He shook his head, trying to keep his wits about him and not drift back into some forgotten memory. He had never given much credence to what the witch had told him so long ago about his family being cursed, but now, he couldn’t help but wonder if she had been right in her grim prediction. Was he cursed? He thought he might be. Everyone he had ever cared for died. Surely that must be an omen of sorts. And if it was, what did it mean for him? Was he going to die as well? Sooner, rather than later? Or was something foul going to befall the rest of the people he cared for? Including his lass?
Frustrated with the lack of answers to his many questions, Gavin scrubbed his hands over his face and then dropped them back to his sides, coming to a decision. He would go back to the cottage and see what his lass had gotten into whilst he was gone and then come back later, after dark. There was nothing to be done here now, anyway. He probably shouldn’t have come here in the first place but he wanted to see what he was up against. It didn’t do any good, of course. He knew just as little now as he had when he arrived. In other words, he wasted his day.
Turning around, he made the long trek back to the cottage, never once noticing that he was being followed.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past-Cottage-Greystone Lands
The sky had a turned a dark gray, almost black with the first showings of night when Gavin climbed the last hill before the cottage. He couldn’t help but wonder again what his lass had gotten into.
Thinking of seeing her, even if she was in a temper for his desertion earlier, brought one of his rare smiles to his face. Life, since he met his lass, he acknowledged to himself while making his way down the hill, was surely not boring—he would give her that.
However, the closer he came to the cottage the more unnerved he became. Something wasn’t right. Going with his gut, he took off in a dead run the rest of the way.
“Lass,” he called, pushing the door open.
“Gah.” He covered his nose with his hand and stepped through the opening onto what was left of the floor.
“Lass?” A surge of fear shot through him and his innards twisted in knots. He felt sick. Leaning forward, he looked in the hole and then immediately jerked back.
A body was lying in the hole, not his lass, but one that had been long dead. Then he spotted another and another. Hot bile rose in his throat at the sight and for some reason, his mind went immediately to Angus. What was left of him after the rats ate their fill. The thought of his friend dying in such a painful way made his innards twist even more.
“Lass,” he called out, louder.
Still he heard nothing.
A shiver of unease swept over him—an inner warning of sorts. Normally Gavin would have paid heed to such a warning, but his worry for his lass had taken precedence over his self-preservation.
Something slammed into the side of his head. His vison blurred and stars danced before his eyes. Struggling to stay upright and keep his wits about him at the same time, he shook his head.
His vision cleared.
A man stood in front of him, one he had never seen before and he was smiling at Gavin like he was his long-lost friend. His blood pumped harder.
“What are ye about,” Gavin said, reaching for his sword. But it wasn’t on his side like it normally would have been and for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why it was not there now.
The man’s smile grew, as if he knew what Gavin was reaching for. “Are ye looking for this, Laird?” He scathed the word and held his sword aloft, almost in a taunting way.
Gavin was having a hard time keeping his wits about him. Warm blood seeped down the side of his face, dripping steadily on the floor from the blow he had received only moments before. He shook his head, trying to clear his blurry vision. The man kept fading in and out of focus. “Aye, I am.”
“Well, what are ye waiting for? Come and take it.” The man flipped the sword around and held out the handle. Then he added, “If ye can.”
Gavin had enough sense not to reach for the sword, even though his fingers itched ta do just that. “Nay, I am good,” he said, flitting his unfocused gaze around the area ta see how many others might about. But he did no see anyone else. Still, he was wary ta make any sudden movements.
“Och, Laird,” he scathed. “Are ye going ta deprive me of a bit o’ sport, then?”
Sport his arse, he thought. By the look on the man’s face, Gavin could tell that if he did try ta take the sword—the blackguard in front of him now would flip it back around and shove it into his gut, or worse, his heart. “I am no in the mood.”
“Och, the high and mighty, Laird of Greystone, is a feared of me?” The man laughed, a big hearty one.
Never taking his eyes off the man laughing at his expense, Gavin reached down pulled his dagger out of his boot, and then slid it behind his back.
Once the man finished laughing like an imbecile, he lifted the sword in the air. “I’ll admit, I am almost hate ta do this ta ye, but I have me orders.”
“From who?”
“Och, Laird, who else?” He gave Gavin a toothless grin. “Can ye no guess?”
“Aye, I could…” His body listed to the side, losing focus again. He forced his vision to stop waffling. “But I want ta hear yer last words before I send ye ta yer maker.”
The man narrowed his eyes. “With what, Laird? Yer pretty looks?”
“Nay.” Gavin shook his head, seeing his chance. “With this.” In a flash, he flung out the blade. It found its intended mark, right into the neck of the man.
A surprise look crossed the man’s face as warm blood spurted from the wound. “Ye cheated.” He fell backward and was dead before he hit the ground.
