Highland Captive Read online

  He caught Clyde’s eye, and the man shrugged. “It sounds reasonable enough but be cautious. Do you want us to stay down here until the two of you are up the stairs?”

  Gavin peered around the room again. Something was not right. “Go check on the men at the door. See if they’ve seen or heard anything.”

  Clyde nodded. “Aye, Laird.” He moved to the door, light on his feet for such a large man, sword held at the ready. He stepped outside for a few moments while Gavin, Lorne, and Sheamais held their positions inside.

  “Be ready for anything, lads,” Gavin said. “I doona trust a word that comes out of that man’s mouth.”

  “He’s a sullen ablach, that’s for sure,” Lorne said, crossbow at the ready.

  Clyde reentered the cathedral. “They havenae seen nor heard anything. Do you want me to go up first?” he asked.

  Gavin shook his head. “Nay. Follow us afterward. Sheamais, go cautiously. I’m right behind you.”

  “Aye, Laird.”

  Sheamais started up the long set of stairs. When he was about a third of the way, Gavin began to climb after him. He scanned the area below as he climbed. Clyde and Lorne had taken up defensive positions on the opposite side of the room, and Lorne was in a good spot, but Clyde was not—which was unusual. He was too close to Lorne to be as effective as he could be.

  Gavin was about to whistle and signal Clyde to reposition himself when he understood what was strange about the walls. From this angle and height, he could see that the dimensions of the room were off. Was the inside of the cathedral smaller than the outside?

  Realization hit, and a pit formed in his belly. God’s blood, was it a false wall? Was something or someone behind it? Several someones?

  He whistled sharply for everyone to retreat just as he heard an arrow release. “Get down!” he yelled. But he was too late. Sheamais was shot through the throat. “Arrows!” Gavin cried out.

  Lorne found cover and released a cross bolt high above into the ceiling. A man fell from a rafter and landed with a sickening crunch on the stone floor.

  Gavin whistled again to call the men outside, but they didn’t appear. He raced to the bottom of the stairs. When he drew near, a hidden door in the wall swung outward, pushing aside a wooden trestle with a half-empty bucket and tools on top—placed there, no doubt, to hide the door.

  How many enemy warriors had been hiding within the cathedral so close to his castle and his family? And for how long?

  How did I not see it?

  Men poured out of the hidden space behind the false wall as well as through the front door, their weapons raised. Gavin turned and raced up the stairs again.

  He was almost at the top when he saw Clyde step in behind Lorne.

  And he knew.

  “Clyde, nay!” But Clyde raised his sword and stabbed it through Lorne’s back in a single, smooth, deadly blow.

  Gavin’s blood raged. His enemies were approaching him from the top of the stairs now as well. Clyde watched him grimly from behind Lorne, who was in his final death throes.

  Gavin had only one choice—to jump. And it was too long a drop.

  He stared at Clyde. Four good warriors dead because of this man, a woman about to lose her husband, a son about to lose his father. He sent a silent signal to Clyde with his hand, one that the traitor recognized immediately.

  Death. Clyde’s death.

  Gavin sheathed his sword and jumped.

  He did everything he could to soften his landing—loosening his limbs so he collapsed, rolling out of the fall—but still his arm snapped, and his head bashed hard onto the stone.

  He pushed himself up to run for the door, but he lurched sideways and crashed back down, unable to balance. Blood poured down his face. He wiped it out of his eyes and tried again, but barely got two steps before he collapsed.

  He saw the men coming for him, boots surrounding him. Then Gavin slipped into darkness.

  * * *

  Deirdre knelt on the cold stone floor, her hands touching the ground beside her, her eyes lowered to her assailant’s ankles. His hose was dirty, his boots cracked and stained with what looked like dried blood. A piece of broken glass bit into her knee, and she slid her hand beneath her skirt to remove it.

  She heard the clink of metal and knew without looking up that the dirty traitor who stood before her had twisted his sword and sporran behind him.

