They dined on roasted chicken, vegetables, dried fruits, and sweet cakes. With a full stomach, one would hope the child would grow tired, as the adults had. Not Brigid. If anything, she seemed to be energized by the feast.
By the end of the day, Lachlan felt as though he’d been at war for a fortnight. Keevah felt no better. Brigid was excited to bathe in the room off the kitchens. A huge wooden tub that could easily hold two adults was like bathing in the ocean to a five-year-old. Keevah even added some of the scented oils to the warm water.
’Twas Lachlan who carried her above stairs, wrapped in a large, thick drying cloth. All the while Brigid chattered on about the big tub. “Does my hair smell pretty?” she asked. They both leaned in at the same time; Brigid toward his nose, he toward her hair. They met somewhere in the middle with a thunk of their noggins. ‘Twasn’t the worst pain of his life, but ’twas painful nonetheless. His eyes watered as he cursed under his breath.
“Well?” she asked. “Does it smell good?”
“Aye, lass,” he replied as he placed her upon the bed and rubbed his tender nose.
Keevah bit her lip to keep from laughing.
They sat by the brazier, mother and daughter. Keevah helped the child into her chemise and wrapped her in a heavy wool blanket. She made a mental note they would need more clothing for the little girl as one dress and chemise wouldn’t do for much longer.
After toweling off Brigid’s hair, Keevah combed the curly locks, careful not to cause her any pain or distress when she came across a tangled knot. Brigid began to grow tired as well as quiet.
Warm from her bath, wrapped in the heavy blanket, and the warmth from the fire soon began to make the little girl yawn. Before long, she was nodding off but continued to fight sleep.
When her hair was sufficiently dry, Keevah picked her up and tucked her into the bed. “Are ye nae goin’ to sleep with me?” Brigid asked with a yawn.
“I will lass, but first, I must wash yer dress. I will nae be long, I promise. Lachlan is here. Ye will nae be alone for even a moment.”
Thankful and relieved she didn’t argue or put up a fuss, Keevah kissed the tip of her nose and drew the furs up around her neck. The child was asleep before Keevah even stepped away.
When she turned around, Lachlan was also fast asleep. She resisted the urge to giggle at the sight of him; one leg dangling off the cot and surrounded by Brigid’s wooden toys.
Carefully, she picked up the toys and stacked them on the table. She then pulled the dangling leg onto the cot and drew the covers up to his chin. With a contented sigh, she stood up and stretched.
“Are ye nae goin’ to kiss my nose?” he asked sleepily.
“Nae, I am goin’ to go below stairs to wash out Brigid’s dress. ’Tis the only one she has.”
He yawned, his eyes still closed, and said, “We shall get her more on the morrow.”
He said nothing else and soon, his breaths were deep and steady.
Draping Brigid’s dress over one arm, Keevah quietly slipped out of the room.
Aye, God had certainly blessed him this night!
He had been standing in the dark alleyway, watching the shadows dance across the window in the attic. Keevah was there, he knew it; he could sense her presence. ’Twas is if the air surrounding him vibrated with anticipation, excitement.
Just as he was about to end his reconnaissance, he saw the door open. Light spilled out into the alleyway and a moment later, she walked out.
It all happened so quickly and praise God, he wasn’t seen.
She was hanging something up on the line when he approached her, his knife in one hand, his bindings in the other.
“Remember me, lass?” he whispered as he held the dirk to her long neck.
She took in a deep breath, fully prepared to call for help. He didn’t give her the chance.
One forceful blow to the back of her head and she collapsed in his arms.
Aye, God was certainly looking out for him this night.
Keevah tried to open her eyes but the effort was futile. Her skull pounded mercilessly just at the base of her neck. Throbbing, aching, intense. When she tried to lift her arm to rub the ache away, she found ’twas impossible. Why did her head hurt so badly and why couldn’t she move her arms.
Her mouth was as dry as wool and she felt cold, very cold. I must be ill, she thought to herself. Even thinking hurt.
