by Gwyn Brodie
Cam looked across the room and saw Marcus, then elbowed Dougal to get his attention.
Marcus motioned for them to follow, then left the castle and waited in the bailey.
"What is it, Marcus," Dougal asked, coming up beside him with Cam close behind.
"Keep your voices down. Isobel is not in her bedchamber, and Catherine is missing. I have a feeling she helped Isobel leave here."
Jimmy rushed out of the castle and into the bailey. "Sir, the milkmaid was on her way to the byre when she came across Fergus and Bert on the ground near the entrance to the kitchen."
Marcus frowned. "Are they dead?"
"Fergus is. Bert was knocked out from a blow to the head, but has started coming around."
"Is he able to speak?" Two women alone would not have defeated one seasoned guard, let alone two.
"Aye."
"Well, where is he, you idiot?"
"Inside the barracks with the healer."
Marcus hurried off to find Bert, with Cam and Dougal on his heels.
He entered the guards' quarters and walked over to the cot where Bert lay, with the healer on her knees beside him tending his wounds.
His gaze settled on the healer. "Did you do last night as I told you, old woman?"
Abby nodded. "Aye. I saw to it that the lass drank down every last drop of the potion."
At least now, when he wed her, there would be no chance his heir would be a blasted Mackintosh. He turned his attention to Bert.
"Who attacked you and Fergus last night?" Marcus wanted to know.
"A man came from out of the byer heading for the servants' entrance. When we tried to stop him, he ran his blade through Fergus and clunked me on the head with his sword." He fingered the egg-sized lump at the edge of his hairline and winced.
"Did you see him? Was he fair-haired and taller than myself?"
Bert frowned. "Aye. I saw 'im clearly in the torchlight."
Marcus clenched his teeth. "How many men were with him?"
"None that I could see."
Cursing, Marcus turned and left the barracks. "'Twas that whoreson, Drostan," he told Cam and Dougal. "I'm certain of it." He grabbed their shirtfronts. "You told me he was dead."
"I struck 'im hard," Cam stuttered. "When Mackintosh went down, he didnae move again."
Dougal nodded. "Cam's right."
Growling, Marcus let go of them, and they staggered backward.
Marcus looked up at the morning sky. "They couldnae have gotten far. Fetch the horses and tell no one where we're going, for when we find the three of them, only one will be returning to Hornridge Castle."
"DROSTAN, PLEASE ALLOW Catherine and me to walk so that you may ride Eachann," Isobel begged, noting his flushed cheeks and how his gait had worsened in the past hour. Something was wrong—very wrong.
"Nay." He continued to walk.
"You dinnae look well at all," Isobel said as fear gripped her. "Tell me what's the matter."
He suddenly crumpled to the ground in a heap.
"Drostan," Isobel screamed. Sliding from the horse, she dropped to her knees beside him.
Catherine followed. "Is he dead?"
Isobel pressed her cheek against his heart. "Nay, he yet lives, but I dinnae ken what's happened." Not knowing what else to do, she gently drew his head into her lap and wiped the hair away from his forehead. "He's burning up with fever. We need to cool him down."
Catherine took the empty wineskin from the saddle and hurried to fill it with water streaming down the steep rock face nearby, then tore off a portion of her shift, soaked it, and handed it to Isobel. "Perhaps this will help."
"Much thanks." Isobel gently pressed the wet cloth against Drostan's face, praying it would help to lessen his fever.
"Someone's coming this way," Catherine said, her eyes wide with fear. "What shall we do?"
Isobel placed Drostan's head back in the tall grass and quickly got to her feet. "'Tis not Marcus, for he would be coming up behind us. Here, help me unsheathe Drostan's broadsword, and you take the dirk." She handed the weapon to Catherine. "Perhaps we can at least stand our ground if it comes to that."
As the sound of hoofbeats drew closer, Isobel held the heavy sword with both hands and lifted it high—or at least as high as she could—which was not very. Trembling and with her heart pounding, she waited for whomever 'twas to appear.
When the riders came into view, Isobel breathed a sigh of relief and put down the sword. '"Tis Drostan's brothers, Ailig and Taran," she told Catherine.