  He intended to rape her. She intended to save her son. And her husband, if possible.

  She would do whatever it took.

  She looked up at him. Let the tears form in her eyes. “Please.”

  His face shone with excitement. “Aye, you’ll please me. And your wee fucking cunt mouth.”

  She pressed her thumb to the sharp edge of the glass in her hand and focused on the bite of pain as it sliced into her skin, rather than on what was to come.

  He stepped closer, lifting his plaid, and the smell of him almost made her gag. She turned her head away. He grabbed her hair, twisted it in his hand and yanked her toward him. She fell forward and braced herself on his thighs as he laughed.

  “Open your goddamn mouth!”

  He twisted her hair again, and the anger and rage that burst through her gave her the strength she needed. She swung the chunk of glass, sliced hard up high on his inner thigh, cutting as deeply as she could.

  He cried out in pain and stumbled backward. His cut leg crumpled beneath him, and he fell to one knee. She jumped up and ran the few steps toward him, swinging the shard of glass again and again, slicing over his neck, face, and chest. Her lion had claws.

  He fell to the side, his hands squeezing his throat as blood poured between his fingers. She dropped the glass, raced past him to the door, and yanked it open. She forgot to get her candle as she raced inside, the stairwell darker than Hades. Her hands were slippery on the wall, and she realized she was covered in blood.

  The blood of the man she’d killed.

  And she’d do it all over again to save her son. To save Gavin. A sob burst through her lips.

  God, please, let them live!

  She reached the floor the nursery was on, lifted her skirts, and ran faster than she’d ever run in her life toward Ewan’s door. What if he and Annag weren’t there? What if she couldn’t find them? Or if the guard’s partner was already in there with them?

  She wanted to yell out, scream their names, but she also didn’t want anyone to know she was coming—just in case.

  The door to the room was closed. She opened it as quietly as she could and squeezed inside. Ewan was asleep on the bed—alive! And Annag too, mending clothes in a chair by the window.

  And no one else.

  She wanted to break down and cry, hold her son close, but she didn’t have time. She quickly shut the door and pushed the bar across. It was thick and heavy, and the bolts that held it in place were secure.

  “Deirdre?” Annag called out.

  She ignored the nursemaid and pressed her ear against the door, listening for someone on the other side. For footsteps or voices. Or hooves, as far as she was concerned. These men were the devil’s helpers, here to murder innocent children.

  Annag rose from her chair and shuffled toward her. “Lass, what’s the trouble?”

  Deirdre turned to her, and Annag let out a startled scream.

  “Shhhhhh, Annag.”

  “You’re covered in blood! Where’s Gavin?” She patted down Deirdre frantically.

  “It’s not my blood. Gavin—” Another sob burst from her lips and she covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. She used her sleeve to wipe them away, and the white linen came away smeared with red. “He went to the cathedral. Archers shot his men. They’re coming for Ewan!”

  “Child, what are you talking about? Slow down and start from the beginning.”

  Her mind tumbled around li
ke a sapling caught in a winter storm, and she couldn’t think of where to start. “The master builder is a spy, and there are others in the keep. At least two—one was a guard downstairs, a warrior. I killed him, I think, up on the turret. The other one is coming here to kill Ewan on Laird MacIntyre’s orders.”

  Annag paled and leaned against the wall, her mouth drooping, her hands shaking. Deirdre wrapped her arms around the gray-haired woman and led her back to her chair.

  “And Gavin? Isobel?” Annag asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “I doona know where Isobel is—or the other lairds.”

  “The lairds are on a hunt. They left early this morning.”

  Deirdre nodded. So they wouldn’t be too far away, then. “I watched from the turret as Gavin took men with him to the cathedral. I saw an archer on the roof and I tried to warn him, but he couldn’t hear me.” Her voice squeaked again, and she had to force the rest of the words out past her tight throat. “The guard arrived as I was leaving to get help. He told me about his accomplice coming here.”

