The Highlander’s Passion (Iron 0f The Highlands Series Book 3) Page 13

  “Let me go!” She demanded of the two men who flanked her. She could see a third in front of her, blocking the way up the staircase. She tried to strike out at the man on her left, but he just stepped back and she realized how futile it was to try and fight her way out. One of the men on his own was more than her match. Three of them was utterly insane.

  “Lass, if you don’t fight, nobody will harm ye.”

  Seonaid went to face the man who had been polite to her. She reached out a hand to steady herself against the wall and he helped her as she swayed and spots gathered and cleared before her eyes.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Where am I? Who are you?”

  He swallowed hard. “I wish I could help you, Miss.” He sounded genuine. “But I cannot. He would never forgive me. He ordered us to bring you here.”

  “He? Who is he?”

  He just shook his head. “I can’t tell you – though I wish I could. You’ll see him.”

  “Why did he want you to fetch me? Where is he?” she demanded. She felt utter terror now that she was clearly unable to escape here. She looked around the darkened hallway, but there was no clear way to escape. She felt her heart beat fast. How was she going to get back to her father?

  “I can’t tell you,” the man said.

  “At least,” she whispered, “at least tell me if the man who defended me is still alive? Everett? He’s alive?”

  The man nodded. “Far as I can tell, yes,” he said. She felt her heart suddenly almost stop, relief making her weak.

  “You think he’s alive?” she whispered. “Oh, thank you.”

  The man’s eyes were troubled and she felt almost guilty at having upset him. She leaned against the wall and then let him lead her through a door at her left and into a courtyard.

  She looked around, heart thumping with fear. The place was pitch dark, and cold. She drew her cloak around her, feeling the soft fabric against her hands. It seemed ridiculous to think that, only that morning, she was in Edinburgh.

  I might never leave this place.

  She looked around wildly, but the men flanked her on all sides, marching her across the courtyard and through another door. This room was less damp smelling, but seemed in greater disuse. She stopped as they guided her to a staircase, her head aching and her legs too tired.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Give me a moment.”

  She heard someone start to speak, but her ally cut him off sharply.

  “That’ll do, Gowan. No more of your lip.”

  She tensed as she heard the other man stride across the flagstones towards her guard, and whirled around, terrified, but the two men were glaring at each other.

  “I’ll tell him you were causing trouble,” her guard said. “And you ken he will nae thank ye.”

  Gowan, a tall man with wide shoulders and a blunt face, swore. He turned around, though, stalking back to his place on her left hand side.

  “Let’s go,” the third man said. “He doesn’t welcome time wasting.”

  Seonaid bit her lip as she walked up the stairs, each step draining her strength. At the top she rested again, while the friendly guardsman opened a door.

  “Lass, he said to put you in the turret. But there’s no fireplace in there. If you promise not to try and burn the building down, we can put you in the other place.”

  “I promise. Please.” She hadn’t realized how desperately cold she was. The thought of a fireplace was blissful.

  “Very well.”

  Her friend unlocked the door, and the other guards pushed her across the threshold. She gasped and stumbled, falling onto the stones before a fireplace. She heard her guard say something harsh to the others, but the door swung shut, shutting out sound.

  “It’s warm, here,” she murmured. She curled up on the rough mat by the fireside, feeling wonderful as the fiery warmth soaked into her back. She felt the pain in every part of her come back more acutely, as she thawed, and then recede back.

  Sitting up, she tucked her fingers into her cloak, under her arms. She was freezing still. She was against the wall, but the bricks this close to the firelight were not cold, and it offered only support, with no cold.

  Her hair was soaking and she made her fingers work at loosening the braid, spreading her wet hair around her shoulders. She needed to stay dry, if she was to avoid getting chilled.

  She heard footsteps approaching the door. They were firm footsteps, as if they belonged to someone who was used to command she fancied. She pushed her back against the wall, knees to her chest, a defensive posture.

  The door opened.

  “Miss McCarrick,” a voice that chilled her blood with its familiarity, purred. “What a surprise.”

