Drostan, a Scottish Historical Romance, the Mackintoshes of Willowbrae Castle

by Gwyn Brodie

  His father raised a brow. " I see. Do you have the drawings?"

  Drostan turned to his brothers.

  Ailig took several folded papers from his sporran and handed them to his father. "The families were more than happy to help once they learned we were trying to catch their daughter's killer."

  After glancing at the drawings, the laird reached them to Drostan. "It appears we have a killer under Willowbrae's roof. But son, you need to make absolutely certain of that fact before going to the Privy Council with your suspicions. How do you intend to get into Marcus's bedchamber again?"

  Drostan looked over at his brothers and grinned. "Leave that to us, Da."

  "Very well. I'll trust you on the matter. After all, you'll be the Laird of Willowbrae and the Mackintosh chief one day." He rose from his seat. "I'll see you again at the midday meal. I promised your mother a ride to Gleann Fhluraichean today."

  Drostan inhaled sharply as the provoking memory of what had transpired there between him and Isobel rushed over him, and his body reacted. Since then, he had thought of little else. Isobel occupied his mind during the day and his dreams at night. And he had come to realize the lass had become as much a part of him as the very air he breathed.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Drostan opened it to find Ian standing there.

  "Anderson and his two guards have returned."

  Drostan nodded. "Much thanks."

  Ailig frowned. "Is something amiss?"

  "Da will tell you what transpired while you were away." Drostan hurried from the library.

  Chapter Eleven

  Drostan was waiting when Marcus rode into the bailey, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

  Marcus dismounted and tossed his reins to an Anderson guard, then headed toward the castle.

  Drostan stepped in front of him. "I want a word with you, Anderson."

  Marcus sneered. "Get out of my way. I've naught to say to you, Mackintosh."

  "But I've plenty to say to you. Leave Isobel alone."

  He chuckled. "You think you can tell me to leave the woman I'm to marry alone? I'm certain Laird Fraser will have something to say about that. You might as well get used to the fact that she's mine and there's naught you can do about it. She'll soon be lying beneath me whenever I have a notion. 'Twill be my hand touching her whenever and wherever I please."

  At the thought of him touching Isobel, hate raged through Drostan. He punched Marcus in the mouth, sending him sprawling across the bailey.

  Marcus crawled to his feet, spitting blood. "Damn you, Mackintosh!"

  Drostan was more than ready for a fight. He raised his fists. "Come at me, Marcus. I want you to."

  With a snarl, Marcus plowed his shoulder into Drostan's stomach, forcing him backward, but he kept his footing.

  Drostan shoved him off and swung, catching him beneath the chin with his fist.

  Marcus's head snapped back "I'll kill you. I should have finished you off all those years ago before stuffing you in that chest."

  Drostan snorted. "Give it your best try, and 'twould serve you to remember, I'm no longer a child."

  Cam and Dougal, along with several more Anderson guards, rushed into the bailey with swords drawn.

  Morgan, Ailig, Robbie, Taran, and Ian, who had been watching from the courtyard, rushed to Drostan's side, weapons in hand, and ready to do battle.

  "Let them be," Ailig told the guards. "It's been a long time coming."

  They put away their weapons but remained nearby.

  He swung at Drostan again, this time hitting him in the jaw, the ring on his hand bringing both pain and blood.

  As they fought, Drostan managed to pen Marcus's head beneath his arm and pummeled him in the face over and over. He suddenly let go, and Marcus fell onto the ground, his right eye swelling and his face red with blood.

  "Enough!" Drostan's father's voice echoed through the bailey.

  Marcus slowly crawled to his feet and glared at Drostan. "You're a dead man." If a look could kill, Drostan would have died then and there.

  "Not if I get you first. And remember what I said. Keep away from Isobel."

  Isobel came running out of the castle and come to a stop beside Drostan's parents. Her stomach turned when she saw Drostan's bloody face. "What has happened here?"

  Maggie smiled. "Something that should have a long time ago."

  Isobel ran to Drostan's side. She had to know how badly he was injured.

  "Isobel!" Marcus shouted. "Get away from him!"