  “The one you killed?”

  “Aye.”

  “Oh, lass. What did he do to you?” Annag asked, sounding heartbroken.

  “He did naught to me before I sliced him with broken glass.” She jerked with her hand like she was killing him all over again. Right. Left. Right. Bile rose in her throat, and she forced it down, along with a wave of dizziness. “I have to go to Gavin. He might still be alive. Maybe he and the others are pinned down inside.” She jumped up and ran back to the door to listen.

  She’d just taken a step toward Annag when the door handle scraped quietly, and someone pushed on the wood. She spun back, her gaze on the barred entrance, her body frozen. When he tried a second time, Deirdre leaned on the door with her hands, even though the heavy bar held him out.

  He knocked quietly, and then louder a few moments later. “Lady Deirdre? Annag?” a man called softly through the door.

  She backed away as silently as she could. Annag rose from her chair, and the women stood side by side, staring in horror at the door.

  “I’m too late,” Deirdre whispered, her body shaking with sobs. “I canna get to him now. I canna leave. Gavin will die.”

  Annag wrapped her arms around her. “Hush, Deirdre,” she whispered. “There’s another exit.”

  “Where?”

  “A hidden stairwell from the nursery to the laird and lady’s chamber. You can leave that way. Gavin would have told you, I’m sure, but you’ve both been…distracted.”

  More knocking at the door. A firmer voice. “Annag. Open the door. Your laird wants to speak to you.”

  Annag clasped Deirdre’s hand and drew her toward the far end of the nursery, behind the screen where a tub and chamber pot sat on the floor. The door was hidden so well behind the tub that Deirdre would never have seen it if Annag hadn’t shown her directly.

  “Doona forget to wash off the blood and change your clothes before you leave your chamber. And take some of Gavin’s weapons with you. Look behind the tapestries secured to the wall.”

  “Aye.” She hugged Annag and then stepped back toward Ewan, but Annag grasped her arm.

  “Nay, you’ll wake him. The longer he sleeps, the better.”

  Deirdre hovered on the precipice of doubt. How could she leave her child? But how could she not go to help her husband?

  Annag grasped her other arm and looked her in the eye. “Deirdre, go save us. I will take care of Ewan. They’ll have to chop down that door with an axe to get in. ’Tis not an easy task, and it will be loud and indiscreet. The only way they’ll manage that is if they control the castle, and if that happens, I will hide with Ewan as long as I can in the stairwell. If you canna get to Gavin, get to Gregor or one of the other lairds. They willna allow the castle to be held by their enemy, especially with Ewan inside. Do you understand?”

  She nodded. “Doona leave him in the dark by himself. He’s frightened of the dark.”

  “I promise.” She turned Deirdre toward the tunnel entrance. “When you get to the bottom, feel for a latch up high on the left. Pull it down and push inward. Go slowly and quietly until you know the room is clear.”

  “Aye.” She refused to look back. If she did, she might not leave. “Tell Ewan how much I love him and how blessed I’ve been to be his mother.”

  “You will tell him. When you return.”

  Then Deirdre stepped into darkness.

  * * *

  Gavin woke to a sharp, obliterating pain in his head that made all the other pains in his body seem like scratches from a kitten. That said a lot, because he was pretty sure he’d broken his arm when he’d jumped. Only his training kept him still and quiet instead of shaking or crying out.

  Where was he? The floor he was lying on was wood rather than stone. The top level? He tried to focus his eyes, but the light from the holes in the ceiling caused the pain to surge, and he almost vomited.

  He heard men talking and tried to make out what they were saying, but it was just murmurs. He looked for them without giving away that he was awake, peering around the room through his eyelashes and keeping his head still.

  There. Not too far away. Three men gathered around a table with their backs to him. He could see them gesturing to something laid out on the surface. A map, maybe? Or the layout of a castle? His castle?

  He quelled the fear and nausea that rose when he thought about Deirdre and Ewan trapped in that castle. He couldn’t think about them now. He had to focus on his present circumstances—something else Gregor had drilled into him.

