by Fiona Faris
Am I really that simple?
It hardly mattered now what she had thought of him – she realized that. Still, her sense of self was shaken. Did she really have such poor judgment? She thought back to that night when she had almost eloped with this man; making Alexander chase them in the middle of the night to get his bride back. It had been unforgiveable. She did not know how Alexander had even looked her in the face. If he had done the same thing to her, surely she would have never forgiven him?
Alexander was a much better person than she was.
She swallowed down the lump in her throat at the thought, struggling not to burst into tears of remorse and regret. After all the hard times she had put him through and he had done nothing but support her, try to make her comfortable and take care of her the best he could.
She did not deserve him.
A few tears managed to escape, rolling down her face as she stared fixedly out of the window of the hackney carriage. It was not long until they were back on the road, the jarvey working the horses to go as fast as possible to make up for lost time. Emily hoped that Alexander would guess their destination, or - as the brigand had said - track them with his excellent skills.
She closed her eyes and prayed; not for her own sake but that of her sisters and mother, vulnerable and alone at Eddingfield Hall with no clue of what was bearing down upon them. Perhaps Emily had brought this fate upon herself, but her family did not deserve this.
If there was a way she could kill Philip and the brigand, even if it meant dying herself she would do it. She wondered if she could try to capsize the carriage. She could feign the need to relieve herself and then alight from the carriage and perhaps…loosen a pin in the wheel? At the pace the driver was setting it would not be long before the wheel spun off and then they would end up splattered all over the road.
Emily did not know if she had the courage to do such a thing.
Rebecca would do it.
The voice in her head taunted her, sounding a lot like Alexander. Yes, Rebecca would not hesitate a moment to save her family at the sake of her own.
Emily lifted her head and looked Philip dead in the eye. “I need the carriage to stop please.”
Philip laughed. “I beg your pardon?”
Emily sighed, looking away, lashes lowered. “I…have urgent business. Please stop the carriage.”
Philip stared at her, mouth agape and then he threw back his head and laughed raucously. “If it’s that urgent, well then feel free to do it right here.”
Emily stared at him with wide eyes. “You do not mean that.”
Philip leaned forward slowly, not breaking eye contact for a second and then he slapped her hard. She gasped, hand reaching out to cover the red, stinging mark. “I am not at your beck and call, madam. You do not tell me what to do or what not to do.”
She blinked rapidly at him, heart pounding in shock. Christopher was looking away from them, face troubled. “It couldn’t hurt to let her relieve herself.”
Philip transferred his glare to the brigand. “Nobody’s stopping her.”
“You are mad.” Emily said slowly, her voice filled with wonder. The sting of the second slap came as less of a shock.
“Shut up wench!”
Emily ground her teeth together to prevent more words from emerging from her mouth. It would only do her more harm. She looked away from Philip, momentarily catching Christopher’s eye – who looked sorry for the girl.
If I survive this, Alexander will no longer be able to say that I have known no hardship.
The thought was a little smug and that gave her a little lifeline that she clung to like a lifeline.
That’s right, look on the bright side.
That cheerful tone sounded like her schoolmarm, a rotund lady with a perpetual smile who taught her most of what she knew about the world. How Miss Winchester could know so much about the world whilst remaining an unmarried spinster remained one of the mysteries of the ages. Emily had not thought of her in years but now clung to her memory as desperately as the thought of Alexander.
Sooner than she was prepared for, they were riding through the gates of Eddingfield Hall, and Emily peered out curiously. The courtyard was empty of groomsmen or garden staff. Where were they all? They came to a stop in front of the Hall and Philip alighted with all the confidence of one who belonged there.
No groomsman came to see to the horses and Emily’s heart ached with anxiety.
Where is everyone?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alexander woke with a start, a hand reaching under his pillow for his sgian dhu, his pulse beating a warning.
Danger is near.
He noticed the bed beside him was empty and cold and his heart sunk. Pulling himself out of bed his eyes darting everywhere trying to find the source of his alarm.
“Mr MacTavish?” a soft knock on the door had him rushing to open it He had a feeling it was not the first.
“Who is it?”
“Mrs Haversham, the innkeeper’s wife.”
Alexander crossed to the door and opened it, uncaring of his nudity. “What is it?” he could not help how tense his voice sounded, especially as she was the very picture of anxiety, face pale and hands wringing.
“Oh sir, I do not know what to do. Is Mrs MacTavish with you?”
Alexander’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I…” her voice clicked and Alexander almost exploded in his anxiety. “Tell me what ye ken.”
The lady sighed, looking resignedly down the corridor. “I was coming out of the kitchen to see if the men in the dining hall wanted anything else when…”
Alexander grabbed her hand.