“Aye, that’s what pretty Lairds do.” Gavin would have said more but he lost his battle with consciousness and promptly passed out.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past-Greystone Property-Somewhere
I couldn’t feel my legs or my arms for that matter. I didn’t’ know where I was or where I had even been. I was in limbo. My mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions—terror taking precedence to them all.
For some reason, my mind took me on a mini-vacation—back to when I was younger.
I had dozed off with my feet propped up on a table. The phone rang, startling me awake. I stood up to grab it and immediately fell to the ground because my legs were asleep. I couldn’t feel them for a few minutes, and now, I grasped that memory and held on, hoping like hell that was the case now.
Willing myself to move, I forced my eyes open. It didn’t do much good. All I saw was blackness. Trying hard not to freak out, I focused my eyes again. This time, I could make out some shapes but nothing solid. Everything was a bit blurry, like I had Vaseline in my eyes. I did that once, while trying to remove my makeup. But the problem was, I didn’t remember trying to remove my makeup.
Closing my eyes, I tried to form a coherent thought. Everything was mixed-up in my mind. And I was so tired. More tired than I had ever been. I felt like I should be crying or screaming, probably both, but I couldn’t even muster enough energy to do either.
In the end, it didn’t matter. The darkness I was trying to keep bay pushed its way from the corners of my periphery and pulled my unwilling mind back under the blanket of oblivion.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Cottage - Greystone Lands
Gavin pushed himself up to a sitting position and tentatively touched the side of his head.
“Gah!” He pulled his hand away.
“At least it is no bleeding any longer,” he said, even though there was a good-sized pool of his own blood on the ground. He looked outside and was thankful to see the man he had the run in with earlier was still dead. Knowing his luck, the man would come back ta haunt him at some point.
Standing, he braced himself on the doorframe. Everything was a bit blurry but that was ta be expected
considering the blow he had taken to his head from the blackguard earlier. He couldn’t help but wonder who the man was working for, since he didn’t get the chance ta ask him properly after he plunged Muir’s dirk in his throat.
He tried to remember what he had been about before the run-in and then, like a ton of stones, it hit him. His lass, Paige, she was gone. He suddenly remembered other things as well. Looking over his shoulder, he cautiously peered down into the big hole. He spotted at least three bodies, they were in different states of decay. It was odd ta see such a thing. Did someone dump the bodies under the floorboards of the cabin at different times, and if so, why? Now that was the biggest unanswerable question of all.
Pushing his way through the door, he stepped outside. The air was crisp and there was a frigid breeze ripping leaves from trees and scattering them like ashes ta the wind. Bending over, he pulled his dirk out of the man’s neck and had half a mind ta drop him in the hole with the other dead bodies, but that would take effort and he needed all his strength ta go and find his lass.
After cleaning his blade off on the grass, he stuck it back in his boot and took off back the way he had come, ta do just that.
♦
Broderick paced the room. Back and forth, back and forth. He stopped and raked his hand through his greasy black hair, making it poke up at awkward angles. He peered closely down at Gavin’s witch who was lying on the floor at his feet. He had an urge to kick her, ta wake her up but thought better of it since a few men were watching him. “Where is Gregory?”
The highlander closest to him, shrugged his broad shoulders. “I expect he will be back any time now.”
“Why did ye no go with him?”
“Not ta worry, Laird, Gregory is more than capable of dispatching, Laird Grey.”
Broderick gritted his teeth. “He is no the Laird any longer, I am!” he bellowed, making the three other men in the hall flinch.
“Aye, that ye are,” the highlander placated.
“Keep watch on her.” He strode past.
“What if she wakes up?” one of the men asked.
Broderick stopped. “If she puts up a fuss, dump her in the dungeon. Then come and get me, immediately.” Broderick turned to leave.
“What of the other one?”
“Tell her, I will be back shortly.” He started to walk again.
“Where shall I tell her ye will be?”
Broderick cut the highlander a sharp look. “Where I always go.”
“Laird?” The highlander closet to the door stopped him again.
“What?”
“Where might that be?”
Broderick fisted his hands. “On the battlements, ye fool.”
“O’ course.” The man tucked his chin and bowed out of his way.
Broderick stepped outside and stared up into the night sky. The moon was just a sliver. When the moon was full once again he would take the witch, and the last remaining descendant of the Grey line and give them both as an offering ta the creature of Loch Morar, just as the gypsy had instructed. Then he would have the gold for the King and his freedom ta do as he pleased as well as a bit o’ gold for his troubles. Aye, that was the plan. But the longer he stood there, the more uneasy he became.
Even though Gregory was more than capable of dispatching the previous laird of Greystone, he couldn’t help but wonder if the deed was done. Because knowing Gavin as he did, he wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow escaped death once again. He had a habit of doing that, he thought bitterly. It wasn’t like Broderick hadn’t already tried many times in the past and failed just as many times.