  He recognized two of the three men. Clyde, the traitorous blackheart, and O’Rourke, the spying master builder who likely wasn’t a master builder at all. Gavin should have been paying better attention over the last two years, but he hadn’t been able to think about anything other than getting his son back. He’d left too many of his duties to other people without monitoring them.

  He’d put his family and clan at risk!

  The surge of anger at himself and his enemies made his heart pick up pace, and the blackness threatened to drag him under again. He calmed his breathing and closed his eyes until the wave passed, and then looked back at the third man. He was tall, with long, dark hair that looked like Kerr’s, but his build was more like Callum’s—long, lean, and strong. He had the stance of a good fighter.

  The other men seemed to defer to him. Was that man the leader of the conspiracy against him and his allies?

  He watched him, hoping the man would turn around, but he stayed bent over, studying the diagram. Going over his strategy to capture the MacKinnon castle, no doubt.

  Gavin couldn’t understand what his enemies thought that would accomplish. Gregor, Kerr, and the others would never allow them to keep the castle. They would rout the bastards out and dispense justice, even if it took years.

  But their enemies had to know that. Obviously, they must have a plan to take out all the lairds at once. But how?

  Gavin gritted his teeth in frustration as the darkness loomed up around him again. He tried to think quickly, to put the pieces together before the oblivion overtook him.

  They had Clyde on their side. Gavin’s warriors would listen to him—at least initially. They could lay an effective trap in the castle if they got their men in first.

  God’s blood—is that how they intend to do it?

  He heard footsteps moving toward him. He tried to keep his eyes open, to see the face of his enemy, but it was too late.

  His body took over, and he slowly sank back into darkness.

  * * *

  Deirdre clutched the mare’s reins in her hands. She hid behind a loaded hay wagon near the wall, staring at the open, unmanned portcullis.

  She’d watched the guard leave a few minutes ago, and no one had replaced him. And the castle was quiet. So very, very quiet.

&nbs
p; What is happening?

  Other than the fact that they were overrun with spies, of course.

  She’d made it to her bedchamber after leaving Annag and Ewan and had quickly washed away the obvious blood and changed her clothes. When she’d peeked out the door, she’d been devastated to see one of Gavin’s warriors at the top of the stairs, whispering with the man who had approached her at the village a few days ago. The one who’d offered to help return her to the MacIntyres.

  Another traitor.

  When the men had separated moments later, one heading back down to the great hall and the other to the stairs that led up to the nursery, Deirdre had snuck into the hallway and raced to the stairwell at the opposite end that connected to the kitchens.

  From there she’d crept to the empty stables and found the mare she’d ridden a few days ago already saddled—almost as though they had it waiting for her. Well, she hadn’t been so easy to kidnap this time.

  Now the exit was only a short walk ahead of her, but wouldn’t the right thing to do be to raise the alarm? Surely the portcullis shouldn’t be left open? They could be invaded!

  Aye, that was the point, wasn’t it? The portcullis was open and the castle empty so the enemy could come in unhindered. Had all the castle folk been murdered?

  She wanted to get to Gavin, but she also wanted to secure the portcullis. She had to keep Ewan and Annag as safe as possible. The more enemy warriors who could penetrate the castle, the sooner he and Annag would be caught. She quickly tied the mare to the hay wagon and crept forward toward the guard station.

  “Lady Deirdre!”

  She jumped, her heart pounding, and clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from screeching.

  “Och! I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  Turning, she looked into Father Lundie’s concerned face. He’d only just come through the gate, riding into the castle on the back of Ewan’s pony. She darted toward him and pulled him off Horsey. He yelped in alarm as she dragged him toward the empty guardhouse.

  “I’m sorry, Father,” she whispered, “but Laird MacIntyre and my brother have the castle under attack. Everyone is gone—or maybe killed, I doona know—and there are men inside intent on murder.”