Siren of the Highlands: Scottish Medieval Highlander Romance (Highlanders of Cherrythorn)

by Kenna Kendrick

  “I’m nae a Lord,” he said with a growing weariness of making that correction.

  Sitting back in his seat, Fin sighed and took a long swallow of his mulled wine as he turned the problem over and over in his mind. He looked up at Mira again and saw her eyes fluttering. She looked exhausted and entirely wrung out by her ordeal. Fin supposed he could not blame her.

  At that moment, there was a knock at the door, and it swung inward. A young steward named Ewan stepped in and looked startled to see three pairs of eyes turn to him.

  “Beg forgiveness, My Lord,” Ewan said. “I just wanted to stoke the fire in the hearth, if you do not mind.”

  “Please,” Fin said. “And when yer done with that, if ye’d show the Lady Mira to a chamber for the night, I’d be in yer debt.”

  Ewan sketched them all a short bow and then carried out his duties swiftly and efficiently. Once the fire was roaring again, he turned to Mira.

  “I will take you to your chambers, My Lady,” he said.

  Mira cast a pensive expression at Fin, and he thought she was trying to work up the stamina to pass on sleeping and work with them further. But the exhaustion took hold of her, and she simply gave Fin a grateful nod.

  “Thank you, My Lo-,” she cut herself off, a shy grin touching her lips. “Fin. Thank you, Fin.”

  “Ma pleasure, Ma Lady,” he replied.

  “Aye. Mine tae,” Hollis jumped in.

  They watched her go, Hollis’ eyes lingering on the door long after it had closed. As if he realized what he was doing, he cleared his throat and turned back to him. Fin was tense, his heart hammering inside of him as his stomach churned. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, and a deep, dark rage burned deep within him.

  “So, I assume we’ll be leavin’ for Elix first thing in the mornin’,” Hollis said.

  “Rain or shine, we’re goin’,” he growled. “Tis time tae put an end tae Castor bleedin’ Welton once and for all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ivy

  It had barely been a day, but Ivy felt as if she had languished in the cell for weeks, if not months. Castor had made good on his promise… he had sent his stewards down to see to her every comfort. The hard stone floor of her cell was covered in furs, and a brazier was set in the corner and kept burning to ward off most of the chill. A feather mattress was laid on the bunk, and everything Castor thought she could possibly want was brought in. She did not lack for anything.

  Except freedom.

  Ivy sat on her bed with her back against the wall, and her arms crossed over her chest, staring at the bars on the door to her cell. If she were able to shoot fire from her eyes, those bars would have been melted the moment Castor shut her in there. All she could do was hope that Mira had gotten through and had gotten her message to Fin. If he knew Castor was keeping her hostage, he would come for her. She knew he would.

  The scuff of bootsteps on the stone alerted her that somebody was coming, and she sat up. Castor came into view, balancing a tray on one hand. With the other, he slid the bolt on the door back then pulled it open, the hinges on it squealing sharply. Her brother walked in to set the tray in his hand down on the table against the far wall. Ivy glanced at the cell door, wondering how quickly she could get to it. If she could beat Castor there, she could lock him in and end this whole sordid affair.

  “Trust me, Sister. I am faster than you,” Castor said. “You will not make it before I catch you.”

  Ivy turned her eyes to him, and he was looking over his shoulder at her, a sly grin on his face. She glowered at him as she slumped back against the hard wall as Castor finished laying out the food and drink he’d brought her. When he was done, he turned and waved at it with a flourish.

  “Your evening meal, dear Sister.”

  “I fear that I do not have much of an appetite,” she spat. “Confinement and torture has that effect on me.”

  He chuckled low, a threatening sound. “What do you know of torture?”

  “Father used to use confinement to break men.”

  He nodded, conceding the point. “That is fair. But unlike Father, I am not breaking your fingers or slicing little bits off of you in order to break you,” he said amiably. “As far as your confinement goes, I have already told you why that is an unfortunate necessity.”

  “Yes, your greed has made it necessary to lock me up like a wild animal.”

