by Gwyn Brodie
As they rode across Mackintosh lands, Montrose came up beside Drostan. "Your father has told me all that has transpired between yourself and Anderson. Dinna fash, lad. We'll find him, and I promise you, justice will prevail, for I'll personally see that it does."
"Much thanks, sire, but at the moment 'tis my wife's safety I'm most concerned about."
"Aye, and I dinnae blame you in the least, for from all accounts, Marcus Anderson is less than an animal."
Fear clawed its way up Drostan's spine as Willowbrae came into sight. He urged Eachann into a run, bringing him to a halt inside the bailey, dismounting immediately. "Isobel!" he shouted as he entered the castle, his father on his heels.
His mother hurried toward them, her eyes swollen and red. "Marcus has taken her, Drostan. Seth took an arrow to the shoulder, and Jim is barely alive from taking an arrow to the chest."
Drostan frowned. "Tell them I thank them and pray for a speedy recovery. I'll come see them once I return."
She dabbed at her eyes. "Catherine nigh lost her life trying to save Isobel as well."
"Where is she?"
At that moment, Cat came down the stairs, her right shoulder wrapped in bandages and secured in a sling. "I'm so sorry, Drostan," she sobbed. "I tried to get Isobel away from Marcus, but failed."
"You did your best and now must rest and heal."
Ian hurried to Cat's side, worry etched on his face. "Does it pain you greatly, lass?"
She smiled, her love for him sparkling in her eyes. "Dinnae fash, Ian. 'Twill be fine."
His mother took Drostan's arm and drew him aside. "Isobel is with child," she whispered.
Drostan's breath caught in his throat. "Did she tell you that?" he asked, wondering why Isobel would not have told him before telling his mother.
She shook her head. "Nay, but remember, I've birthed seven bairns of my own and am well aware of the signs. Because of the situation, I thought it something you should be made aware of."
He nodded. "Then, not only does Marcus have the life of my wife in his hands, but that of my unborn child as well."
Ailig hurried through the door. "Drostan, judging by the direction they've taken, I've a notion 'tis Port Inverness they're once again headed."
Drostan frowned. "Then Marcus's only reason for changing direction was to get his hands on Isobel before making his escape."
"Aye, it certainly looks that way."
"Let's go." Before following Ailig and his father back outside, he kissed his mother on the cheek, noting how worried she looked. "I'll find Isobel, and when I do, Marcus Anderson will curse the day he was born."
Chapter Nineteen
After hours in the saddle, panic seized Isobel as the sound of water reached her. "Where are we?" she asked Marcus, forcing down the unsteadiness in her voice.
"The River Ness, heading to Port Inverness."
"For what reason?" She feared she already knew to answer.
"I'm boarding a ship to France and taking you with me."
"What changed your mind about killing me?" Her breath stilled in her chest as she waited for his answer.
"It hasnae changed. I'm but delaying it to cause Drostan as much suffering as possible. Besides, you will serve me well until then."
Isobel did not need to ask what he meant by that, for she already knew. She would keep the news of the bairn to herself, for Marcus would take great pleasure in getting rid of the child if only to cause Drostan more grievance.
It did not take long for them to reach the port, where several large ships were docked. Men shouted orders as dozens of others worked like so many ants carrying supplies aboard the waiting vessels.
Marcus brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, dragging Isobel down with him.
She staggered and grabbed the saddle to keep from falling.
"Watch her while I arrange for our passage," Marcus ordered Cam and Dougal, heading across the wharf.
She looked about, wondering where she could run the moment she found the chance. Her only hope would be to disappear into the crowd of people making their way toward the ships.
Dougal took the skin sack from his saddle and lifted it to his lips, ignoring the whisky streaming down his neck as he drank his fill. When he finished, he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, ignoring the rest.
"Ye're a swine, Dougal," Cam said, poking his comrade in the chest. "Nary wonder ye've never wed with manners like that."
Dougal frowned. "What be wrong with m' manners? Come to think of it, ye've never married either."
Cam snorted. "At least I came close once."
