by Gwyn Brodie
Drostan wondered how much time had passed since he had been put there and prayed Marcus had not harmed her. He turned his head, and a sharp pain shot through his skull. Tightly wedged in the coffin, he could barely move, but managed to reach his scalp, where he found a large gash and blood-encrusted tangles. At least the bleeding had stopped.
He suddenly realized he was not in total darkness for a small sliver of sunlight streamed through a crack in the rim near his right cheek, which meant air could get inside as well. He breathed a sigh of relief—albeit small. That minor imperfection was most likely the reason the coffin had remained with its maker instead of being sold for burial.
There was no longer a battle being fought in the village street, for he would have heard it. What had happened to his brothers? If they were yet alive and had seen where he had been taken, they would have already freed him from this hellish place.
Horses, many of them, drew near, then came to a halt.
Drostan pressed his ear against the fractured stone and listened.
"The landlord at The Falconer Inn has confirmed that Drostan, Isobel and the lads stayed the night at his establishment," his father said, his voice edged with worry. "Sometime before morn, a battle ensued. After that, he wasnae certain what happened to any of them. They broke his hand and threatened to do the same with his wife if he didnae tell them which room Drostan and Isobel were staying."
Drostan's heart went out to Archie and Iva. "Da!" Drostan shouted. "I'm here, inside the coffin."
"Eachann and Bramble are still at the stables, and the other lads' horses as well," offered Ian. "Drostan would not have gone anywhere without that stallion."
"Ian, can you hear me?" Drostan shouted at the top of his lungs, fearing if he were not found soon, he might indeed go mad.
"Look, 'tis Ailig and Taran," Ian shouted, "and they're both bloody messes."
"Saints above!" his father said. "What has happened here, and where are the others?"
"Robbie and Morgan are at the healer's cottage being treated for their injuries," Ailig said.
Thankfully, all of his brothers had survived the battle. Drostan whispered a prayer of thanks.
"What of Drostan and Lady Isobel?" his father asked.
"Marcus took her," Taran spat. "We've searched and searched for Drostan, but havenae been able to find him. Ailig and I lost sight of him during the battle."
"My poor daughter. Surely Marcus wouldnae harm her." Laird Fraser either did not realize what Marcus was capable of or else for his own sanity, refused to believe it.
"We can but hope," said Drostan's father. "We must search this village from end to end. Drostan could be lying somewhere badly injured or dying."
Drostan shoved his mouth against the small crevice, and shouted," I'm here, inside the coffin," he called out again at the top of his lungs. "Can you hear me?" he continued shouting until his throat ached, praying one of them would hear him. When he had nigh given up hope, the slab was suddenly lifted away. He shielded his eyes against the brightness of the sun as he looked up into the familiar faces of his father and brothers. "Get me to hell out of here."
As they helped him from the coffin, Taran gasped. "Drostan, you've lost a lot of blood."
Drostan forced a smile. "I'll be fine, wee brother, now that I'm out of that blasted coffin. "'Tis my wife I'm concerned about."
His father nodded. "Your and Lady Isobel's Declaration of Marriage has been registered then?"
"Aye. The lass may very well be carrying my bairn, and Marcus is very much aware of that fact. 'Tis why we must find her soon, for there's no telling what he might do to her." He turned to Fraser. "Laird, Marcus is, by far, not the man you believed him to be. 'Tis my belief he's the one who's been murdering the young women throughout Scotland."
Laird Fraser paled. "I love my daughter, and only did what I thought was best for her. Had I truly seen with my eyes, and listened with my ears, Isobel wouldnae now be in the clutches of a madman. If anything happens to her, I'll never be able to forgive myself."
"We'll find her," Drostan said, trying to convince himself as well as her father. He turned to Ailig and Taran. "How badly are Robbie and Morgan injured? They were both on the ground when last I saw them."
Ailig grinned. "Why not ask them yourself?"
Drostan turned and found the two coming up the street. "Tell me of your injuries," he said, once they reached them. He prayed they were not life-threatening and would heal quickly.