Shaking his head, he went with his gut, crossed the courtyard, and climbed the battlements awaiting the arrival of the true Laird of Greystone once more.
♦
Gavin dipped his hands into the cool waters of the Loch, and washed the blood from his face and head. He was having a hard time keeping his wits about himself and thought the water may revive him somewhat for the journey ahead.
He tentatively touched the wound and winced from the sharp pain shooting through his skull. Aye, it was a wee bit tender to the touch but he had certainly endured worse.
Standing, he looked upward at the sky. The moon was merely a small sliver of what it would be in a day or two. And if Broderick did indeed have Paige, he also knew where he would come when the moon was full again and who he would be planning ta sacrifice ta get the treasure.
One thing that didn’t sit well with Gavin, was why Broderick would want ta kill him? Didn’t he need Gavin ta fulfill the prophecy ta enable him ta retrieve the damnable treasure?
Is that no what the witch said?
He didn’t know, but what he did know was that he better get-going, else he may be too late ta save his lass. With that thought in mind, he took off towards his home…Greystone.
♦
Creeping up to the castle, Gavin kept low to the ground, and when the men standing guard on the battlements turned away, he ran as fast as he could to the wall just like the previous night he was here, and pressed his back against the stones. Methodically, he felt his way to one of the secret passages.
When he found it, he pressed his hand on a stone, the wall gave way, and he slipped inside. A moment later, the wall shut silently behind him erasing all sign that he was even there.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
LOCH MORAR, SCOTLAND
The Past-Greystone Castle
Once inside the walls of Greystone, it didn’t take Gavin long to enter the passageways leading down to the dungeon. Lit torches lined the walls and there was a rancid odor permeating the air, reminding him of the last time he was incarcerated. Tucking his face down to buffer the smell, he traveled quickly through the corridor, stopping every so often to peer through small openings to see if his lass was behind one of the locked doors.
Knowing Broderick, he was sure the blackguard would have put the lass in one of the rooms, especially since he thought she was a witch. That way his men would keep watch on her, instead of him—especially since he thought she would have the ability to harm him with her dark art.
So lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t hear the echo of footsteps approaching.
His mind coming back to him, he stopped abruptly and pressed back into a corner, keeping in the shadows.
A guard ambled by, humming a familiar tune. One he recognized from his youth. It was strange hearing it and unwanted memories began to swim to the surface—he pushed them back and grabbed the man from behind, covered his mouth with his other hand and jerked him back into the shadows.
The man had his wits about him enough to fight back. Struggling a bit more than he should have, Gavin slammed the man’s head down onto his knee and shoved his unconscious body into the corner, out of sight. He was tempted to slit his throat but something gave him pause…it may have had to do with the fact that it was not a man at all, but a lad, who was probably not more than ten and six.
Gavin exhaled and wiped sweat from his brow, coming to a decision. He had no quarrel with this boy so he decided to let him live…for now. Using his dirk, he tore off a piece of the boy’s plaid and bound his wrists and ankles together. On the off chance he awoke before Gavin got his lass out of the dungeon, he shoved another piece of plaid his mouth and tied the remaining strip of material around his head to secure it in place.
A bit more winded than was warranted from such a simple task, Gavin took the keys from the lad and slipped back out into the passageway.
♦
I couldn’t breathe. I felt like a weight was pressing against my chest. And what little air I did get into my lungs was rancid. Gagging, I struggled to move. At least the feeling was back in my arms and legs. Lot of good it did when I was stuck. I opened my eyes and realized why I couldn’t move. I would have screamed but it was stuck in my throat, right behind the bile that was forcing its way into my mouth.
A body was on top of me, and by the smell coming from said body meant only one thing—the person, whoe
ver it was…was dead.
Turning my head to the side, I promptly puked.
After I finished, I somehow managed to slip out from under the dead weight of the body, only to realize that there was not only one.
I was surrounded by dead people.
“No. No. No!” My voice was hoarse, so unlike how I remembered. Scrambling up to standing, I hit my head. Reeling from the pain, I stumbled forward and almost fell again. My gut twisted and I knew I would be sick again.
Bracing my hand on the slippery wall, I heaved again, but nothing came out. A small opening in the door let in little light but unfortunately it was enough to let me see how many dead people were in the room with me. Stepping over bodies in different states of decay, I crossed the room to the door. A small space of floor was not covered with dead, and I pressed back against the wall. I stood there, not moving an inch, shivering in horror.
♦
Gavin felt like his head would split in two. His vision kept waffling in and out of focus as he continued his search for his lass. It seemed he was going in circles. Every room he came upon looked the same and did not hold his lass. It was as if someone or something was conspiring against him. Going with his gut he kept looking. It did not usually fail him but in this instance, he couldn’t seem to gain any ground. But he continued his vain search with an unbridled urgency. He could swear she was afraid. Very, very, afraid…but of what, he knew not.
Lost in the Highlands, Volume Two Page 16