"Where's Drostan?" Ailig asked, his voice edged with fear.
"Here." Isobel turned and knelt in the grass beside Drostan.
Ailig jumped off his horse and rushed to his brother's side, followed by Taran.
"What wrong with him?" the youngest Mackintosh brother wanted to know.
She shook her head. "I dinnae ken. He seemed fine last night, but didnae appear at all well this morn. He refused to allow us to walk and him ride the horse."
"Stubborn fool," Ailig muttered softly.
"He has a fever, but I dinnae ken the cause." Isobel poured more water onto the cloth and held it against his forehead.
Taran shook his head. "There has to be a reason for the fever. Perhaps 'tis one of the injuries he received during the battle afflicting him. He refused to see the healer."
Isobel looked at Taran, wondering why Drostan had not told her of his injuries. "I ken about the head wound, but where else was he injured?"
"The right thigh," Ailig said, squatting down and checking Drostan's head wound. "He'll most likely need a couple of stitches back here, but 'tis a clean cut and not the cause of his condition."
It did not take long for Isobel to find a tear in the fabric where the blade had entered. Catherine looked away as Isobel gently drew Drostan's plaid up his leg. "Saint's above!" Pus ran from the wound, and the area around it was inflamed and hot to the touch.
Ailig shook his head. "It looks bad. If we dinnae get him to Willowbrae to see the healer, he'll die," he said matter-of-factly.
Tears welled up in Isobel's eyes. "Nay!" she cried out, drawing Drostan against her.
Ailig jumped to his feet as the sound of more riders reached them. "'Tis most likely the rest of the search party, but I wish to be certain 'tis them coming our way."
Taran unsheathed his broadsword, while Ailig climbed onto an outcropping of stones, and after a few minutes, he let out a war cry and made his way down. "'Tis them." He returned to Drostan's side.
A few moments later, the others entered the glen.
Laird Mackintosh slid from his horse as did his other sons and the Mackintosh guards.
Isobel's father dismounted and hurried to his daughter's side, embracing her. "I'm so sorry, Issie, but most glad you're safe."
Isobel loved her father, but it would take some time for her to forgive him for the pain and suffering his actions had caused both her and Drostan.
"What's the matter with Drostan?" Laird Mackintosh asked, his face etched with worry.
'"Tis the injury to his leg, Da. 'Tis not good." Ailig gripped Drostan's shoulder.
Tears dripped off Isobel's chin as she looked up at her father-in-law. "He has a fever, and hasnae moved since he dropped to the ground."
"Let's get Drostan on a horse and back to Willowbrae," Laird Mackintosh ordered his men.
Ailig quickly mounted. "Put him up here with me."
The Mackintosh laird nodded, and the guards carefully lifted Drostan onto the front of Ailig's mount. With one arm keeping his brother astride the horse and the other holding the reins, Ailig headed toward Willowbrae.
Taran helped Isobel onto Eachann, while Drostan's friend, Ian, lifted Catherine onto his own horse, before mounting behind her.
Thankfully, Drostan's stallion quickly caught up to Ailig's mount, for Isobel wanted to stay as close as possible to her husband in case he awoke and wondered where she was. She blinked back her tears, praying he would survive.
CONCEALE
D BY A THICKET, Marcus quietly uttered a string of vile curses as he watched Ailig ride off with Drostan. He was not sure what was wrong with the bastard, but hopefully, he would die from whatever the cause might be. Marcus had been correct in his assumption about Catherine aiding Isobel in her escape, and if the housekeeper were to be daft enough to return to Hornridge, he would make sure she did not live to see the end of the day.
If not for the appearance of the Mackintoshes and their guards, he would have had all three of them within his grasp. Seeing to Catherine himself, he would have left Drostan's slow death up to Cam and Dougal—and the disposal of both bodies as well. As if naught had happened, he would have taken Isobel back to Hornridge to wed. But his plan had failed miserably—something Marcus was unaccustomed to happening. But there was at least something positive about what he had just seen. By all appearances, Drostan looked to be most unwell and might not survive the return journey to Willowbrae. Once Marcus learned of Drostan's death, he would force Laird Fraser to hand over his widowed daughter and her exceptional dowry to him or else be taken before the Privy Council for breach of contract. Even though the agreement was never signed, the laird had given Marcus's father his word, and he meant to see that it was kept.