“Lachlan,” she tried calling out his name but her mouth and throat were far too dry. Dry, scratching, her words were nothing more than a harsh whisper.
Fear crept into her heart. Brigid. Where is Brigid.
She struggled to free her thoughts, to make her way through the cobwebs that clouded her mind. ’Twas too much effort to make sense of anything.
Sleep. I need only to sleep for a bit. I will feel better when I wake.
Just why he woke, he was uncertain. But something felt off. Lachlan sat up in his cot and looked around the room. The candle had burned low, the wick nearly burned entirely away.
When he looked at the cot Keevah shared with Brigid, only Brigid slumbered there.
Dread, sheer and unadulterated, spread from his gut to his fingertips.
“Keevah?” he whispered her name as he got to his feet.
He was met with deafening silence.
Quickly, he pulled on his boots and shoved his arms into his tunic before grabbing his sword. He all but ran down the stairs.
There were still a few people huddled together in the greeting room. Charles was standing near the entry doors. “Have ye seen Keevah?” he asked as he raced across the floor.
“Nay,” Charles said, his brow furrowing. “I thought ye were all above stairs.”
“I fell asleep,” Lachlan said. “She left to wash out Brigid’s dress. That was at least an hour ago.”
Worry settled in Charle’s intense eyes. “Has anyone here seen Keevah?” he asked as he crossed the floor. Lachlan was right behind him.
“We have nay seen her,” one of the women said, looking quite concerned.
Charles led the way into the kitchens, searching, while Lachlan called out her name. Bessie appeared from the larder, confusion etched in her brow.
“Have ye seen Keevah?” Lachlan asked, his tone laced with worry.
“Aye, mayhap and hour ago,” she replied. “She was washin’ out Brigid’s dress.”
“Where did she go after?”
“I dunnae ken,” Bessie said as she placed a hand on her heart. “I thought she went back above stairs.”
“Ye did nae see her leave?” Lachlan all but barked his question.
Bessie shook her head rapidly. “Nay, not since she stepped out to hang Brigid’s dress on the line.”
For a long moment, Lachlan swore his heart did not beat. But when it began to beat again it pounded ferociously against his chest. Blood rushed in his ears as fury enveloped him.
He flung the door open and stepped out into the darkness. Charles came out, holding a lighted torch. Lachlan had only taken one step when he felt something under his feet.
“What is it?” Charles asked as they crouched down to get a better look.
As soon as the torchlight fell over the object, he knew something terrible had happened to Keevah.
“Brigid’s dress,” he said as he picked the garment up.
Charles knew as well as Lachlan that something was afoot.
Lachlan swallowed back the bile of fear creeping up from his stomach. “He has taken her.”
“Who?” Charles asked.
“The madman.”
When next Keevah woke, her head didn’t hurt nearly as much. There was still an intense throbbing at the base of her skull, but she no longer felt she was just moments from death.
Slowly, she opened her eyes in hopes of getting a grasp on what was happening. She was met with darkness. Her teeth chattered as she tried to determine why she was so profoundly cold.
For a long while, nothing made sense. Her room was cloaked in
darkness, she felt as strong as a blade of grass trampled into a pile of mud, and she could not remember ever being this cold.
‘Twasn’t until she tried to sit that she realized something was wrong. Her hands and feet were bound. She wasn’t on her cot as she had assumed. She was strapped to a hard surface.
Terror seized every fiber of her being. She struggled against her bonds as her heart pounded relentlessly against her chest. Blood rushed in her ears as her breaths became ragged with fear.
From somewhere within the cold room, she heard a man’s laughter break through the silence. ’Twas hideous.
“Struggle all ye wish, ’twill do ye no good.”
Keevah sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes. God help me.
Chapter Seventeen
There would not be a building, a rock, or a place in Inverness that Lachlan would not tear apart looking for Keevah. No stone would be left unturned.
