by Gwyn Brodie
Something was headed his way and making an awful racket. He slipped through the wood to see the cause. A rickety wagon, drawn by two horses and handled by a lone driver, lumbered its way along the road toward the castle. Fate had intervened, for this could be Drostan's one chance to get inside the keep undetected. The only other way would be to enter through the garderobe, something that would be most unpleasant, but he would do anything to get to Isobel.
"Halt! Who goes there?" Drostan said, making sure he could not be seen by the driver.
The wagon stopped moving.
"'Tis only I, Henry, with supplies from the village," the man said, looking about.
Drostan slipped from the wood and quietly slid beneath the wagon, clenching his teeth as pain jolted through his injured thigh. With no time to fash about it, he quickly tethered himself to the underneath by shoving a length of his plaid through a broken board and over the front axle, then wedged his boots against the other shaft.
"Who the devil was that?" the driver mumbled to himself, then clicked his tongue, and the wagon began to move.
Drostan's heart drummed against his ribs as the wagon rolled beneath the raised portcullis and around to the kitchen entrance.
"Whoa." The driver brought the horses to a halt. He jumped down from the wagon seat and entered the kitchen.
"Henry! I see ye've finally made it here with the supplies," a female said, just before the door closed.
The servants would be outside at any moment to unload the wagon. Drostan dropped to the ground and winced, then took a look around. Seeing no one about, he rolled from beneath the wagon, jumped to his feet and hurriedly limped into the byre. With nightfall fast advancing upon the land, the cows would have already been milked and fed. There was no reason for anyone to return there until early morning. But to be on the safe side, he hurried up the ladder and settled down in the loft to wait. His stomach growled as the delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and roasted venison reach him from the supper meal being served inside the castle. Hopefully, the whoreson would at least allow Isobel to fill her belly, for Drostan was certain she would be starving after the journey there. He wanted to hold her in his arms, as he had the night he made love to her. And he would, just as soon as he freed her from Marcus's grasp.
DRESSED IN A CRIMSON gown that left little to the imagination, as far as her cleavage was concerned, and her hair hanging loose about her shoulders, Isobel stood at the bedchamber window searching the surrounding hills and moor for any sign of Drostan. What if he really were dead? She shook her head, shoving the horrible thought from her mind.
She heard the door open and turned to find Marcus standing there. He had changed into fresh clothing and shaved the stubble from his face. She opened her mouth to tell him that a true gentleman knocked before entering a lady's bedchamber but quickly decided to hold her tongue, remembering what Catherine had said about not angering him.
"I've come to escort you to the great hall." His lust-filled gaze traveled over her from head to toe, besieging her with a wave of nausea as he came closer. She flinched when he raised his hand, expecting him to strike her again. Instead, he gently stroked her cheek. "If anyone should ask, you received this bruise falling from your horse. Do you understand?" He smiled and raised a brow.
She nodded. "Aye." At that moment, she wanted naught more than to slap that smirk from his face.
"Supper awaits us." He drew her arm through his, and she allowed it, knowing 'twould bring her a step closer to escape.
As they entered the great hall, Catherine was coming from the direction of the kitchen. The women's wide-eyed gazes locked, both aware of the dangerous quest they were about to undertake.
The mouth-watering aroma of food caused Isobel's stomach to clench with hunger pangs. Once she was seated, she intended to eat to her heart's desire of whatever she could reach. The noisy room quietened as they made their way to the crowded high table. The laird's chair sat empty as the earl most likely still remained at Willowbrae or was on the return journey to Hornridge.
Marcus seated her across from an older plump lady whose white hair shot out in every direction. Then he took a seat on the bench beside Isobel, so close his thigh pressed against the length of hers.
Isobel moved away from him, leaving a portion of her hip hanging over the bench's edge.
The woman smiled. "Whose is this lovely lass, Marcus?"
"'Tis Lady Isobel Fraser, Lady Ross. We're to be wed on the morrow."