“When what?”
“I…they were dragging somebody out of the back door. I did not see who it was but the glass of milk I had just given your Mrs was on the floor, smashed everywhere. And there was blood, meaning she must have cut herself. The blood trail led to the back door too. I think…” she sighed again shaking her head. “I think those men took your wife.”
Alexander’s heart went cold and his hand held onto her wrist like a vice. “Describe them to me, these men.”
Mrs Haversham shook her head again, but out of disbelief at what had happened. “One of them was a lord, for he was dressed fancy-like and his clothes were all fine and dandy. The others looked like brigands or some such; Hard men.”
“The lord,” Alexander said urgently, “What color was his hair?”
She shook her head again. “I could not tell for he wore a wig. Bu-but his eyebrows were blonde.”
“And his eyes, what color? What color?”
“Green.”
Alexander let go of her hand. “Go and find out which direction they went,” he ordered, “I shall be with ye shortly.”
Slamming the door in her face he quickly dressed, gathering their bags together and arming himself with his knife and guns. He thought about running out immediately but could not leave without informing his sister. He strode quickly down the hall, knocking hard on her door. She was quick to open it as if she had already divined what had happened.
“I think Bristol took Emily,” he said without preamble, handing her Emily’s belongings, “I am going after them. Follow after me at your leisure.”
To her credit, Rebecca did no more than nod, tracing the sign of the cross on Alexander’s forehead. “Go with the grace and protection of God,” she murmured.
He nodded his thanks and hurried away. There was not a moment to waste.
Tracking the kidnappers was not difficult. The blood stains did lead to the stable, and the stable hand was able to describe the men as well as the carriage.
A large man with a scar down the side of his face. There was no family crest on the carriage; it had been rather nondescript but the horses pulling it were two black thoroughbreds, swift and tireless.
“Can you remember how many men there were?” Alexander turned to Mr Haversham, trying hard not to think of Emily wearing just her shift,
vulnerable and alone.
“A whole table full sir, at least eight.”
“But only two went in the carriage with the lass sir,” a high, voice piped up and Alexander looked down to see a small, mop-haired boy, looking up at him with wide scared eyes.
“How d’ye ken that?” he asked, deliberately trying to soften his voice.
“I fell asleep in th’ hay,” he darted a glance towards Mrs Haversham like he was expecting rebuke but she just waved at him to go on. “The lass woke me with ‘er struggling and fighting. She wa’ trying to scream but they had a cloth in ‘er mouth. Took all three to put ‘er in the carriage and even then, they had to hit ‘er o’er th’ head.”
Alexander winced and the boy cringed in fear. He squatted so they could be at eye level. “Dinna be afraid. Tell me all ye can.”
“Well, they put ‘er in th’ carriage and then they drove away real fast. But only th’ two of them. Th’ other ones went other ways.”
“Did ye see which ways?”
The boy pointed south, the way they had come.
“And the carriage, which way?”
The boy pointed north, towards Eddingfield.
Alexander frowned. What are ye playin’ at, Bristol?
He reached in his pocket and pulled out a coin. “Thank ye lad.”
The boy ran off before Alexander could possibly change his mind. The Scotsman ran for his horse, feeling that he had wasted enough time. Only God knew what they were doing to his bride as he stood around jawing. He spurred his horse into a canter and then a dead run, following the road. He could take his time, and track the hoof prints but he had a theory as to where Bristol was taking her. If his hunch was correct then Bristol was more dangerous than Alexander had ever imagined.
And he had Emily in his clutches.
Alexander urged his horse to go faster.
“D’ye see anythin’?” the first man whispered to the second.
“A cloud o’ dust?”
“Okay, but is it the right cloud?”
“I s’pose we’ll see in a mo’.”
They watched the cloud of dust change into a man on a horse. The man fitted the description of the laird of Dun Alba. The first man retrieved his rifle, sighting it with a steady hand and a squint before pulling the trigger. The man fell backwards off his horse and lay still on the ground.
“Did you get ‘im?” the second man asked.
Nodding, the first man put down his rifle and emerged from their hiding place and walked boldly over to the prone figure, bending down to turn him over.
He was dead before he even realized that there was a knife in his left eye. The other man yelped as Alexander sprang to his feet, scrabbling for his rifle. Alexander leapt at him, tackling him to the ground. The second man could feel the stickiness of blood, dripping slowly on his face as Alexander strangled him. Either he was covered in his companion’s blood or else his partner had not missed. As Alexander’s hand tightened around the man’s throat, he reached up in the last throes of life, feeling for a wound. His fingers slipped in the wet of the Scotsman’s ear and he pulled as hard as a dying man could. Alexander gave a sharp yelping sound and pulled back just a little giving the brigand an opening. Grabbing a stone from the ground, the man brought it down against Alexander’s bleeding ear.