  “No,” she breathed. “It cannot be.”

  A face that was impossibly familiar smiled at her. Black brows shot up mildly towards a gray-peppered hairline. A handsome mouth twisted in a well-known smile.

  “Oh, but it is,” Alec Westford said lightly. “It’s good to see you at my home in Edinburgh.”

  “Why did you capture me?” Seonaid whispered, horrified. As she said it, she realized why, her heart chilling.

  “I may be many things, but stupid I am not,” he snapped. “And you may be many things, Miss McCarrick, but you are not cautious. Do you think I didn’t know about your arrangements?”

  Seonaid felt herself start to become truly frightened. She coughed. “I made you no promises,” she whispered.

  “You might not have,” he said. “But I was offered much. And I will have what was offered, no matter who tries to keep me from it. I am not a man who takes no for an answer.”

  “I didn’t say no, either,” Seonaid whispered.

  The door grated shut, leaving her alone.

  ON THE TRAIL

  “Seonaid?” Everett called out. He was at the alley beside her home and night was falling fast, the mist rising thickly, to weave through the air like tendrils of breath. He had hoped that, if she had escaped, she would have made her way back here. He peered around, his throat tight with fear.

  “She’s not here,” he told himself firmly.

  The hope that she might have escaped was a thin thread. She had been knocked unconscious by those ruffians – there was no way she would be able to get away from them.

  All the same, he looked around, wishing that there was something he could do. All of the mystery came down to that one question: who were the thugs employed by? He racked his brains. He wished he could find Lachlan again, or the men who had been with him. He would knock some sense out of the fellow, if he saw him again!

  “I’m a fool. I should have done that ages ago.”

  Everett looked desperately down the alley, then decided staying there was a waste of time. Shrugging, feeling bitter tears slide down his cheeks, he slipped away.

  “Sir?”

  He spun round in shock. A low voice had spoken at his shoulder. He looked a little down, to find a young woman with a thin, earnest face. She looked up at him nervously.

  “Yes?” he asked. “Can I help you?”

  She swallowed hard, looking nervous. “Um, sir? Might I be right in thinking you’re looking for Miss McCarrick?”

  “Yes,” he said swiftly. “Yes, I am! Why? You have some information? Ye ken where she is? I need to know!”

  The young woman shrank backward and he felt instantly stupid. She was nervous enough, without him terrifying the daylights out of her!

  “Please,” he said gently. “I’m worried about her. Anything you can tell me would help.”

  The young woman took a deep breath. “I didn’t see her myself,” she said after a moment. “But my friend, Linnet – she said her mistress saw her.”

  “I see,” he said. “Where is your friend? When can I speak to her?”

  “She works in yonder house – there just down from this one. It belongs to Captain Grady.”

  “I see,” he nodded. “I’ll go there at once.”

  He headed up the road through the g
athering dark. At the imposing house – an even finer one than that belonging to McCarrick – he knocked on the door.

  “Hello?” he called, feeling a little foolish. “I am here to speak to Linnet. Let me in.”

  The door stayed shut. Everett wanted to break his way in. He fought down the temptation, making himself stay calm. Getting enraged wasn’t going to help.

  “Blast this,” he swore. “I should have followed the cart. Heaven alone knows where they are now…”

  He turned sharply away. As he did so, the door grated open.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?” He whipped around to face the speaker. A young woman wearing a scarf over her brown hair looked up at him. Her blue eyes were round and oddly piercing.

  “Sir, Linnet Brenmore is my name. You asked to speak with me?”

  “Yes.” He nodded quickly. “A friend of mine said you might know the whereabouts of Miss McCarrick? I need to find her…she’s in great danger.”

  Linnet looked at him levelly. “My mistress can help you. She said she saw Miss McCarrick being taken out of a cart. She said some other things too, but I dinnae ken what.”

  “Where is your mistress? May I speak with her? Please?” It paid to be polite.

  “Wait here.”