  Ignoring Marcus, she touched Drostan's cheek and thankfully found only a small cut. "Let's go inside. I'll see to your injury myself."

  He grinned as he pulled Isobel's arm through his and turned to go. At the sound of a sword being drawn, he shoved her out of the way and unsheathed his weapon. But he need not have worried about Marcus, for all four of his brothers had their blades pointed directly at him.

  Kinkirk came out into the bailey. "Marcus, go and get yourself cleaned up. 'Twill soon be time for the midday meal." He turned around and went back inside.

  Keeping his gaze on their blades, Marcus slowly sheathed his weapon and followed his father into the castle.

  Isobel, Drostan, and the others followed his parents inside.

  His mother frowned as her gaze carefully scanned Drostan's face. "I'll have the healer come see you."

  He shook his head. "Nay, Ma. Isobel said she'd see to it."

  Maggie raised a brow. "Well, alright, then." She turned to her." Let me ken what you need, and I'll get it for you."

  Isobel smiled. "Much thanks, Lady Mackintosh." Her own mother and father chose that moment to descend the stairs.

  When her mother's gaze fell upon Drostan's face, she gasped. "Saints above, what's wrong with Drostan?"

  Laird Mackintosh narrowed his eyes. "I'm afraid Drostan and Marcus got into a fight."

  Her father snorted. "Whatever for?"

  "Your daughter." The laird collected Lady Mackintosh and went upstairs.

  Her father frowned. "Isobel, we need to talk."

  She knew what he wanted to talk about. The betrothal. And she had no wish to hear it. "I'm about to see to Drostan's injury."

  "What of Marcus? Should you not be seeing to his?"

  "As I've told you before, I dinnae care for Marcus and have no concern for his wellbeing. He's treated me most inappropriately, but with you set on my wedding him, you'd most likely not care what he did." Before her father had a chance to stop her, Isobel hurried up the stairs, with Drostan on her heels.

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Drostan's jaw was sore and bruised. The cut made by Marcus's ring had been minor but had nevertheless bled much. Isobel had quickly attended to it, and they had spent a good deal of time afterward in one another's arms. He smiled. No injury could be severe enough to keep him from kissing Isobel.

  Yesterday, Marcus had kept to his room during both the midday meal and supper, but Drostan had come down and heartily eaten while Kinkirk and Laird Fraser had hardly touched a bite. This morn, he hoped Marcus went to the great hall to break his fast, for Drostan needed to get inside his bedchamber. Last night, Drostan and his brothers had come up with a plan, and he prayed it would work. Drostan left his bedchamber and headed to the great hall, relieved to find Marcus at the high table breaking his fast.

  After taking his seat beside Isobel and filling the trencher they shared, he glanced down the table at Marcus, who's right eye was almost closed shut, and his mouth swollen and bruised. Drostan smiled as he gave an almost imperceptible nod to Morgan and Taran, who were awaiting his signal.

  Morgan grabbed a tart from Taran's trencher and took a bite.

  Taran growled. "Keep your hands off my food, thief."

  "Who the devil are you calling a thief?"

  "I'm calling you a thief, thief! Taran shouted.

  Morgan growled, dumping Taran's goblet of ale into his lap.

  Taran knocked him backward off the bench and jumped on top of him.


  As they rolled about on the floor, throwing the occasional punch, Drostan's mother opened her mouth to chastise her sons' unbecoming behavior, but his father looked at her and shook his head.

  She eyed her husband strangely but uttered not a word.

  Ailig snorted. "If the two of you want to fight, take it outside into the bailey so the rest of us might have our meal in peace."

  As they rolled back toward the table, Robbie booted Morgan in the ribs.

  Morgan shoved Taran off of him and got to his feet, grabbing Robbie by the front of his shirt. "Why the hell did you kick me?"

  Robbie punched him in the stomach.

  Morgan doubled over. "Damn you, whelp!

  Drostan got up from the table. "You heard, Ailig. Into the bailey with the lot of you."

  As the three youngest Mackintosh sons fought their way across the great hall and outside, the rest of the high table followed them—including Marcus Anderson.

