by Gayle Callen
Biting her lip, she looked down the trail where the men had just gone, then back toward the cave. Angus wasn’t watching her—he’d gone with the men. No one seemed to have remembered to look out for her. And there was Finn, staring at her earnestly with big blue eyes, so sensitive to the plight of others, when he could have turned inward, angry and defensive at all he’d experienced in his life.
“Very well,” Catherine said firmly. “I’ll accompany you. The children need us. But we must hurry if we’re to follow them!”
Castle Kinlochard was the main seat of Clan Duff, home to the Aberfoyle earls for generations—except the current earl, who normally preferred to meddle in Scottish politics and line his pockets from a distance, at his English estates. But to Duncan’s surprise, the earl’s banner flew atop the castle, signifying the earl’s presence. Duncan stared up at the towers and walls, knowing he was about to enter the home of his enemy. At one time he might have feared losing his temper over the deeds of Aberfoyle, but his mission to discover the mysteries of Catriona overrode his anger.
The castle looked as impregnable as if it had been built this decade, rather than centuries ago. But dozens of people and several horse-drawn carts came and went beneath its open gatehouse, so Duncan crossed the arched stone bridge spanning the moat. To the guards, he claimed himself a McDonald, a traveler seeking hospitality for the night. He hadn’t been sure his ruse would work, but apparently even Aberfoyle still believed in the generosity that Highlanders were known for.
Duncan caused no great concern, since he only wore a sword and dirk—the Disarming Act passed by the British after the last uprising had made them all hide their firearms away. He felt naked without his pistol, but was glad not to call attention to himself. He was an outlaw, after all, with a price on his head. He wasn’t certain who would know his face after these years in hiding, but he had to proceed with caution.
The courtyard was large, with a separate training yard where men fought with swords, protecting themselves from blows with a targe, a round shield on their arms. It seemed a routine practice day, men drinking from ladles in buckets, talking among themselves and laughing. Other men and women moved between workshops and barracks, going on about their errands as if nothing was amiss. It seemed . . . strangely calm, and only increased Duncan’s unease and curiosity. He asked for a night’s stabling for his horse, Arran, and was shown a corner stall where he could curry and feed the chestnut gelding.
He’d timed his arrival well, and when he entered the double doors at the far end of the great hall, servants were already preparing for supper. Above a massive hearth at the far end was a warlike display of claymores and targes. More than one person gave him a skeptical look at his threadbare coat.
He found a bench to sit upon at a table not too close to the dais. He didn’t expect Lord Aberfoyle to be in attendance in the great hall, with all the “common” people, but Duncan wanted to be certain he could overhear any conversations without being too obvious. Someone brought him a tankard of ale without lingering to answer questions, so Duncan sipped and studied the people around him. There were good-natured expressions upon almost everyone he saw—how was that possible when living beneath the thumb of one of Scotland’s most hated chiefs?
Several other people sat down at the far end of his table, no one close enough for conversation, as bad luck would have it. He would bide his time.
A serving woman brought around a platter of bannocks, and as he took one, she eyed him from beneath the cap perched on her frizzy gray hair. “I don’t think I’ve seen ye before.”
“I’m a traveler granted a night’s hospitality,” he explained. “Duncan McDonald is me name.”
“And I’m Rona. If ye be travelin’, ye must be hungry.” She placed another bannock on his plate. “I’ll be back with mutton and cabbage.”
“Ye have my thanks,” he said, offering a faint smile.
He broke apart the warm bannock and chewed thoughtfully. When Rona returned, he helped himself to a slice of mutton and said, “I never thought to be sittin’ in an earl’s great hall.”
She braced the platter on the table. “Aye, ’tis a fancy title, and though the man himself has his polite, distant ways, he is kind.”
Kind? He schooled himself to hide his doubt.
“Now his wife, she’s a more informal lass.”
“Lass” seemed like a generous way to refer to an older woman. “Then she’s a good mistress.”
