, but all she could think about was Lachlan and Machar Murray. Had they caught him yet? Was Lachlan all right? Was he still sure he wanted to go through with the marriage? Especially if they caught Murray, and Amber was no longer in danger.

  That question had been circling in her mind like a vulture over a kill for the last three hours.

  Of course, she hadn’t slept and—

  “Amber.”

  Gasping, she spun around. Lachlan stood there, dark circles under his eyes, his face and hands scratched and bruised, his plaid dirty and ripped. She took three running steps toward him and threw herself into his arms. He squeezed her tight, head in the crook of her neck, breath heavy on her skin.

  “You smell good,” he said.

  She huffed out a laugh. “I smell of blood and other unspeakable things.”

  “Nay, you smell like Amber.”

  She pulled back and looked at him, loving the smile on his braw face, even though his words made as much sense as one of Father Odhran’s hateful rants.

  “I doona know whether to be insulted or charmed,” she said.

  “Be charmed. I meant it in a good way.”

  “Then that’s how I’ll take it.”

  She didn’t need to ask if they’d captured Murray; she could see the answer in Lachlan’s eyes and the grim line of his jaw. “Any sign of him?”

  “Aye, the dogs tracked him several times, but they always lost him at the loch or the river. He’s smart, crafty, well-prepared. Hati and Skoll hadn’t picked up a fresh trail in the last eight hours. We came back to rest and rethink our approach.”

  “So I’m still in danger?”

  He sighed. “Aye.”

  “And you’ll still marry me, then?”

  His eyebrows jumped up. “Of course I’ll still marry you. Whether the blackheart is found or not. How could you ask such a thing?”

  She shrugged, feeling vulnerable and weepy and not liking it at all. Maybe because she’d been so worried the past thirty hours, or because she was tired. Beyond tired.

  Looking down, she rubbed her hands together. “I think Kerr’s man will die. I’ve done what I can, but ’tis likely infection will set in—more than I can fight with my herbs.”

  He took her hand, laced his fingers through hers. “I’m sorry.”

  “Aye, so am I. He’s barely twenty. Machar Murray as good as killed him yesterday, along with Father Odhran—not that I mourn the priest. ’Tis just…Murray seems unbeatable. With all of your, Gregor’s, and your foster brothers’ men, we still canna catch him.”

  Lachlan pulled her close again. “Nay, Amber. Doona think like that.”

  “’Tis hard not to. He’s always one step ahead of us. A demon of a man if e’er there was one.”

  “He’s well prepared. He spent five years planning for just this eventuality. But the good news is we’ve taken away many of his escape routes and hiding places—too many to count. And we know what to look for now, so we’re finding them more quickly, more easily. He’s under pressure, and he’s bound to make a mistake.”

  “So he’ll act soon?”

  “Nay, not too soon. I think, like us, he’ll need to rest and reassess. He’s a planner, and so far, we’ve thwarted those plans. He’ll be enraged by that, and Callum says his overwhelming need at this point will be to beat us.”

  “He’s not used to losing.”

  “Nay. I probably handed him his first defeat when I foiled his plans to take over my clan.”

  “And now he canna seem to win.”

  “Every moment he’s alive he’s winning, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Aye.”

  He squeezed her hand and walked with her to sit in the chairs in front of the hearth. “How’s it been here otherwise?”

  “Crowded, anxious, people stepping on one another’s toes. I had a few serious surgeries. One warrior will survive, the other is in God’s hands now. And Adaira hurt herself.”

  His head shot up. “How?”

  “She jumped off the stairs. Banged her face and got a twig in her eye. She’s had a pain draught and is sleeping.”

  “Well, thank God for small mercies.”

  She smiled and ran her fingers along his face, pressed gently against the bruise on his temple. “What happened here?”

  “Falling rocks. One of Murray’s traps, but I crouched against the tunnel wall with my shield o’er my head. The lads dug me out. No harm done other than losing Murray again.”

  “That’s how Kerr’s man was hurt too.”

  “Aye, but farther on, near the opposite end of the tunnel Murray had dug out.”