  "I've something to do," he whispered to Isobel. "I'll return as quickly as I can."

  After making sure Marcus was occupied with the fighting, Drostan hurried upstairs and to Marcus's bedchamber. Inside, he took out the drawings he had hidden in his shirt, then drew a chair beneath the beam, praying Marcus had not yet moved the items. Thankfully, they were still there. The victim's name had been written at the top of each page so they would know to whom that specific piece belonged, and he was able to quickly associate each item with a particular drawing—except for one, a bracelet. Did Marcus have another woman's blood on his hands? Time was not on Drostan's side. After returning the drawings to the inside of his shirt, he got down and put the chair back where he had found it, then hurried from the bedchamber. He was glad to see the crowd still gathered out in the bailey and Marcus with them.

  To Drostan's surprise, Morgan had a bloody nose, and Taran was sporting a black eye, while Robbie had ended up with a split lip. He looked at Ailig and winked.

  "Nothing more to see here," Drostan said, grabbing Robbie and Taran by their shirt fronts and marching them back inside the castle and to the library, with Ailig doing the same to Morgan.

  Once the door was closed, Drostan looked at his brothers and grinned. "I commend the three of you on your acting. Perhaps you should join the theatre."

  Morgan growled. "Acting, hell. Taran punched me in the nose. I thought the wee knave had broken it. Before that, Robbie booted me hard in the ribs."

  Taran and Robbie snickered.

  Morgan threw a look their way that had put the fear of God in many a man—but not those two. They were unaffected by their brother's angry glares.

  Ailig leaned back against the stone wall and crossed his arms. "Well, Drostan?"

  Their father entered the room and closed the door. "Tell me what you learned," he said, his gaze on his eldest.

  "The items matched the drawings, except for an emerald bracelet, which leads me to believe there's at least one more victim."

  His father frowned. "There's no doubt then—Marcus is indeed the killer. Not a word of this to anyone, until I can notify the Privy Council of Drostan's findings. I'm tempted to have him thrown into the dungeon until we hear back from the council, but with him being the son of an earl, 'twould be a treacherous step to take if we were found to be wrong. If any of this reaches Marcus's ears, he could very well go on the run and never have to pay for the evil he's done. Agreed?"

  They all nodded.

  Drostan frowned. "I wholeheartedly agree with you, Da, but I feel Isobel should at least be warned, as he believes they are to be wed. I ken the lass. She can be trusted to say naught."

  "Very well, then."

  As soon as Drostan left the library, he went in search of Isobel.

  INSIDE THE STABLE, Isobel fed Bramble a carrot, then pressed her cheek against the mare's soft nose. "Do you like it here at Willowbrae, Bramble? I hope so. I like it very much."

  "Lady Isobel."

  She jumped and turned to find Marcus but a couple feet away. "You startled me." Fear forged a trail up her spine. After what he had done to her that night in the corridor, she did not trust him anywhere near her.

  "Then please, forgive me." The right side of his face was severely bruised, and his eye was almost swollen shut.

  Trembling and heart pounding, she took a step toward the door.

  He followed. "Since you're here, perhaps you'd like to go for a ride?"

  "I'm afraid my mother will come looking for me if I dinnae return soon." She had to put some distance between him and her.

  He took another step. "Lady Fraser doesnae appear to have a problem with you riding out with Drostan Mackintosh whenever he takes a notion to ask."

  "What Lady Isobel does is none of your affairs." Drostan stood in the stable entrance.

  Marcus slowly turned around. "'Tis more of my affair than you wish to believe, Mackintosh," he sneered.

  Drostan snorted. "I told you to keep away from her, or perhaps you wish another black eye to match the one you already have." Never taking his gaze from Marcus, Drostan drew her arm through his. "I'll be more than happy to escort you back to the castle, Lady Isobel."

  "Much thanks." She could hear the unsteadiness in her own voice.

  Drostan kept glancing back to make sure Marcus did not follow, as they left the stables and headed toward the castle. "You're trembling." He squeezed her hand. "Did he try to do you harm?"

  "Nay, but after the other night, he frightened me just the same. How did you ken I was at the stables?"