“Aye, that she is. Though a McCallum, long a Duff enemy, she’s been part of the new peace between our clans. Surely ye must have noticed that in yer travels.”
Duncan frowned, but before he could ask anything else, the maidservant moved off with her platter of mutton. A new peace? He didn’t know what to think.
But regardless, no one here was worried about Catriona being missing, so all must have assumed she’d be gone at least a fortnight. The old earl hadn’t yet started missing her, hadn’t yet felt the suffering of the parents he’d taken children away from.
All around him, people suddenly rose, and Duncan followed suit. A man and a woman were now filing onto the dais. Both were close to his own age, and he had to wonder if the man was Owen Duff, the future earl. The man nodded to the great hall, offered a rousing, “Sit down and eat!” that was met with cheers.
Rona came by with cabbage this time, and as Duncan spooned some onto his plate, she said, “Now don’t ye see such love shining between them? How could there not be peace?”
Duncan was confused. This was the marriage Rona had first meant, between Duff and McCallum? This woman was their new mistress? Or perhaps she was the lady of the castle because the old earl and countess never put in an appearance.
“So he’s the next earl?” Duncan asked, trying to sound suitably awed.
Rona shot him a surprised smile. “He’s Himself, the Duff chief, these last few months.” Shaking her head, she moved on, saying something under her breath about how ignorant country folk could be.
But Duncan was no longer listening. This man was the new Earl of Aberfoyle. The old earl who’d dominated this part of Scotland and allowed families to be destroyed so he could profit—that man was dead and buried, gone to the devil where he belonged.
But Duncan hadn’t known, because he’d taken a risk to keep his people safe after he’d almost been recaptured. He had tightened their patrols around the encampment, hadn’t risked sending anyone beyond their glen.
Did the new earl know what his father had been a part of? Did he condone the same injustices? Duncan watched the man sit beside his wife, and they smiled into each other’s eyes in a lovesick fashion. As far as Duncan knew, this man didn’t even know his sister was missing, and certainly didn’t need to suffer for it—if he was innocent of his father’s evil deeds. Duncan couldn’t know that, not yet.
But without proof one way or another, Duncan’s revenge felt hollow. And how was he to proceed with Catriona?
Was he supposed to return her to her home?
Everything inside him rebelled at the thought. She didn’t remember this home or these people. She was bringing along Finn, working with the lad and helping him in a way she probably never did as a fine lady going to balls and concerts.
But through Duncan’s own failings, she knew too much about his clan and their activities. Her knowledge could prove dangerous to so many people—and to his family.
But all of that hid the truth he knew was deep inside him—he didn’t want Catriona to leave. Selfishly, he wanted her for himself, and as long as she didn’t remember, he had her.
But could he live with that?
He mused over the thought, staring off to the side into the hearth fire.
“Good evening,” said a voice, right in front of him.
Startled, Duncan saw that Lady Aberfoyle herself stood there, regarding him quizzically from two very different colored eyes, one blue, one green. It gave her an arresting, unusual appearance, making her handsome features even more striking.<
br />
“I do not ken that I’ve seen ye here before,” she said pleasantly, but pointedly.
Duncan rose to his feet and bowed. “My lady, I am but a traveler passing through on my way to Glasgow. Duncan McDonald.”
“Sit, please, eat,” she said, motioning him down. “A pleasure to meet ye, Mr. McDonald.”
“Ye’re kind to offer hospitality to strangers, my lady.”
“A tradition in the Highlands, as ye surely know.”
He briefly bowed his head.
“So ye’re heading to Glasgow. My sister by marriage is there even as we speak, visiting friends.”
“She’s surely enjoying herself.” Duncan was shocked that she’d brought up Catriona so easily, but he’d take the good fortune. If he’d chosen another city, Catriona’s name would never have come up. He’d been incredibly lucky. But if they thought she was just visiting, surely after two weeks, they’d expect a letter from her, a response to one they must have sent. He didn’t have much time before this new earl put all his efforts into finding her.