Once the Mackintoshes were gone from his sight, he mounted and headed back to Hornridge Castle, praying Drostan would never again see the light of day.
DROSTAN OPENED HIS eyes, realizing he was in his own bedchamber at Willowbrae. Where was Isobel? Had Marcus taken her back to Hornridge after Drostan had slipped into darkness? Fear clutched at his chest. He had to find her. It did not take him long, for she sat in a chair beside the bed, fast asleep. The bruises on her face had started to fade, but the dark circles beneath her eyes were stark against her pale skin. He reached out and touched her hand.
She flinched, then her mouth curved into a beautiful smile. "You dinnae ken how happy I am that you've finally awakened."
He grinned. "I'm happy about that myself, lass. How long have I been asleep?"
"Two days, the longest of my life. How is your leg this morn?" She moved to the bed. "Your wound looked much better when the healer changed your bandage earlier." She pressed her hand against his forehead. "And you have no fever."
Pangs of hunger clawed at his insides as he pulled himself upright and leaned back against the headboard. "Would you mind fetching me a bite to eat? I swear my stomach is gnawing at my backbone." His belly chose that moment to growl, emphasizing its dire need for food. "See, what did I tell you?" he teased.
She chuckled. "I'll be more than glad to—just as soon as I tell the others you're awake." After kissing his forehead, she rose from the bed and left the room. A few minutes later, his mother and father hurried into the room, followed by his four brothers and two sisters.
With her eyes shimmering with tears, his mother sat down on the bed beside him and took his hand in hers. "I was so worried you'd not make it, Drostan."
Ailig snorted. "He's too stubborn to die."
Earie and Cait crawled upon the bed beside him.
"I love you, Drostan. Cait kissed him on the cheek.
"As do I," Earie declared before giving him a quick peck.
Drostan grinned, happy to be back at Willowbrae, surrounded by family.
Isobel swept back into the room, along with Catherine, both carrying trays piled high with food. After placing it beside him on the bed, they stepped back and smiled.
He raised a brow. "The two of you must think my stomach to be as hollow as Smoo Cave."
Everyone chuckled.
His father gripped his shoulder. "We'll go and allow you to break you fast in peace."
Drostan nodded. "Then, I'll see the lot of you later."
Isobel closed the door behind the others and returned to sit on the bed.
With his gaze on the multitude of foods, he shook his head. "I dinnae ken where to start."
"Then allow me to help." She lifted a spoon full of honey-sweetened porridge to his lips.
With his gaze fastened on his wife's lovely face, he ate every bite of the porridge and whatever else she fed him. Even in his weakened condition, he wanted her, and his body reacted accordingly. But he would not bed her without first having had a bath.
She reached Drostan an apple tart.
He held up his hand. "Nay, I cannae hold another bite. What I wish is a bath."
"Are you up to it?" She raised a brow.
He grinned. "Aye, but I might need a bit of help from my wife."
She chuckled. "I'll be more than happy to oblige you with whatever 'tis you need. I'll have the servants ready your bath." She headed toward the door.
"Ummh, sounds promising." Never had Drostan been so excited about taking a bath.
TWO MONTHS HAD PASSED since Drostan had received his injuries, and he had healed well. Isobel had spent her days hovering over him like a mother hen protecting her chick, and to his utmost surprise, he rather enjoyed the attention she lavished upon him. And the nights? Those he looked forward to with enthusiastic anticipation.
On this particular morning, Willowbrae's gardens were alive with colorful butterflies and chirping birds as Drostan and Isobel strolled past the cornflowers and sweetpeas. When they came to a secluded section of tall hedges, he pulled her inside their inner circle.
She raised a brow. "What is it you're about, Highlander?"
He grinned. "Come here, lass, and I'll show you." He gently drew her into his arms and covered her mouth with his, kissing her with the need her nearness always stirred inside him. He relished the feel of her shapely body pressed against his, driving him mad with desire.