  He grinned. "I have Angus, a guard I can trust, keeping an eye on you. He sent me word of your whereabouts and that Marcus was headed in that direction. He was standing just outside the entrance listening and would have intervened should you have needed him before my arrival."

  "I see."

  "I heard you say Lady Fraser was waiting for you, but I've something important to speak to you about."

  She shyly smiled. "I'm afraid I lied. I didnae wish to go with Marcus, so I used my mother as an excuse."

  He chuckled.

  Isobel loved Drostan's laughter. It made her smile.

  He patted her hand. "'Tis a lovely day, and even more so from the ramparts. We could talk up there—if you'd like to go."

  "Aye, I would. But you still owe me a view at night when the moon is full, and the sky filled with stars."

  "I've not forgotten, lass. The next time the night is clear, I'll come fetch you."

  She smiled. "I'll hold you to it."

  A few minutes later, she stepped out onto the ramparts in front of Drostan and stared out over the moors, meadows, great pines, and Willowbrae Loch in awe. '"Tis breathtaking, Drostan. No wonder you love coming up here. I can but imagine what the view is like at night."

  He led her to where a Mackintosh clansman stood guard, but after Drostan whispered something in his ear, he wandered off in the other direction, leaving the two of them alone.

  The wind whipped her hair against her face. "The wind is fiercer at this height."

  "Aye." He took her hand. "When I saw Marcus and you in the stable, I feared even more for your safety. There's something I need to tell you about him, but you must promise to not utter a word about it to anyone—even your parents."

  He looked more somber than she had ever seen him. "Of course, I promise. What is it, Drostan?" She pressed her hand against his cheek, and he covered it with his own.

  "I fear Marcus is the killer of those young women."

  She suddenly felt ill. "What makes you think such a thing?"

  "I found the proof, Isobel."

  "Was that where you went off to during all the ruckus, to find proof?"

  He nodded, "Aye, and I did. Marcus has in his possession items from each victim. My brothers spoke with their families and had them draw and write a description of what was taken, then I identified to whom each item belonged, except for a bracelet."

  She involuntarily shuddered. "There's always been something about Marcus that made me feel uneasy. I must have so
mehow kenned the sort of man he is."

  He kissed her forehead. "You're a smart lass. Just make sure not to allow him to get you alone again. Your meeting in the stables was no accident, and that, along with what happened that night in the corridor, are the reasons I've placed a guard on you during the day, and outside your bedchamber at night.

  She nodded. The thought of a guard keeping an eye on her did make her feel better. "Much thanks for showing up when you did. It seems you're always rescuing me from one unsavory situation or another."

  He grinned. "I dinnae mind, lass." He slipped his finger beneath her chin, then kissed her.

  Isobel closed her eyes, returning his kisses with the fervor that arose inside her whenever he touched her.

  After a time, he took his mouth away and looked down at her. "We'd best get below."

  She nodded, trembling with the same need she saw in his dark eyes. As they turned to go, she glanced toward the stables and found Marcus looking up at them. The summer wind suddenly turned as cold as ice—and so did her blood.

  THE FOLLOWING NIGHT, Isobel had just settled into bed when a knocked sounded at her door. With a Mackintosh guard stationed in the corridor, she knew it had to be someone other than Marcus.

  "Aye?"

  "Let me in, lass."

  Drostan! She hurried across the room and opened the door.

  He stood in the doorway, grinning. "'Tis a lovely moonlit night, with nary a cloud in the sky. Would you like to visit the ramparts?"

  She nodded. "Aye. But what of the guard?

  "We can trust Will. He'll say not a word."

  "Allow me a moment." She hurriedly shoved her feet into her slippers and fastened her cloak around her shoulders, then stepped out into the corridor and closed the door.

  He took her hand and led her through the castle and up to the ramparts.

  Isobel would have allowed Drostan to lead her anywhere, for she trusted him that much.

  The ramparts were unlit, keeping them from becoming the target of an enemy's arrow in case they were attacked. She stayed close to Drostan as he led her to the far side of the castle, which allowed her an excellent view of the star-filled sky, and the full moon hanging amongst them.