Murdoch raced to the inn where the rest of their men were staying. They came running, armed to the teeth, angry as hell, and fully prepared to do battle.
They used the Tickled Pickle as a staging location. ’Twas just after midnight on this bleak, cold winter’s night. The moon shone brilliantly, which would aid in their search.
Charles had gathered more men to help. Lachlan did not bother asking for names or histories. He simply wanted the manpower.
Ewan came in right behind Charles.
“When was she taken?” Ewan asked as he thundered through the back door.
“Bessie last saw her three hours ago,” Lachlan informed him.
Ewan gave a curt nod of his head. “Then there is still time.”
“How do ye ken that?” Murdoch asked.
Ewan began to answer when Lachlan flung open the door. “Ye can discuss that while we look,” he ground out. “I will nae waste time on yer theories or assumptions.”
“Lachlan, we should have a plan,” Charles said. “To make certain we do nae search the same places twice.
His fury and anger were not allowing him to think clearly. He was glad, however, that Charles suggested it. ’Twas quickly decided that the men would be broken into teams of two and each were assigned a street. Three men would be sent to search along the river. Lachlan, Murdoch, and Ewan would search together.
Ewan spoke up. “He is probably usin’ an abandoned buildin’. I would search those first.”
Lachlan could not necessarily disagree with that assumption. It stood to reason that the killer would not want anyone witnessing his comings and goings.
He took one last long look at the men crowded into the kitchen and gave a curt nod before opening the door.
More than two-dozen men spilled into the alley. Torches flickered in the night air, casting shadows across the buildings. These were men on a hunt: the hunt for a killer and an innocent woman.
Ewan and Murdoch walked beside Lachlan. “I have been doin’ more research,” Ewan began. “I think he keeps then for a day or two before he disposes of them.”
Fury coursed through Lachlan’s veins, white hot, impenetrable. His only thought, his only mission was to find Keevah.
“What do ye mean, he keeps them?” Murdoch asked as they reached the end of the alley.
Lachlan stopped the procession. “Search every buildin’, every inn, tavern, every business. Ye search them with or without the owners’ permission. Do nae stop until ye find her.”
“And if ye do find her,” Charles said, “ye bring her back here at once then send word to Lachlan.”
The men agreed and soon began to fan out. Lachlan, Murdoch, and Ewan would search the buildings along Chapel Street. Laughter and light spilled out from the few taverns that were still open at this hour. Lachlan thundered down the street, all the while his heart beat mercilessly against his chest.
Fear. Inescapable fear filled his gut. Fear of what was happening to Keevah at this very moment. Fear that she was already dead.
And rage. Rage that any man would dare harm her, let alone any other woman. But she was not just any other woman. She was his. His heart. His entire existence.
He refused to think about his future without her in it. He would not allow his heart or his mind to think of his world continuing without her in it. He would accept nothing less than finding her alive.
The next emotion to assault his senses was guilt. Absolute, unequivocal guilt. He should have insisted they left days ago; that very night. What were ye thinkin’ keepin’ her here? The answer wasn’t hard to find. He was trying to endear himself to her. To make her see he could be agreeable, that he loved her no matter what may come.
Ye were so busy tryin’ to impress her that ye could nae truly see what danger she might be in. She was just like the others, ye fool. A former prostitute with a child.
His reverie was broken by the discussion between Murdoch and Ewan. “It has to be close to where the other bodies were discovered,” Ewan said.
Lachlan came to an abrupt halt, withdrew his dirk and pinned Ewan against a wall. “Ye will nae ever refer to her as that again,” he seethed. “She is nae another body. She is a woman, and she is still alive.”
Tears fell down her temples, pooling on the cold table. Lachlan and Brigid consumed her thoughts. Without a doubt she knew Lachlan was searching for her. She tried to cling to the hope that he would find her before it was too late.
But if he didn’t succeed, she also knew he would take Brigid to raise as his own. He would see to it that she had a good life, an education, and she would never have to sell herself in order to survive.