  Everett waited on the doorstep, his heart singing. He might be able to find out where she was! Whoever Miss Grady was, she’d seen Seonaid!

  “Hello?”

  The door opened again and he found himself drawn into pale eyes, even paler and more focused than Linnet’s had been. His heart thudded and his hands fidgeted, though he had no reason to be nervous.

  “Hello, um…Miss Grady? I need to speak to you urgently. It regards the whereabouts of Miss McCarrick, the daughter of…”

  “She was in a cart,” Miss Grady said decidedly. “And I saw her being unloaded from the cart at Westhill Fort. It guards the road to Edinburgh. If you want to reach it, it’s half a day’s ride hence.”

  “I see,” Everett said at once. His heart lifted with relief. “Um, Miss Grady? What state was she in, when you saw her?”

  “She was alive,” Miss Grady said coolly. “And I sense she still is. But you must hurry, if you want to see her again.”

  Everett frowned. The girl looked at him with those odd, strangely colorless eyes and he felt a shudder of certainty. She was a seer. He inclined his head respectfully.

  “Thank you, Miss,” he said. “I’ll be on me way.”

  “Not at all,” Miss Grady said lightly. “You’ll be in time to see her, if you take the North road and a fast horse. I wish you all speed and blessings.”

  “Thank you, Miss!” he called. He ran down the street to the inn.

  Winded, exhausted, he leaned on the wall by the inn door. “I need…to hire a horse,” he panted.

  “That’ll be six pennies, sir – and that be for half a day.”

  Everett’s heart soared. He had sixpence! He slammed it onto the counter, and turned swiftly away.

  “Please saddle him for me,” he called, already hurrying down the steps.

  He waited in the yard, feeling sick. He was not a particularly good rider – in fact, he felt about as comfortable on horseback as he did in the rigging. That was, it was one of the worst places he could imagine being. However, he had to ride, and this time he had to ride fast.

  “Here you go, sir,” a stable boy said, looking up at him nervously.

  “Thanks,” Everett said. He swung his foot into the stirrup, grunted with a mix of fear and bemusement as the horse jinked sideways, and found himself half in the saddle. Making noises of effort, he managed to throw himself into the saddle, and, unbalanced, they headed off down the road at some speed.

  “Sir! You’re sitting on your cloak!” the boy called after him.

  “I don’t care!” Everett bellowed, feeling his stomach twist with nauseous fear. He wouldn’t be able to shift off the cloak if he’d tried.

  The horse was well-behaved, and they shot off up the Northbound road.

  “Westhill Fort,” he repeated. He had no idea where that was. All he knew was that he had to find it, and soon. It had been said that Seonaid’s safety depended on that.

  It was dark – completely pitch dark, except for the silver of starlight – when they arrived at a fortress. Everett looked up at the gloomy, dark structure and felt his stomach twist. It must be this place! Everything about it was repellent. He would have guessed it to be deserted, save that a man was guarding the door.

  He swung out of the saddle, landing and stumbling before leaning on the horse for balance. His horse snorted indignantly.

  “Hello!” he hailed the guard, trying to sound as casual as possible. “This Westhill? I’m looking for Edinburgh.”

  “This isn’t Edinburgh,” the guard said, giving him a patronizing smile. “You’ll want to go further north for that.”

  “Aye, that’s all well and good,” Everett said, feeling irritated. “But, is this Westhill? That’s what I wanted tae find out.”

  “Why would ye want to know that?” the guard asked pointedly.

  “Because I’m lost, ye scabby scoundrel,” Everett said, all patience gone. “And I need tae find my village.”

  “I’ll call you a scabby scoundrel!” The guard ran at him, fist swinging.

  Everett ducked, grabbed the man’s arm and twisted. The man yelled in rage, and kicked out. Everett stepped back, releasing his hold on the arm. He grabbed for the dagger the guard wore in his belt, and they started to fight over it.

  As Everett felt himself stumble, going down on one knee, a blow aimed for his head glancing off one shoulder, the door creaked.