"The healer said that neither of our wounds was deep," said Morgan. "I hope never to have to see that woman again. She wasnae a gentle soul and having her stitch up my chest hurt nigh as much as it did when it was sliced open."
Robbie nodded. "Aye, I agree with Morgan, but she did a good job on my shoulder. I, as well as Morgan, appreciate Ailig and Taran fending off the bastards when we were not able to do it ourselves."
Drostan nodded. "I'm glad to hear as much. Speaking of the bastards, what happened to them? I took care of one, as did Ailig."
Ailig nodded. "Aye, and Taran sliced open the throat of a third man. The other three took off when a crowd began to gather. As for the Anderson guards, 'twas most likely them who pitched you into the coffin, for once we couldnae see you, we couldnae see them, and that was well before the others left."
Drostan nodded. "They've most likely gone to join up with Marcus, which gives me even more cause to fash about Isobel. Much thanks for your help, lads. I'd be dead for certain had you not been with me."
Ailig grinned. "You ken, we'll always have your back, Drostan, just as we ken, you'll always have ours."
"Morgan, you and Robbie remain at the inn and gather your strength, while the rest of us go after Isobel."
Morgan snorted. "Nay, brother. When you leave this place, we'll be riding along with you."
Drostan swallowed hard. "Very well, but have a care." He headed to the stables to fetch Eachann.
His father came up beside him. "Son, you're covered with blood, limping and in much need of a healer. You're in no shape to ride. We'll find Isobel for you." He squeezed Drostan's shoulder.
"She's my wife and my responsibility. As for the healer, there's no time."
His father exhaled loudly. "Very well, then."
Drostan looked up at the sky. He prayed they would find her soon. The lass had become the most essential thing in his life, for his every breath and heartbeat belonged to her. He clenched his teeth. If Marcus caused her harm, the bastard would pay dearly with his life. That Drostan could promise.
Chapter Fifteen
Isobel glanced up at the sky. 'Twas near midday, for the sun hung directly above her. She winced as Marcus's belt buckle dug into her back again, and she tried to move away, which caused him to tighten his grip around her waist. "Your buckle is cutting into my flesh. I only wish to lessen the pain."
He loosened his grip. "I care not for your pain, my lady, but I dinnae wish to mar your lovely skin—at least until after the marriage ceremony."
Though the day was hotter than usual, a shiver raced over her skin. He intended to marry her, which meant he had to keep her alive. She would stay alert for a chance to escape, pushing from her mind any thoughts of what he might do if he caught her.
She prayed Drostan yet lived. If he did, there was no doubt he would come after her. She closed her eyes, remembering the many times throughout the night he had declared his love for her. Tears wet her cheeks but were quickly wiped away by the wind. "Where are you taking me?"
"Hornridge Castle, where we'll wed."
She snorted. "You dinnae ken for certain Drostan is dead, and you cannae wed someone already wed to another. Besides, how can you be sure I'm not already carrying Drostan's bairn?"
He chuckled. "Of course, he's dead; I ordered my men to kill him. And as for the possibility of there being a bairn, no matter. When we reach Hornridge, I'll have the healer prepare a potion to purge you of it, for I'll not raise another man's mongrel as my own."
His words cu
t her to the bone as deftly as a sharp blade. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around her midsection. If Drostan had indeed perished in that battle, which she prayed he had not, the bairn, if she carried one, would be all she had left of him. And she meant to keep it safe—no matter the risks.
She choked back a sob, as even more hate for Marcus entered her heart, something she would have not even thought possible. How could one man possess so much evil?
He suddenly turned the horse into a thicket of trees and drew his broadsword from its sheath. "Keep quiet, or else I'll use this blade on you."
She wondered what he had heard, and then she knew—the pounding of hooves. Hope filled her heart that it was Drostan and his brothers coming to her rescue. But that hope was quickly dashed as the two Anderson guards who had been with Marcus in Inverness rode into view.
Marcus sheathed his weapon and shot out of the wood in front of them, slamming the back of her head against his chest.