While the two men bickered about their state of matrimony, Isobel slipped into the crowd—and ran, searching for somewhere to hide. She raced up the street, coming face to face with Marcus. She turned to run the other way, but he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off the ground like a sack of oats.
"Someone help me! He's holding me against my will!" she shouted, kicking and screaming.
Though his face was red with rage, he smiled at the crowd that had gathered around them. "The lass and I recently wed, and she fears the marriage bed."
The men laughed and went on their way, while the women continued scornfully glaring at Marcus, as he carried her away.
"Damn you, wench." He squeezed her so tightly she could barely breathe. "You're not worth the trouble you've caused me. I should've killed and left you in the wood outside Willowbrae and been done with it. As soon as we leave port, I'm tossing you overboard and good riddance to you."
With Marcus's nails digging into the flesh of her upper arm, Isobel was forced to walk aboard the ship beside him. Then he shoved her down the small stairwell and into the tiny cabin he had procured for the journey to France. After binding her hands and feet, he left her on the floor. Thankfully, he had tied her hands in front, which would make it easier for her to move about.
"That should hold you until we return from the tavern. "I'm looking forward to a hot bowl of mutton stew and freshly baked bread. I can already taste it." He left the room, locking the door behind him.
Isobel's stomach growled at the mention of food, for naught had touched her lips since leaving Willowbrae. Not even a drop of water to quench her thirst had she been allowed. She prayed the bairn would not be harmed from her lack of food or water. She struggled against the coarse ropes, wincing as they dug into her wrists and ankles. Her gaze traveled around the room, searching for something she might use to free herself, but found naught. She wept as Drostan's handsome face entered her mind. "I love you," she softly sobbed, fearing she might never again have the chance to tell him.
DROSTAN RODE DOWN TO the crowed dock at Port Inverness and dismounted, his gaze searching the wharf for any sign of Isobel, or Marcus and his men.
Montrose came up beside him, shouting. "Search the ships!" he ordered his guards.
His father ordered the Mackintosh guards to do the same before joining Drostan and the earl. "We'll find her, son."
Drostan nodded, praying that they would. "When did the last ship sail?" he asked a burly dock worker while handing him a coin.
"Before noon," he offered, taking the money from Drostan. "The Sea Bird sails in an hour."
"Which is The Sea Bird?" he asked, knowing Isobel had not been on the earlier ship.
The man pointed to a large vessel. "That be her." He headed down the dock.
"Ian," Drostan called out to the head of the guard.
"Aye?"
"Have the men search that ship from top to bottom. I have a feeling that's where we'll find them."
Ian nodded, already shouting orders to the Mackintosh guards.
Drostan unsheathed his broadsword and boarded The Sea Bird, as did all four of his brothers. "Isobel," he roared for the deck, "I've come for you, lass."
"DROSTAN!" ISOBEL GASPED. She had never had any doubt he would come for her but had feared he would not be able to find her when he did. Having been close to giving up hope, hearing his voice, and knowing he was so near
spurred her into action. Getting on her hands and knees, she crawled across to the door, then flattened out on her stomach and pressed her mouth against the opening at the bottom of the door. "I'm here, Drostan," she shouted over and over, praying he would hear her.
The door suddenly opened. 'Twas not Drostan who stood there, but Marcus." He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her to her feet, bringing tears to her eyes.
"Damn the Mackintoshes!" He drew his dirk.
Isobel's breath froze in her chest. To her great relief, instead of killing her, he used it to cut the bindings from her ankles, then shoved her out the door into the dark passageway and up the stairs toward the main deck.
"What is it you're about, Marcus?" Her voice trembled.
"You'll see soon enough."
A wave of nausea struck her, but she forced it aside.
When she was ready to step out onto the main deck, he stopped her.
"Drostan," Marcus called out. "Isobel is here, just in case Taran already has an arrow nocked for me."
"Isobel!" Drostan shouted. "Are you well?" The worry in his voice nigh broke her heart.
"Aye." She blinked back her tears.