Lady Ross gasped. "How delightful. Might I ask, Lady Isobel, how did you receive that horrid bruise?"
Marcus smiled down at her, and if one did not know the meaning behind it, they might think it kind.
"I'm afraid I'm a terrible rider, my lady, and fell from my horse," Isobel lied, shoving a chunk of stew-soaked bread into her mouth, followed by another.
Lady Ross chuckled. "Child, you act as if you're starving."
With her mouth stuffed, Isobel gave her a closed-mouthed smile, then filled the trencher she and Marcus were to share. Once she had appeased her hunger, she sipped on her spiced wine and carefully answered Lady Ross's and the other table occupant's numerous questions, with Marcus filling in the supposed gaps in her memory.
Once supper had ended, he escorted her back to her bedchamber and followed her inside. Her heart pounded as she feared he would force himself upon her. She could hardly breathe as she waited to see what he did.
"I'll bid you goodnight, Isobel, for I have much to do in preparation for our wedding. But before I leave, I will have a kiss from you."
Even though she did not want to kiss him, at least he had abated her fear of him bedding her. She sighed. "Very well." She closed her eyes and waited.
He brought his mouth down hard and roughly kissed her as his hands roamed freely over her. Tears sprang into her eyes as his hands skimmed over places no man other than Drostan had touched.
He suddenly stopped kissing her. "Perhaps I spoke too soon about waiting to have you," he said hoarsely, pressing himself against her to prove his readiness and increasing her fear twice over.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Come," Isobel said before Marcus could tell whoever it was to leave.
Catherine opened the door and stood there. "I've come to help ready Lady Isobel for bed as the lady's maids are all busy with the other residents. I'll assign her own lady's maid on the morrow."
He frowned, then without a single word, spun around and left the bedchamber.
Catherine quickly closed the door and leaned back against it.
Isobel shook her head, exhaling loudly. "You arrived just in time as I fear Marcus was ready to force himself upon me."
"I'm glad I did. 'Twill be a while afore everyone is asleep. What is it you wished to tell me about Marcus?" She sat down on the window seat.
Isobel took a seat beside her so as she could speak quietly. "Three of the men hired by Marcus to kill Drostan caught up with us at a crofter's hut where we had stopped. When Marcus and his men left the hut, one of them tried to force himself upon me. When Marcus returned, he plunged his dirk between the man's shoulder blades. 'Tis where a good portion of the blood on my shift came from, the rest came from my nose when Marcus struck me. Cam and Dougal killed the other two. Marcus was a cruel lad and did something terrible to Drostan when he was naught more than a child of nine summers."
As Isobel spoke, Catherine listened, and tears welled up in her eyes as Isobel told her how Marcus locked Drostan inside the chest and left him there.
"I cannae believe Marcus could have been so merciless, but I'll have to admit that he has been most unkind many times to the people here at Hornridge—including me."
Isobel patted her hand. "There's more, Catherine. Drostan wholeheartedly believes that Marcus is the one who has been going about murdering young women throughout Scotland."
Catherine gasped. "Is he certain?"
"Drostan has not told me all that he has kens, but he believes it to be the truth. I ken t
hat much."
"If 'tis true, then Marcus is not even close to being the man I thought him to be."
Someone knocked at the door, and the women looked at one another in surprise.
"Who's there?" Isobel asked, praying it was not Marcus who stood outside her door.
"'Tis I, the healer," answered an ancient voice from the corridor.
The housekeeper's brows shot up. "Why would Abby be here? You have no injury, except for that bruise on your face."
Isobel shrugged. "Let's find out."
Catherine got up and opened the door.
In it stood an elderly woman with a basket looped over her arm. She slowly made her way across the room to where Isobel sat. "M' lady, the laird's son has instructed m' to bring ye a potion and to wait here until ye take it."
"What sort of potion, Abby?" Catherine frowned.
Isobel's throat tightened, and her eyes filled with tears. "I ken what it is," she sobbed. "Marcus wishes me to drink it to rid myself of any child of Drostan's I might be carrying. He said as much on the way here."