The guards jerked their horses to a halt and reached for their weapons.
"Ye nigh scared us to death, Marcus," said the man she had heard called Cam at Willowbrae.
"What the devil took you so long to catch up? I thought you and Dougal would be leaving Inverness as soon as I grabbed her."
Cam shook his head. "Mackintosh had four men on him at once, and the bastard wouldnae quit fighting, even after his leg was sliced open."
She stared across the meadow, her heart aching, not wanting to hear what else had transpired, but needing to.
Marcus snorted. "I'm assuming you're speaking of Drostan. Tell me what happened."
Dougal grinned. "I struck him across the back of the head with m' sword, and he dropped like a sack of oats. He never knew what hit him."
Cam chuckled. "Then, we stuck him in a coffin and left him there."
As a violent wave of nausea struck her, she bent over the side of the horse and vomited until there was naught left inside her but a deep dark hole.
DROSTAN'S HEAD POUNDED, and his leg pained him as he and the others rode ever closer to Hornridge Castle, where he was sure Marcus was taking Isobel. If he thought Drostan dead, his next move would be to wed her. He blew out a long breath. The thought of her being forcefully bedded by that brutal whoreson set his blood to boiling with rage.
His and Isobel's marriage night had been everything he had thought it would be, and much more. The lass held so much passion inside her, not only in the way she gave herself to him but the way she lived each day to its fullest. Never had he thought he could love anyone the way he loved her. And now Marcus Anderson was intent on taking her away. Drostan had to find her soon. The alternative was unthinkable.
ISOBEL'S BACK AND LEGS ached from being on a horse for so long. She had asked Marcus several times if she might go into the wood to relieve herself, but he had refused to allow her even that small bit of decency. Her mouth was as dry as sand, having had naught to drink since the night before.
For the past hour, he had been pressing the horses hard, and she was thankful her Bramble was safe in the stables at Inverness. A means of escape had eluded her thus far. Without shoes, getting away might be difficult, but no matter—she had to try.
Marcus squeezed her thigh, and she shoved his hand away. "Once wed, I'll put my hands where I damn well please," he said, eliciting a bout of laughter from the two simpletons riding on either side of them.
She snorted. "Then you'll not be, for we'll never be wed. Drostan is alive and will rescue me. You wait and see."
Cam snickered. "Believe what ye wish, lass, but I'll tell ye, he's a dead man."
Drostan is alive, she told herself over and over and knew deep in her heart that she was right. "Marcus, please allow me a moment to relieve myself, for I'll not be able to withstand it much longer. Surely you dinnae wish to ride into Hornridge castle with a piss-soaked bride."
He exhaled sharply, then brought the horse to a halt. "Very well, but hurry it up, or else I'll be coming after you."
When she got down off the horse, her legs refused to support her, and she grabbed the stirrup to keep from toppling to the ground. After a moment, she let go and carefully chose her steps as she entered the wood. Going behind a dense shrub, she quickly relieved herself, then looked about. Now seemed as good a time as any to make her escape. Thick moss blanketed the ground and would provide her bare feet with a bit of protection against the sticks and stones.
"Isobel, come here at once," Marcus ordered.
"I'm nigh finished," she said over her shoulder as she dashed across the ground, careful not to make any noise.
"See that you are," his voice boomed behind her.
Her heart pounded as she darted between the trees, looking for a place—any place—she could hide. She had almost reached the opposite edge of the wood when she heard crashing behind her.
"Isobel! Damn you, wench! When I find you, 'twill be hell to pay!" Marcus promised.
Though her chest ached, and she gasped for breath, knowing what he was capable of spurred her onward. The sound of water reached her, and she headed in that direction, praying it was a river, for she was a strong swimmer and might be able to escape them.
"Cam, go in that direction. Dougal, that way," Marcus ordered his men.
They were drawing closer. In a panic, Isobel raced toward the water, then slid to a stop, teetering on the edge of a crag overlooking a large stream riddled with stones. She turned to run, but Marcus was blocking her way, a smirk on his twisted face.