Isobel's body heated as his tongue licked its way down her throat and over the mound of her breast. "Drostan," she whispered as waves of desire swirled over her. At that moment, she wanted naught more than for him to make love to her.
He lifted her skirts, gliding his hands up her legs. "Say you want me, Isobel," he demanded, his breath warming her ear.
"I want you, Drostan." She trembled with need.
"Then, you shall have me." He smiled most wickedly.
He urged her down into the lush green grass and shoved up her skirts. "Is this what you want," he whispered, thrusting deep inside her.
"Aye." Her body was already seeking the pleasure that awaited her. And when she found it, she cried out as the world around her shattered.
Breathing hard, Drostan dropped onto the grass beside her and gently stroked her cheek.
"Drostan, you've received a missive from Sheriff Murray," Ailig shouted from another corner of the garden.
Isobel's and Drostan's wide-eyed gazes met.
He quickly got to his feet and helped Isobel up.
She had just finished rearranging her skirts when Ailig found them.
"Here you are." A broad grin was plastered on his face as he handed Drostan the missive.
"I'll leave the two of you to discuss the missive." Isobel headed across the garden toward the castle.
Drostan watched after her, his body still humming with need.
Ailig chuckled.
Drostan frowned. "What is it you find so humorous, brother?"
"You might wish to pluck the twigs from your wife's hair and clothing before she goes inside," Ailig said, suppressing a grin.
Drostan rushed out of the hedges and across the garden, catching up to Isobel just in time to remove all evidence of what had happened between them. He drew her arm through his and escorted her inside the castle and up to the bedchamber they shared. Though Isobel's room joined his, it only held her belongings, for she had never spent a night there, nor did he wish her to. Holding her while she slept was something he looked forward to at the end of each day.
"I'm so tired." Isobel stretched out on the bed. Soon she was fast asleep.
Drostan sat down on the window seat, then quietly opened the missive and read its contents:
I hope this missive finds you well. As you requested, I spoke to the Privy Council and explained
in detail your belief that Marcus Anderson is the murderer of the eight young women. In four days, the council will be leaving for Hornridge Castle to arrest Anderson and his two accomplishes for murder. With my having a good understanding of the man you are and kenning the suffering you endured because of this man, I assumed you would like to accompany them on that mission. If I am correct in my assumption, I look forward to seeing you in Inverness, as that is where the council plans to gather forces.
Drostan smiled. There was no way in hell he would miss the chance to see Marcus arrested for his evil deeds. Finally, justice would be served.
Chapter Eighteen
Four days later, Drostan, his brothers, father, and forty Mackintosh guards rode into Inverness, where he spotted Sheriff Murray in front of The Falconer Inn. He reined Eachann to a halt and dismounted.
The sheriff smiled. "I'm most glad to see how well you've healed."
Drostan nodded. "Luck had a lot to do with it, and the love a fine woman."
"Speaking of Lady Isobel, how does she fare?"
"She's doing well."
"'Tis good to hear. Have Laird Mackintosh and your brothers dismount, then I'll introduce the lot of you to the Earl of Montrose and the other members of the Privy Council."
Leaving their horses with the guards, Drostan and the others followed Sheriff Murray into the inn, where Archie showed them to a large room in the back where five men sat around a large oak table drinking whisky.
"Montrose," the sheriff addressed a middle-aged man with long black hair and beard, "the Mackintoshes have arrived and are accompanied by many guards. The Laird of Willowbrae Castle, James Mackintosh, and his sons, Drostan, Ailig, Morgan, Robbie, and Taran."
The earl nodded. "Please join us for a dram. Innkeeper, bring these gentlemen a bottle of your finest whisky."
"Aye, sire." Archie scurried away but soon returned with a bottle and five cups, which he placed on the table then left.
Drostan was glad to see that the innkeeper's hand had healed well with only a slight crook to his little finger.
The earl turned to Drostan. "I understand 'twas you alone who entered Hornridge Castle to rescue your wife and another woman." He waited for Drostan to speak while he took a drink.