Abby reached into the basket, took out a small bottle of liquid sealed with a wooden cork, and held it out to Isobel. "Ye must drink all of it, m' lady, for it to work."
Isobel shook her head. "I'll not. If I'm carrying my husband's child 'tis a part of him and possibly all that I have left of him."
The old woman's eyes widened, and the bottle in her hand trembled. "Please, drink it, m' lady. If ye dinnae, Marcus will be sorely angered."
Isobel did not wish any harm to come to Abby, but neither did she wish to lose her and Drostan's child—if there was indeed one growing inside her.
Catherine reached out and grabbed the bottle from Abby's gnarled hand. "I'll drink it. There's no chance that I'm with child. Then you can tell Marcus you went to the bedchamber and watched the woman inside drink down the potion without lying to him."
Abby nodded. "Many thanks, but ye must ken the potion 'twill cause ye to suffer pain fer a short while."
Catherine downed the potion and reached the bottle back to Abby.
Abby smiled, then left the bedchamber.
After Catherine had closed the door, she sat back down beside Isobel. "Now, 'tis time we discuss my plan to get you out of the castle and away from here."
"Much thanks for what you just did. 'Tis more than most people would have done to help a complete stranger."
Catherine smiled. "You're not a stranger, but the wife of a dear friend."
Isobel nodded. "I'm most appreciative of your help, as Drostan will certainly be."
"Listen carefully," Catherine whispered. "Before we leave, I'll go about the castle to make certain everyone is asleep. The guards and servants will not give it a second thought as 'tis my duty to see that Hornridge is closed up in preparation for the night. I'm well aware of every place a guard will be on duty; we'll not run into any. Then we'll slip down the servants' stairs and out through the postern gate, of which I have the key in my possession. From there, we'll have to go on foot and pray we meet up with Drostan and those accompanying him soon."
An icy finger trailed down Isobel's spine as she stared out the window at the darkening sky, knowing full well what would happen if Marcus caught them.
Chapter Seventeen
With the moon high in the sky, Drostan quietly slipped down the loft ladder and left the byre. Keeping to the shadows and out of the light of the torches positioned along the nearby wall, he made his way to the servants' entrance. A noise behind him caused him to spin around, finding two Anderson guards fast coming upon him. He could rush inside the castle, but then they would alert the other guards to his presence. Drostan had no choice but to stand his ground and fight.
The first man swung his blade, the wind off of it telling Drostan how close he had come to losing his head. He quickly blocked a second strike, before taking the guard down on the end of his sword.
The other guard, with his broadsword, raised high above his head, growled and rushed Drostan, but he jumped out of the way and spun around, slamming the hilt of his blade against the guard's head. The man dropped to the ground and laid there. Drostan hurried inside the castle.
After having not eaten for the better part of two days, the smell of food struck him like a stone when he entered the kitchen, and he searched for anything to appease his hunger. Inside the pantry, he found a half-round of bread and shoved as much as possible into his mouth in the short time he had.
With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he slowly eased up the servants' stairs, listening for any sound of movement. He had almost reached the landing when the rustle of skirts caused him to pause. He hurried back down to the kitchen and waited as someone descended the stairs. Perhaps he could convince the woman to keep her silence. He at least had to try.
He grabbed her and yanked her against him, covering her mouth with his hand. "Shhh, I'll not harm you, lass," he whispered into her hair.
The woman mumbled something against his hand.
"Will you keep quiet if I release you?"
He felt her nod.
Drostan slowly removed his hand.
The woman turned in his arms and kissed him.
He grinned. He had found Isobel—or else, Isobel had found him.
She took her mouth away. "I'm so glad to see you, Drostan."
"Not gladder than I am to see you. What are you doing down here?"
"Escaping," a female voice behind him clarified.
Drostan swung around. "Who the devil are you?"
Isobel squeezed his arm. "'Tis Catherine, Drostan, your childhood friend. She's helping me."