He snorted. "It appears you have a choice to make, Isobel. Come with me, or jump—which I cannae allow you to do, for then I'd have to forego your most generous dowry, would I not?"
Cam and Dougal hurried up beside him.
Isobel looked down, wondering about her chances of survival if she chose to jump, which she decided was against the odds. Instead, she would go with Marcus and wait for Drostan to find her. With her head held high, she started back to where the horses waited.
He grabbed her arm and spun her around, then slapped her to the ground.
She cried out as a sharp pain shot through her head. Lightheaded, she slowly pushed herself upright as blood dripped from her throbbing nose, staining the front of her shift. Her cheek was numbed by the blow, and her legs and arms stung from the sharp pebbles on which she had fallen.
"If you defy me again, Isobel. I swear I'll kill you, dowry, or no dowry, do you understand?"
Nodding, she crawled to her feet, wiping her bloody nose on a corner of her cloak as she fought back her tears. She clenched her teeth and imagined burying a dirk in his cold, unfeeling heart.
Marcus tossed her across his shoulder, knocking the breath out of her, and carried her through the wood, then pitched her onto his horse and mounted behind her. "We're losing daylight, let's go."
Isobel stared up at the darkening sky, watching the stars appear one by one, silently praying Drostan would find her soon. Her nose and cheek were painfully sore. If the bastard had hit her even a wee bit harder, he would have broken her jaw. The blood on her shift had dried some time ago, the stiffness a constant reminder of her captor's brutality.
Drostan, please be alive. She closed her eyes and prayed it was so.
SOMETIME BEFORE GLOAMING dimmed their surroundings, Ailig took two guards and rode ahead to search for any sign that Marcus had come that way with Isobel. Night had fallen as he returned and drew his horse up beside Eachann. "Perhaps half a mile ahead, I found where they had halted the horses and dismounted. Isobel's bare feet led into the wood, but not out, and three sets of boots had gone in both directions."
Drostan frowned. "Did Marcus leave her behind?" He very much doubted it—not if she were still alive, for the bastard wanted her dowry.
Ailig raked his fingers through his long dark hair. "'Tis my opinion that Marcus or one of the others carted her from the wood, for according to the depth of the hooves when they rode off one horse was still carrying heavier than the other two."
She was most likely still alive. Drostan sighed with relief. "Can you tell me how long ago?"
"Aye, perhaps three—maybe four hours."
"Then we need to pick up the pace, for once he gets to Hornridge Castle, he'll have reinforcements."
"Dinnae fash, Drostan. We'll get her back," Taran reassured him. "How are your injuries?"
"Other than the pain in my head and leg, I'm none the worse for wear. What of Robbie and Morgan, are they doing well? They should've stayed behind and cared for their wounds."
"I'm fine." Robbie rode up on his other side. "As is Morgan. And we both intend to be beside you until the very end."
"Many thanks," Drostan said, hearing the raw emotion in his voice. His family had always been important to him. Isobel was now part of that family, and he meant to bring her safely home to Willowbrae, where she belonged. If that took ridding the world of the likes of Marcus Anderson, then so be it.
By the light of the moon, Drostan rode ever closer to Anderson lands, praying he would find Isobel safe. The wee wildcat that she was, he hoped she watched her step around Marcus, for he was unpredictable. If she angered him, there was no telling what he might do.
EXHAUSTION HAD TAKEN a toll on Isobel, and she fought to keep her eyes open and herself upright in the saddle. She had had no food since the night before. The only thing on her stomach was the water she drank from the loch when Marcus had allowed the horses to quench their thirst and graze for a short while near the water's edge.
She gently pressed her fingertips to her swollen cheek and winced at its soreness. Thankfully, her nose had stopped bleeding some time ago but was extremely sore to the touch, and she feared it could possibly be broken. For someone not wishing to mar her skin, Marcus had done an excellent job of doing just that.
When she thought she could ride no longer, he suddenly brought the horses to a halt outside an abandoned crofter's hut. He dismounted in a hurry, then pulled her down, but her legs refused to hold her, and she sank to the ground.