He realized that Lady Aberfoyle was still regarding him with friendliness, but also a certain scrutiny.
“Ye seem . . . familiar to me,” she said slowly.
He let himself take a sip of ale, even as he leaned back and regarded her curiously. “I’ve never been here before.”
“And ye’ve never been to Larig Castle, the main keep of the McCallums? My brother is chief.”
“Nay, my lady.”
Though she smiled, she cocked her head and continued to study him with those unusual, piercing eyes. “I know ye from somewhere. Maybe it came to me in a dream.”
Was he supposed to take that as a joke? A threat? Did she suspect he was an outlaw? He gave her another rusty smile. She only nodded her head to him and moved on down the table to converse with other guests.
Duncan kept to himself for the rest of the evening, standing near groups of drinking men, as if he was a part of them, so he didn’t look so out of place. He’d debated leaving Castle Kinlochard right after supper, but knew that might appear suspicious, since Lady Aberfoyle was already curious about him. Several times he thought he felt her watching him, but he didn’t risk looking her way.
He spent the night rolled up in his plaid on the floor near the hearth with several other travelers. When the castle doors were opened at dawn, he started to leave before even waiting for a meal.
“Mr. McDonald!” came a voice just as he reached the doors.
Everything inside him urged an escape, but he forced himself to turn around. It was the maidservant, Rona, from the night before.
“Mr. McDonald, my lady bid me prepare ye food for yer journey,” she called, holding up a satchel.
He let out his breath. “’Tis kind of her. Please give her my thanks.”
“If ye wait but a moment, ye can do so yerself.”
“I cannot. My journey today will be long.”
This time, she didn’t try to stop him, and he reached the courtyard without any sense of relief. He wasn’t free of the castle yet. Several people moved through the courtyard with purpose, but it was obvious that many more were heading inside to break their fast. Inside the stables, a groom lazily shoveled out a stall, ignoring Duncan. The marshal of the horses was nowhere in sight.
Duncan found his saddle and other gear in the corner of the stall on the floor, not where he’d left it. As he bent over to see if anything was missing, he heard voices as someone else entered the stable.
A man said, “We cannot interrogate a guest simply because ye might’ve had a dream about him, Maggie.”
Duncan froze, staying well hidden in the shadowy rear of the stall, with Arran between him and the visitors. It was the earl and his countess. Why did she keep bringing up a dream?
“I didn’t just dream about him, Owen, but your sister, too. And ye know my dreams come true.”
“Not always,” said her husband, his voice good-natured.
Duncan didn’t think he could be any more shocked, and didn’t know what to make of this unreal discussion.
Lady Aberfoyle’s response to her husband’s skepticism was an unladylike snort.
“What happens in this dream of yours?” he continued.
“I . . . well, nothing much,” she conceded. “I just see them talking together, and she’s happy.”
Duncan squeezed his eyes shut. Happy. As if he could ever give a woman that.
“Happy to be with a McDonald?” Lord Aberfoyle said, then added with amusement, “Now there’s no need to get physical.”
“And who’d have ever thought ye’d be happy with a McCallum, Chief of the Duffs.”
“Aye, who’d have thought,” he murmured.
And there was a conspicuous silence.
“I think we’ve missed Mr. McDonald,” Lady Aberfoyle said with regret. “I wanted to ask if he knew Cat.”
“He’s on his way to Glasgow—perhaps he’ll meet her there.”
“I’ll write to her about him. Och, don’t be giving me that look. I’ll not interfere. She doesn’t need to know there was a dream involved.” She paused. “I’ve not received a letter from her since she’s been gone. Have ye?”
“Not yet, but she loves her parties and balls. Too busy to write to us, I imagine.”
“Hmm.”
And then there wasn’t a sound for a long few minutes, except a shovel’s scraping. Duncan slowly got to his feet, peering around his horse. They were gone. He crept out the stall gate, only to see them walking arm in arm across the courtyard, their heads together as they spoke. There was an ease between them, a sense of love and acceptance that seemed foreign to Duncan.