"Cat? Is that you?"
"Aye, 'tis, my friend. Once I learned Isobel was here against her will and your wife no less, I had no choice but to help her any way that I could."
Drostan's throat tightened. "I owe you many thanks."
"You owe me naught, or have you forgotten you saved me from drowning?"
"Nay, I've not forgotten. We'll talk later, but for now, we must leave here as soon as possible."
They left the castle, and Isobel gasped when she saw the two men lying on the ground, but she said naught.
Cat showed them the way to the postern gate, then unlocked it. "I should stay behind."
"Nay," Isobel begged. "Marcus will kill you when he finds out what you've done. Come back with us to Willowbrae."
"Isobel's right, Cat. He'll show you no mercy, for he has none."
Cat exhaled loudly. "Very well. I'll go with you then," she said, leaving the key dangling from the lock.
Torchlight bounced off Isobel's face, giving Drostan a view of how Marcus had treated her, and for a moment, he thought about going back inside and killing the bastard while he slept in his bed. "He struck you."
"Dinnae fash. 'Twill heal soon, for naught was broken." She patted his arm to reassure him.
Anger at what Marcus had done heated Drostan's blood as he held tightly to Isobel's hand, keeping close to the curtain wall until they were able to reach the wood where he had left Eachann. He whispered a prayer of thanks, for he had found Isobel—and she was safe.
He lifted her onto the stallion, then seated Cat behind her. Even though the women were both small in stature, he was afraid the horse would not tolerate three riders on his back. Drostan took the reins and started walking in the direction from which his father and the others would come, not daring to leave the safety of the forest until they were far out of sight of the castle.
"Drostan, were you injured during the battle? You're limping. You should be the one who's riding. Catherine and I can walk."
'"Tis naught more than a flesh wound," he lied, as pain radiated from his thigh down his leg. He clenched his teeth and kept moving. He had to if he wanted to get Isobel—and now Cat—to safety. For as soon as morning came, Marcus would be coming after them.
For nigh on three hours, he limped alongside Eachann, forcing himself to ignore the ever-increasing pain the wound to his thigh spawned. He ran his hand
over the injury, where unnatural heat emanated through his plaid. Fear ripped through him...not for himself, but for the women who would have to defend themselves against Marcus's wrath, should anything happen to him. He was in much need of a healer and had to get back to Willowbrae as soon as possible. If he delayed too long, he could very well lose his leg—or even his life.
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Marcus lay in bed, looking up at the wooden canopy, smiling as he thought of the numerous ways, he would seek his pleasure while bedding Isobel. He had come close to taking her the night before, and no doubt would have had Catherine not interrupted.
He tossed back the covers and got up, anxious to make Isobel his bride. On the morrow, he would send a missive to Laird Fraser, informing him that his daughter's dowry now belonged to him. Marcus had just finished dressing when a knock sounded at the door. He frowned. The servants knew better than to bother him before he had broken his fast. Whatever it was, it had better be important.
He opened the door to find Jimmy standing in the corridor, wringing his hands.
"What is it you want?" Marcus snapped at the wide-eyed servant.
"Catherine appears to be missing, and the staff is downstairs awaiting her instruction."
Marcus snorted. "You interrupted my morn to tell me you cannae find the housekeeper?" He slammed the door in Jimmy's face.
A few minutes later, Marcus stood in front of Isobel's bedchamber. The lass had better be ready to break her fast, or else suffer his wrath. He knocked. No one stirred inside. Perhaps the lazy wench was still in bed. He seethed at the thought. He struck the door harder, and this time when no one answered, he opened it.
The room stood empty, and the bed undisturbed. Rage heated Marcus's blood as his hands curled into fists. Damn Isobel! She had to be hiding somewhere inside the castle, or else someone had helped her escape. Catherine! If that blasted wench had aided Isobel in any way, she would pay with her life. He left the room, slamming the door closed behind him. Hurrying down the stairs, he entered the great hall and looked about until he found Cam and Dougal.