How could I have been so foolish? She’d been so intent on trying to help catch this madman that she didn’t stop to think about the consequences. She was just like all his other victims. How had she not seen it? How had she not realized she could be his next victim?
“Oh, ye will be such fun to play with, Keevah,” the haunting voice said through the dark. She heard scratching sounds coming from somewhere nearby. A moment later, a flame from a candle grew before dimming ever so slightly. Still, ’twas not enough light to bring her any comfort.
“Why are ye doin’ this?” She didn’t know where she got the strength to ask the question.
“’Tis God’s work I am doin’,” he hissed.
Repulsed by his reasons, she scoffed. “God’s work?” She swallowed the fear and bile. “Nay, this is not God’s work. Ye do it because ye like it.”
She heard his rapid footfalls scraping across a wooden floor. He was upon her then, his dirk pricking the skin along her neck. “My enjoyment is God’s reward for doin’ His good work.”
The sickening sound of his voice made her heart race faster. She could feel sweat breaking across her brow and at the nape of her neck.
“’Tis good to see ye so afraid,” he whispered. He traced the tip of the dirk down the front of her gown and back again. “I may just keep ye alive longer than the others.”
“Who are ye?” she demanded.
His maniacal laughter echoed off the walls. “I will be the last man ever to touch ye,” he said. “I will be the last man ye ever let betwixt yer legs. I will be the last face ye ever see. I will be yer last everything.”
Similar to the ancient stories of berserkers, Lachlan tore through one building after another, one room after another. He cared not who he terrified in the process. He cared not what laws he might be breaking. He was going to find Keevah if it was the last thing he ever did.
Their search along Chapel street led them to nothing but surprised and angry individuals whose homes they had invaded.
“She must be nearby,” he growled as they stood outside a vacant building.
Ewan agreed. “They must be nearby. There is no way he could carry anyone so far without bein’ seen.” He was careful not to use the words ‘bodies’ or ‘victims’ out of fear of being gutted.
Lachlan stepped into the middle of the road and scrutinized their surroundings. “Are we close to where the other women were found?”
E
wan nodded. “Aye, they were all found along Church and Bridge streets, within a four-block area.”
Lachlan tried to picture the map of the city he had seen in Ewan’s room. “I dunnae ken Inverness well enough,” he said. “I wish to see that map of yers again, the one in yer room.”
“I have one here,” Ewan said as he withdrew a scroll from his belt.
Murdoch held one side, while Ewan held the other. It was an exact replica of the map on Ewan’s wall. Lachlan studied it closely. “All those red marks? Are those where the women were found?”
“Aye, they are.”
“What are the blue marks?” he asked.
“Somethin’ else I am workin’ on,” Ewan said. “There were six or seven women found in the river last year.”
Lachlan’s brow raised. “More dead women?” He was incredulous.
“Aye,” Ewan replied. “But I dunnae believe it is the same man. These women were all found along the riverbank. They were nae posed like the others.”
“Are ye tryin’ to tell me there are two madmen runnin’ the streets of Inverness, killin’ women?”
Ewan was nonplussed as he stammered, searching for a reply. “But the others, they were found along the river, badly decomposed. ’Twas hard to say how some of them died.”
Lachlan’s jaw began to ache. “Mayhap he got tired of waitin’ for the bodies to be discovered,” he ground out. “I just cannae believe this is the work of two men. Have ye found more women along the river recently?”
Ewan’s face fell as it began to dawn on him that his previous assumptions were incorrect. Almost sheepishly, he answered the question. “Nay, those stopped in June.”
For all his brilliant deductions, Ewan had to admit he was wrong.
Lachlan shook his head and spun on his heals. “Call every man to search the buildings along the river,” he called out over his shoulder.
As fast as his feet would take him, he made his way toward the River Ness.
Lachlan's Heart: Book Two of The MacCulloughs Page 15