  “Your lack of gratitude is appalling, Sister,” he replied. “I have secured you a match far above your station--”

  “A match that benefits you, more than me.”

  Castor gave her a small shrug. “Be that as it may, Baron Weedler is still above your station,” he said. “You will be well provided for.”

  “I will also likely be well and thoroughly beaten. Regularly.”

  “Do not give him a reason to beat you, and you will be fine.”

  His voice was cold, and his eyes were hard. And his words sent a cold chill sweeping through her. Ivy was appalled that her own brother would say such a thing to her. As if having her own mind and speaking her own beliefs warranted the sort of savage beating for which Baron Weedler was well known.

  “As cruel as that man is, I believe it is you who are far crueler,” she hissed.

  “Perhaps,” Castor offered. “But I am merely a man trying to balance the scales in my life and improve my position. I do not believe ambition is something to be feared. Or shunned.”

  “But when that ambition drives you to murder innocent people-”

  “The Duke is hardly innocent,” Castor roared. “Or have you already forgotten what he did to Mother?”

  “I know what Mother did to herself,” she replied evenly. “She took her own life.”

  Castor waved her off. “As I said before, it might as well have been the Duke who took her life,” he growled. “Were it not for the affair….”

  “Which, if it truly happened, she took part in of her own accord, Castor,” she interrupted him.

  “Of course, it happened,” he snapped.

  “Then Mother was not blameless in the scandal,” she spat. “I believe you are overlooking that fact.”

  “Enough,” Castor hissed. “This is not your decision to make. This is mine, and I will not allow you to slander our mother.”

  “She was not a saint, Castor.”

  “I said, enough!”

  “And what of poor Gillian? She did nothing to Mother. She is an innocent,” Ivy pressed. “And yet, her life still hangs in the balance as well. What was it she did to earn your wrath?”

  Castor was silent for a moment, and Ivy thought she saw flickers of regret cross his face. He had liked Gillian as well, and he looked like the thought of her being poisoned brought him pain.

  “Yes. That was unfortunate,” he said softly. “But in war, there are always casualties.”

  “Oh, is that what you fancy this is? War?”

  “For the soul and honor of our House,” he replied. “Yes. It is war.”

  “Wars are fought by honorable men upon a field of battle,” Ivy hissed. “Not by assassins skulking in the shadows, just waiting for a chance to poison somebody. It is a coward’s way, Castor.”

  His face darkened, and his eyes were like hot coals, searing everything in their path as he looked at her. If looks could kill, Ivy knew she would have been dead ten times over. He looked at her with undisguised hatred. Loathing. If it had not been for the bounty she would bring him, she thought he would have had her head off right then and there.

  “What do you know of war anyway?” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

  They both fell silent, and Castor continued to stare daggers through her. Ivy looked away, not able to look him in the eye. What she said was true, though. Her mother took her own life. She alone was responsible for her death. Perhaps this supposed affair with the Duke was a contributing factor, but he did not kill her, and as such, he did not deserve to die for it.

  “Where is your handmaiden?” Castor aske
d.

  Ivy cocked her head and looked at her brother, the sudden change in conversation throwing her.

  “Wh - what are you talking about?”

  “Mira? Tall woman with golden hair and blue eyes? Usually attached to your hip?” Castor mocked. “Where is she, dear Sister?”

  She had hoped Castor would not notice Mira’s absence for a while yet. That he had already looked for her and found her missing was a bad sign. It also told Ivy that Mira was a loose end he could not afford to have around, which meant he likely intended to kill her. It made her doubly glad that she had sent her to York. At least Ivy knew she was safe.

  “How would I know?” Ivy asked. “I’ve been locked up in here.”

  “Did she come to see you?”

  “No,” the lie came easily to her lips, but Castor saw through her.

  “Where did she go?” he asked. “Where did you send her?”

  Ivy remained silent and looked away from him, her jaw clenched, a dark hatred for her brother forming in the pit of her belly. She did not want to hate Castor. He was her brother. Her only blood family. She did not want to feel hatred and contempt for her only family in the world.