Marcus snorted. "If you wish her to remain so, do as I say."
"What is it you want," Drostan asked through clenched teeth, wanting naught more than to wrap his hands around Marcus's neck.
"When we step onto the deck, I want all the Mackintoshes where I can see them. I've a dirk in hand and will not hesitate to use it on the wench."
"Soulless bastard!" Drostan growled, not trusting Marcus for a second. "My brothers are here with me."
With Marcus's left arm locked around her waist and a dirk at her throat, Isobel stepped out of the shadows. Her eyes were wide with fear as their gazes locked, and it tore at his heart.
"Let Isobel go." Drostan prayed Marcus did not slip.
Marcus snorted. "I'm not daft. With her in my grasp, I ken no harm will befall me."
Drostan helplessly watched as Marcus slowly maneuvered Isobel around the deck. Then suddenly and without warning, Marcus threw himself overboard—and took her with him.
"Isobel!" Drostan jumped into the icy water after her. Panic seized him, for he could see naught in the murky water as he swam about. He prayed harder than he had ever prayed in his life that he would somehow find her. For with her hands tied, Isobel would not be able to make her way back up to the surface. Just when he thought all hope was gone, her flailing leg struck him in the knee.
Wrapping an arm around her midsection, he swam hard, hurrying to get her head above water.
Ailig slipped off the dock and helped Dristan get her back to the wharf, where everyone else waited.
Drostan jumped up on the wharf, and Ailig reached Isobel up to him, before getting out himself.
With Drostan's arm around her shoulder, Isobel sat on the edge of the dock and coughed until her lungs were clear.
Morgan wrapped a plaid around his sister-in-law's shaking shoulders.
Drostan nodded. "Much thanks." He would make certain Isobel—and the bairn she carried—was safe. Then he would go after Marcus.
MARCUS ALLOWED THE River Ness to carry him away from the ships and downstream to where Cam and Dougal waited with a rowboat in the dense vegetation along the icy water's edge. He quickly crawled aboard. "Start rowing. Once they find the lass, whether she be dead or alive, they're sure to come after me."
His calculations had been brilliant. Once Isobel went over the side, no one had cared where he was. But Drostan would come after him sooner or later. And he would be waiting.
SEVERAL HOURS LATER, at the Falconer Inn in Inverness, Drostan was careful not to wake Isobel, as he slipped his arm from beneath his sleeping wife's head and got out of bed. He looked down at her, whispering a prayer of thanks that he had been able to save her. Her long dark hair curled wildly over the pillow and down her back. She looked so small in the much-oversized shift the innkeeper's wife had loaned her while her own clothing drying before the fire. He drew the covers over her shoulders and added more wood to the waning flames, before making his way downstairs to where his father, brothers, and the Privy Council ate their supper in a large room in the back of the inn.
His father looked up when Drostan walked into the room. "How is Isobel?"
"She's asleep still, but appears to have no fever."
"'Tis good to hear." Montrose shoveled a spoonful of steaming venison stew into his mouth.
Drostan took a seat between Morgan and Ailig, waiting for the servant girl to fill his goblet before he added to his trencher a good portion of the delicious smelling stew. He had to admit he was starving, as Isobel would undoubtedly be once she awoke. By the time he finished his meal, perhaps she would be awake and ready to have her supper. He motioned to the servant girl. "Might you prepare a platter for my wife, and I'll take it to her myself."
"Aye, sir," she said with a slight curtsy before hurrying away.
Robbie leaned across the table. "The lot of us started to jump into the water to help you find Isobel, but Da kept us from it. He said it would only make it harder for you to find her, and that you were a better swimmer than the four of us put together."
Drostan grinned. "I appreciate your desire to help, Robbie. But Da was right in his thinking. I can swim circles around the rest of you and always could. 'Tis the reason I wouldnae allow Ailig and Taran to cross the river. As much trouble as I had, they'd have never made it."
Ailig snorted, shaking his head.
Taran rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
Their father laughed.