He saddled Arran and rode sedately across the courtyard, letting out a sigh of relief when he passed beneath the gatehouse. As he crossed the arched stone bridge over the moat, he passed several dozen people on their way inside the castle.
“Your lairdship?”
The tension that had slowly been leaving Duncan’s body now surged back. He knew Aberfoyle hadn’t left the courtyard, and how many lairds could there be on the bridge? He was tempted to gallop wildly away, but the man had used a hissing whisper, as if trying to draw little attention to himself. Duncan couldn’t help pulling up and looking back.
A roughly dressed man stood alone, clutching the bonnet from his bald scalp.
“I don’t know ye, sir,” Duncan said coldly, hand on the hilt of his claymore.
“Nay, ye don’t, your lairdship, but ye saved my sister’s child, and I wanted ye to know I’d never forget it.”
Duncan nodded, uncomfortable about being thanked for something any honorable man should do. “Have you spread the word about what evil is being done, so that families are on guard to protect the children?”
“We have, your lairdship. ’Tis a terrible thing that a man such as yerself is being hounded for doin’ what’s right.”
Duncan thought one of the guards was looking at them with the beginning of suspicion. “I must go.”
“Fare well, your lairdship.”
Duncan didn’t look back as he trotted away. Everything in him wanted to gallop as if chased by redcoats, but that would only prove suspicious.
Throughout the day, he resisted the urge to push his horse harder than he needed to. He was unsettled by his meeting with the earl and countess, confused about Catriona’s role in his life and what he was supposed to do about her.
And yet part of him longed to be with her, with an urgency that was foreign to him.
When he arrived at the cave by one of his many circuitous routes, long after dark, he saw most of the horses gone. He unsaddled Arran, gave him the most basic rubdown, then hurried past the guard and inside the smoky cave. There were only a few men, the four Carlyle women—and no Catriona.
Maeve greeted him with a calm reserve that ratcheted up his worry.
“What has happened?” he demanded.
“We had word of a shipment of children last night,” she said. “The men s
et out as quickly as possible.”
“Last night? And they haven’t returned?”
She shook her head.
He looked about, then strode across the footbridge, through the passage and to his chamber. Empty. It was dark in the cave pool. Emerging into the great hall, he asked harshly, “Where are Finn and Catherine?”
Brows drawing together, she let out her breath in a rush. “They’re gone, your lairdship. We assume they followed our men to be of assistance to the rescued lads.”
“But ye don’t know?” he demanded, knowing his voice was harsh, but unable to help himself.
“The mistress’s favorite horse is gone. Torcall went after them, and his orders were to send word back or come himself if he didn’t find them with our men. Otherwise, we were to assume they were all together.”
“Assume?” He pivoted away from her, running a hand harshly through his hair, dislodging his queue. “Do ye even know where the shipment was headed?”
She shook her head. “We couldn’t leave the cave undefended,” she added quietly.
“I know.” He gritted his teeth and forced himself to take a deep breath.
It didn’t help calm him. He felt panicked, helpless, fearful of what Catriona had gotten herself into. He’d taken advantage of her for his own ends, manipulated her emotions. By allowing her to think he trusted her, that he was completely open with her—had he just been creating some kind of fantasy where they could be together, even after all he’d done? He was merely lying to himself. She was an innocent, who’d be with her family if Duncan hadn’t taken vengeance into his own hands.
Chapter 13
Duncan passed one of the most tormented nights of his life. Catriona was out in the world, possibly alone, risking herself for his mission—without his protection. How had such a monster as Aberfoyle raised such an incredible woman? Or perhaps he’d been a neglectful, remote father, and she’d been all the better for it. Or maybe her head injury had changed her into the woman she’d always been meant to be. Duncan had rescued her, aye, and they’d grown close, though he’d resisted. But he hadn’t resisted hard enough, and now he felt trapped, his insides twisted with emotions he hadn’t felt in a long time—if ever.