  But he was making it her feel that way. With his murderous plots and plans to build his own wealth and prestige upon the bodies of others, she felt nothing but disgust when she looked at him.

  “Where is Mira?” he pressed.

  “I do not know.”

  “Do not lie to me, Ivy,” he said through gritted teeth. “Where is she?”

  As Castor leaned forward, pure malice in his eyes, Ivy recoiled. She pressed herself as far back against the wall as she could, willing herself to somehow melt into the stone. Her brother’s face was a shade of scarlet she only saw before he erupted in fury, and it frightened her.

  Ivy did not think, at that point, it mattered. He could not stop Mira. She was either at York already or would be there soon enough. And after that, Fin would be coming for her. Whether Castor knew that or not probably did not make much of a difference since there was nothing he could do to stop it anyway. The die had already been cast.

  Ivy took a deep breath and let it out, allowing her logical mind to take control of her. Although Castor frightened her, she was confident he would not do her any serious harm. He was relying on her to help bolster his fortune and to provide him with a strategic ally, as well as control of the north. Indeed, the expansion of Elix’s control and esteem at Court relied on her marriage to Baron Weedler. So no, he would not hurt her.

  “I sent her to York,” she said simply.

  “For what purpose?”

  “For her safety,” Ivy replied. “When you threw me into this cell, I knew you were becoming erratic and dangerous. The fact that you have been hunting her only proves me correct.”

  Castor shot to his feet, his face twisted in rage. He grabbed the cup of water from the table and hurled it across the cell. It hit the far wall with a sharp crack, spraying liquid onto the brazier where it sizzled and hissed. Ivy recoiled and turned her head away, but then Castor was there, gripping her chin and forcing her to look into his eyes. And what she saw there terrified her.

  There was a maniacal light shining in his eyes. Her brother’s face was dark, and his nostrils flared as he breathed in the shuddering breaths of his fury. And at that moment, as his eyes bored into her, Ivy feared that she had overplayed her hand. She thought maybe she had pushed him too far and that he might, in fact, hurt her if not kill her outright.

  “What did you send her to York for, Sister?” he seethed.

  “I told you — for her safety.”

  Castor’s fingers pressed deep into her cheeks, making her cry out in pain. With a vicious smile on his lips, her brother’s face grew even darker and more malevolent as the crazed light in his eyes brightened. But then he pushed her away and growled as he stepped back from the bed.

  Castor crossed his arms over his chest and paced the cell, and Ivy could see the myriad of thoughts and emotions crossing his face. As she watched him, her heart began to slow, and she grew calmer. She had been right about him not hurting her. She knew it probably shouldn’t, but it made Ivy feel somewhat better at least. Though, his whims about keeping her alive could change like the wind. Her brother was so erratic; he was wildly unpredictable. And that is what kept a current of fear alive in her belly.

  “You do know the Duke will not believe this story you’re telling,” he said. “You have no proof to back up your wild claims.”

  “Fin has your Irish friend,” she hissed. “The one who tried to kill the Duke - and Gillian. He will get him to talk.”

  “Even if I knew who this Irishman was, I would think that highly unlikely,” Castor said. “The Irish are well known for their strength and even more for their tight lips and loyalty.”

  “Possibly,” she fired back at him. “But I have seen him in your company, Brother. I know he is your man and when I tell the Duke….”

  “Tell the Duke what?” he cut her off. “Again, Sister, you have no proof of anything. And I believe it is fair to say the Duke will believe me before he believes you.”

  “Fin believes me,” she countered. “And he has the Duke’s ear. Who do you think he will choose to believe? You? Or the man tasked with finding out who tried to do murder upon him?”

  Castor rounded on her. “Oh, Fin believes you. Oh, that’s so wonderful to hear, Ivy,” he mocked. “Do you really believe that big, dumb Scotsman can do anything to me? He’s a commoner. Nothing more. The Duke will take the word of a nobleman over that cretin.”

  “He is smarter than you, Brother,” she hissed.