The Scotsman dropped like a stone.
The brigand heaved a sigh, scrambling away from the body before whistling for his horse. Heaving the body onto the back of his horse, he tied hands and feet together before riding fast for Eddingfield. He had been tasked with stopping Alexander but neither his chief nor the lord had said whether to capture or kill. He was erring on the side of caution.
Emily lifted her head and squinted blearily at her surroundings.
She had an impression of being somewhere damp, dark, and cold.
There was a smell of mildew and soft, rotting wood, and something else. There was some kind of pungent animal smell in the air. Rat droppings!
Although to her knowledge, she had never been around rat droppings, but there was something about the aroma that suggested the vermin. Not even while renovating Dun Alba had she seen rat droppings. The thought of her home sent her heart plummeting in despair.
Her mouth was so dry that she could feel the sandpapery barbs on her tongue; like a cat's. Her lips were cracked and sore. Emily closed her eyes trying to think how she could possibly get herself out of the current situation, but in doing so, inadvertently fell asleep for a little while instead.
Her dreams were uneasy, filled with the ghosts of rats; they scurried around her legs, nibbling at her toes, their cold little noses nudging against her flesh and their wormy, naked tails dragging across her ankles. She jerked awake more than once, always with a small scream, tucking her legs beneath her buttocks in fear and listening fearfully for any sounds of the creature before succumbing to the hypnotic pull of Morpheus once again.
When Emily woke up again, she felt a little more clear-headed. That is to say, she felt less nauseous from the journey, but was still slightly concussed. It was not much of an improvement.
Trying to press her hands over her eyes, she realized that she could not move them. For a short while she fought to move her arms before realizing that she was tied up. She blamed the concussion. Strapped up tight against a wide vertical pipe, she was sitting on the icy floor of what looked like a cellar.
Rats, there would definitely be rats!
If she was now inside Eddingfield Hall, then she had definitely never been to this part of the castle before. Drawing up her knees, she realized that her ankles were free.
At least it was something.
Concussed and cold and worried, Emily decided that the only choice open to her was to shout for her husband.
These were desperate times and she was out of other options. Somebody had to have shown Edenhall this part of the castle. Somebody else must know about it. Perhaps they were nearby.
“Alexander! Alexander! Help! Alexander!”
She pointed her face towards the light, a very faint silhouette visible above her edged in a dim light that might denote a trapdoor or even a window or door.
It made little sense, seeing as how Alexander had been tucked up in the bed when she had left, warm and comfortable, what was the chance of him being here, and even if he was, what was the chance of him hearing her in this god forsaken place?
Perhaps he had already risen and was already missing her, wondering where she was and waiting for her to return. There was no reason for him to assume that she was missing; that she had been abducted by Edenhall and was lying in the cellars of Eddingfield. He might think she had gone for a walk or was socializing with the innkeeper’s wife – perhaps even getting them breakfast.
She jumped as a door opened to her left, revealing a row of wooden torches lighting up a dark, narrow corridor. The outline of a man stood in the dim light and her heart raced ‘Alexander, but it was not him, and the door closed quickly again behind two men.
For a split second her heart had soared, before it plummeted, crashing to the earth with broken wings. It was almost as if someone had just played a cruel joke on her. Emily straightened up and blinked away the gathering drops.
Now was not the time for tears.
Her eyes now focused on the two men. A rough looking man stepped to one side to reveal the figure of Lord Edenhall. He was dressed quite grandly, given the hour and the fact that they were all in a damp cellar. His blonde hair gleamed in the light, and when he tilted his face, his arrogant features looked almost devil like in the half light.
Emily cleared her throat. “Philip”. Her voice was rusty, but she tried again. “Lord Edenhall. Can we not resolve this in a way that is mutually beneficial? Surely you did not mean for things to go this far?”
Edenhall gave her a droll laugh, rearranging the folds of his face into an unpleasant sneer. “Not at all, Miss Caldwell. You are precisely where we wished you to be. Knocked on the head and tied to a pole.”
He laughed at her.
“Shall we wait and see if your husband catches up with us before the monologue begins? I should so hate to have to repeat myself.”
Ah, Emily thought, so they are expecting Alexander to show up.
This thought both heartened and terrified her. She moved on to another line of questioning. “A... kidnapping for ransom, is it? You find yourself in need of a bit of money….–”