Finished with his meal, Montrose leaned back against the wall and folded his arms. "Any notion of Anderson's plans?"
Drostan exhaled loudly. "I believe he'll find a way to get to France."
The earl snorted. "'Twill not be easy, as I've taken control of Port Inverness by orders of the king, and posted guards up and down the river."
Ian entered the room and came up beside Drostan's father. "I've news of Anderson's two guards, my laird."
Drostan's father nodded. "Tell us."
"A few miles downriver, a man was found nigh beat to death. He said his rowboat was stolen a few hours before by two men matching Cam and Dougal's description. But he didnae tell them the boat had a small crack in the bottom, which would allow it to sooner or later fill with water. Less than an hour ago, those same two men were captured while trying to steal another boat."
A wave of optimism swept over Drostan. "Where are they now?"
"In the Nairn jail."
Ailig squeezed Drostan's shoulder. "Without Cam and Dougal's help, Marcus will have a hard time escaping to France—or anywhere—for that matter."
"Aye." Drostan rose from the table. "A soon as I see to Isobel, I'm heading to the jail."
"As will we all be, lad." The earl drained the contents of his goblet. "Take your time. Those two ruffians are going nowhere."
With the platter the servant girl had prepared in hand, Drostan hurried upstairs to his and Isobel's bedchamber. In case she was still asleep, he quietly entered the room but found her sitting on the settle beside the fire wrapped in a blanket.
She smiled. "I wondered where you'd gone off to." Her gaze fell on the food. "I hope that’s for me."
He chuckled. "'Tis all yours, lass. I've already eaten my fill." He placed the platter on the settle beside her and took a seat in a nearby chair.
"I'm so hungry." She shoved a rounded spoonful of venison stew into her mouth. "Ummh, 'tis delicious."
He wanted to ask her about the bairn but figured she would tell him in her own time. He gently reached out and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. "As much as I long to stay with you, I'm afraid I must leave you for a time. Cam and Dougal were caught trying to steal a boat and are now being held in Nairn."
She stiffened. "And what of Marcus?"
"'Tis a question that only those two knaves can answer." He rose from the chair. "I'll leave a guard outside the door to ease
your mind—and mine as well. If you need anything, tell him." He leaned down and kissed her, causing a wave of desire to wash over his body. He moaned softly, then reluctantly raised his head. "My need for you, lass, seems almost unnatural at times."
"I feel the same whenever you are near."
"Get some rest, for when I return, you'll be needing your strength."
Her eyes widened, and her cheeks pinked.
After giving her a final peck on the forehead, he headed for the door. "Bar it behind me."
She padded across the room on bare feet, dragging the blanket behind her, the voluminous shift hanging off one shoulder, and she looked positively ravishing.
Exhaling loudly, he left the bedchamber, drawing the door closed behind him. He waited until he heard the bar slide into place before heading downstairs to join the others, but first and foremost, he needed to speak with Ian.
He found the head of the guard leaning against the stone wall, his arms folded across his chest as he kept a close eye on the goings-on inside the noisy inn.
Drostan grasped his shoulder. "Ian, I need you to post one of your best men outside Isobel's bedchamber. I dinnae believe Marcus will try anything, but 'tis better to be safe than regretful."
"Aye." Ian made his way across the room to where several guards were having a dram of whisky. He pulled Ewan aside and had a word with the young guard.
Ewan approached Drostan. "I'll protect Lady Isobel with my life," he steadfastly promised.
A smile tugged at the corner of Drostan's mouth, but he forced it back, not wishing to insult Ewan's enthusiastic display of courage. "I trust that you will."
Ewan nodded, before taking the stairs two at a time to the upper floor.
Ailig came up beside him. "The Privy Council is ready to leave. I've already fetched Eachann from the stables."
Drostan nodded. "Much thanks. Let's go."
Nightfall was not far off when they rode into the village of Nairn. Drostan, his brothers, father, Sheriff Murray, and the Privy Council entered the small jail. A stout, middle-aged man with a mass of short, dark hair rose from a seat behind the small desk.