  A grin spread across Castor’s face as a realization dawned on him. “You fancy him, don’t you?”

  Ivy closed her mouth and said nothing. She simply crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her brother. His smile only widened.

  “You do. You fancy him. That is so sweet,” he laughed. “It really is too bad you are already promised to another, though.”

  “Well, I suppose it is good then, that I surrendered my maidenhead to him,” Ivy spat. “At least I will have one good memory to savor in the tragedy that is to become my life.”

  Castor’s eyes widened, and his lips became a tight light across his face. But then he surprised her as he stepped back and started to laugh. He shook his head as his laughter trailed off.

  “Well then, it is a good thing Baron Weedler is so old, he probably does not remember what it is like to be with a maiden anymore,” Castor said with a chuckle. “If you believed that giving your maidenhead to that cretin would save you from marriage, you are sadly mistaken, dear Sister. All it did was make you a harlot.”

  Ivy’s face burned with anger and humiliation. With a shriek, she grabbed the only thing at hand - a pillow - and hurled it at him. Castor casually swatted it aside and laughed at her again.

  He stood in the middle of the cell and stared at her for a long moment and then gave himself a small nod.

  “Well then, if your beloved Scotsman is on the march here, I suppose I have preparations to make,” he said.

  “He will save me.”

  “I very much doubt that, Sister,” he said. “But knowing that you fancy the man, I will find it incredibly pleasurable to kill him. Perhaps I’ll even leave his head in here for you, so you are not parted from him.”

  Ivy’s scream was blood-curdling, and it echoed around the dungeon, so powerful and strong, it practically made the stone walls quake. But all it did was amuse Castor, who laughed as he left her cell. The door slammed shut, and the bolt slid home, locking her inside.

  Ivy was left in her cell with the fading echo of her scream and tears streaming down her face. She could not abide the thought of Fin being hurt. Of her brother killing the man she… loved. It was at that moment Ivy realized her feelings were coalescing inside of her, and she was left with the inescapable conclusion that she loved him. Truly and deeply, down into the depths of her soul, she loved Finlay Begbie. The thoug
ht of being without him left her feeling hollowed out and empty inside.

  Fin was coming, and her brother knew it. He was preparing for it. Her own foolishness and reckless tongue had given Castor the ability to lay a trap that Fin was walking straight into, none the wiser.

  Ivy cursed herself for being so foolish. For not foreseeing what was going to happen and putting this ball into motion. And stuck in her cell as she was, she was utterly powerless to do anything about it.

  She threw her head back and shrieked - a scream that was cut off by her choked sobbing. Fin was going to die, and it would be her fault.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Fin

  The rain had not entirely abated, and as he knelt next to Mira in the bushes they were sheltering behind, the drizzle continued to fall, spattering on the leaves and stones around them. The floor of the forest was damp and spongy, and the air around them was thick with the scent of earth and musk.

  Fin heard Hollis approaching from behind before the man knelt down next to them in the bushes. He looked over at his old friend, and Hollis wore an expression of nervousness.

  “The wall guard looks like it’s been doubled,” he reported. “They’re tucked away out of sight, but they’re still there all right.”

  “Anythin’ else?”

  “He’s got archers in thae towers. Hidden too,” Hollis said. “Lots of attention on thae front gates.”

  “So he kens we’re comin’,” Fin said.

  Hollis nodded. “Aye. I’d say so.”

  “When he discovered me missing, I am sure he forced Ivy to tell him where I had gone,” Mira added. “I am sorry.”

  “Ye’ve got nothin’ tae apologize for, lass,” Fin replied. “Tis nae yer fault. And if he harmed a hair on Ivy’s head, I’m goin’ tae tear the man’s heart out.”

  “Aye. We knew twas nae goin’ tae be easy from the start,” Hollis said. “Twas nae like we could stroll up tae thae front gates and ask tae take Ivy with us.”

  “There is another way in. A secret way,” Mira gasped, as if only just remembering. “I recall that Ivy showed it to me once when we were young. I had forgotten all about it until just now.”