  “What do you think you’re doing, Keith?” a voice as tight as a whip-strike demanded.

  “Sir! This feller called me a scabby scoundrel, and I reckoned as I’d teach him what a…”

  “You’re quite deserving of the name,” the refined, smooth voice snapped. “Now, get over to the guardroom and let me deal with this. Evidently, I am the only one who can deal with anything round here.”

  Everett stared. He knew that voice.

  The guard shot an angry glance at the man, but did as he suggested. Everett watched him go, then got to his feet as the darkly clad man approached him. He let his hood drop as he came to stand beside him.

  Everett felt his hands twist together. He had managed to dislodge the guard’s dagger, though he had dropped it when the interruption happened. If he moved fast enough, he might be able to get it back…

  “What was the cause of that altercation?” The stranger demanded.

  “Um…” Everett found his mouth opening and closing. He had never been spoken to so demanding, and he’d also no idea what he’d just been asked. He was still trying to figure it out when he heard the hiss of a sword being slowly drawn.

  “You’re trying to discover information, aren’t you?” the voice demanded. “You’re here for no good.”

  “Aye,” Everett said. He knew that voice! This was the man who attacked them! He had all the information he needed. Dropping to grip the knife, he felt his fingers close around the hilt and danced back.

  He got out of the way just as the blade hissed through the air towards him. It was a lighter blade, balanced well, but still a two-handed sword, and this man wielded it with incredible skill. Everett found himself taking a step back, and then another, as the steel carved arcs about the man, making it deadly to get any closer.

  “Not so sure of yourself now, are you? Who sent you?”

  “Nobody,” Everett panted. He stepped back and reached a tree, and stepped around it. His opponent stopped short of blunting his blade on the tree and put it up, weaving from one side to another as if trying to choose where to strike the moment Everett appeared.

  “Somebody sent you,” the voice demanded. The man lunged forward as Everett stepped sideways around the tree, then drew back into the shelter of the trunk.

  “You can’t fight, coward,” the stranger spat. Everett knew he w
as being goaded and, provocative though it was, he didn’t let the insult make him do anything stupid. He waited.

  “I might be a coward,” Everett said calmly. “But you’re a woolly-pated fool. And I reckon I’d rather be a coward.”

  His adversary gritted his teeth, lunging at Everett with a strike that should have run through him, except that he had ducked back behind the tree, then held out his knife. He heard a sharp hiss of breath and saw his opponent’s hand shoot to his upper arm. He could smell blood and his dagger was wet along one edge.

  “You scum,” the voice spat.

  “I probably am,” Everett said cheerfully. His enemy had dropped his sword and, with immense swiftness, Everett stepped around the tree and ran to the entrance to the building.

  “Stop!” the stranger shouted. “Guards! Men! Stop him!”

  Everett was already inside, and running up the stairs, winded and exhausted, with no idea of where he was or where he might go. All he knew was that he was here, and had more chance of finding Seonaid here.

  MAKING AN ESCAPE

  Seonaid woke from where she had been drowsing against the wall. It was dark and she had no idea what time it was. She looked around, as memory returned swiftly to her. What was it that had woken her so fast?

  Steel clanged on metal. Voices shouted. Somewhere, beyond the window, someone screamed instructions.

  “What is going on?”

  Seonaid looked around the room, feeling her heart thud impossibly fast as she tried to make out shapes in the utter darkness. What was happening? She grabbed her cloak, and ran to the door, trying the handle. Her first thought was that the fortress was on fire. Why else would people be shouting and screaming like this?

  “Help!” She shouted, rattling the door handle. “Let me out!”

  However enraged Alec was, it would not suit him to see her killed!

  She heard the sound of shouts, and running feet. In the dark, with the thick door closed between her and the rest of the fort, it was impossible to hear where the voices were and whether the feet were running downstairs or up. She twisted around, looking through the long narrow window. It was too high for escape, and, in any case, was only as wide as one spread out hand. She would not be able to fit through, even if the drop were not impossibly far.