  She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to his, closed her eyes. “I’m glad you’re all right. I was worried.”

  “Doona lose faith, Amber. Good will triumphant o’er evil.”

  The outer door banged shut, and she heard the other lairds enter the great hall. Kerr and Gavin went directly to their wounded men, while Callum, Darach, and Gregor headed toward the hearth with the dogs—who flopped over immediately on the floor. Amber moved closer to one of them—Hati, she thought—so she could slip off her shoes and rub behind his ears with her toes. The dog thumped his tail weakly before he sighed and fell asleep.

  “They’re verra well trained. Is that your doing?” she asked Darach.

  “Nay,” both Darach and Lachlan said at once, then smiled, too tired and worried to do aught else.

  “My wife, Caitlin, trained them. Beyond all my expectations. The dogs would listen to me but to no one else until Caitlin took them in hand. Everyone called them my demon dogs.”

  “She sounds like a miracle worker,” Amber said.

  Darach’s eyes filled with love. “She is.”

  “She trained Darach too,” Lachlan added. “Had him doing her bidding just like his dogs. ’Twas a sight to behold, watching him fall in love.”

  A funny feeling bloomed in Amber’s chest, and she dropped her eyes.

  ’Twas good to know Darach loved his wife. ’Twas the way it should be, of course, and she was glad for Caitlin, but she couldn’t help feeling a wee bit envious. She wondered what it would be like to have a man like Lachlan MacKay fall in love with her?

  She wished they were alone so she could ask him if that was possible. And if not, why did he want to marry her? And why on earth would she agree to marry him? Although as Lachlan would say, she hadn’t agreed, he’d agreed.

  So perhaps the question was whether or not she could fall in love with him.

  Or had she already?

  The feeling in her chest spread, and it felt like her heart might burst from her ribs. She pressed her fingers to her forehead and let her hair fall forward to hide her face. She felt ravaged by emotion, and not the good kind—fear, uncertainty, pain…love?

>   Is this what love felt like? Like she was being torn apart?

  “Amber, dearling, are you all right?” Lachlan leaned forward and wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

  She sniffed and put a smile on her face. “Aye. I’m sorry, I’m just tired. And overwhelmed.”

  “Worried about Murray, no doubt,” Gregor said.

  “Aye, that’s part of it.”

  Kerr came over looking crestfallen.

  Amber caught his eye. “I’ll do what I can for your man, Kerr. Make him comfortable and help his body as much as possible to fight the infection. If the lung keeps collapsing, though, there’s little else I can do.”

  Kerr nodded and sat down. “You’ve done more than can be expected. Thank you.”

  Gavin was right behind him and stopped to squeeze her shoulder. “Aye, and thank you for my man’s life. ’Tis an injury I’ve seen before that I thought terminal, but Father Lundie said you saved him.”

  “’Tis a dangerous spot to be cut, for sure, but luckily the artery wasn’t severed.”

  Gavin sat down too, and quiet descended on them, full of frustration and heartache. Verily, ’twas a bleak moment.

  She just stopped herself from giving in to hopelessness.

  “We canna do more than we’re doing at this point,” Gregor said. “For the wounded or for catching Murray. We willna find him, I’m afraid, until he makes his next move. ’Tis out of our control.”

  The other lairds nodded, and Amber sighed. Aye, ’twas a waiting game. The wounded would heal or die, and Machar Murray would kill or be caught.

  “So, we’ll celebrate life while we can, aye? Do our duty as lairds and try to catch the bastard, but also do our duty as family and put on the best wedding this clan has e’er seen. We need something to cheer us up.”

  Amber’s eyes widened, and her heart began to race. “Doona you think we should wait?”

  “Nay, naught good e’er came of waiting. I will see my son and his betrothed married tomorrow!”

  * * *

  Amber stood in the middle of her room filled with sprigs of heather and pine, and pressed her hands to her stomach, trying to quell the storm inside. She was excited, aye, but anxiety had also twined its way into her guts and filled her with worry—and it wasn’t just from the uncertainty of marrying Lachlan and their upcoming wedding night, but also from the notion that Machar Murray might strike today and hurt someone else she loved.