Highland Steel: Highland Chronicles Series - Book 3

by Rose, Elizabeth

  “I dinna want anything whittled by that dunderhead MacKeefe!” spat Drummond.

  “Of course no’. I understand,” said Bug, putting the key in the lock. “But I have plenty of other things ye might be interested in. Shall we take a look?”

  “Mmph,” grumbled Drummond. “This better be worth my while or I’ll have yer head.”

  The sound of Bug removing the padlock echoed in Rhoswen’s ears. Drummond was standing at the door to the wagon and there was no way she would be able to escape him now. The door creaked and moaned as Bug pulled it open. Rhoswen dove beneath the furs and blankets, praying that Drummond wouldn’t notice her here. She had just pulled the blanket up over her head when the door opened.

  “I dinna see anything I want,” complained Drummond. “Ye can leave here now, because ye are wastin’ my precious time.”

  Rhoswen didn’t dare breathe, trying to stay hidden.

  “All right, if ye say so,” said Bug, starting to close the door. Rhoswen was lying right next to some jars of herbs, one of them being pepper. When the cart came to a stop, the cork must have fallen out. Now, peppercorns lay on the wood right next to her nose. She tried to hold back the sneeze and had almost succeeded. But she sneezed before Bug had closed the door all the way, getting Drummond’s attention.

  “Ah-choo!” she sneezed, feeling as if her life were over.

  “Wait, what was that I heard?” asked Drummond.

  “I didna hear anythin’,” Bug told him.

  “Ye’re half-deaf, so of course ye didna hear it,” he snapped. “Open that door anon.”

  “Aye, my laird,” said Bug, slowly opening the door to the wagon. Rhoswen tried to cover herself more with the blanket.

  “Get out of the way!” Drummond pushed Bug aside and threw the door open. “Ye just came from the MacKeefe’s, didna ye?”

  “Well, aye. I told ye I had the things that Logan whittles.”

  “I have a feelin’ ye’ve got one of them hidden in here tryin’ to ambush me.”

  “Nay, my laird. I assure ye, I am no’ a traitor. I am friends with all the clans.”

  “If ye’re lyin’ I’ll have yer head.”

  Rhoswen lay still beneath the blanket, praying he wouldn’t see her. However, Ranulph Drummond was not one to be easily fooled.

  “What’s that under those blankets?” he asked.

  “They’re just furs and blankets, my laird. I assure ye.”

  “Really. Guard, use yer sword and stab those blankets now,” commanded Drummond.

  “Aye, my laird,” came the guard’s answer.

  Not wanting to be stabbed while she lay in hiding, Rhoswen had no other choice but to tell him she was there.

  “Wait!” she cried, pushing the blanket off of her to reveal her presence. “Please, don’t kill me.”

  “What?” gasped Bug. “Who are ye and how did ye get in here?”

  “Just as I thought,” said Drummond. “Ye lied to me, Bug. Ye are a traitor, and I canna have traitors inside my castle walls.”

  “Nay! I didna lie. I dinna even ken who the girl is or how she got there,” the man protested.

  “Kill him,” Drummond commanded his guard.

  “Nay, please!” Bug held out his hands. Rhoswen had to do something to help the poor man. She couldn’t bear to sit there and watch him go to his death for something she did. Drawing her sword would only get them both killed right now. She realized she couldn’t outfight them, especially not from the inside of a wagon. So she did the only thing she could think of that might buy them both some time.

  With nimble fingers, half-hidden beneath the blanket, she unclasped her belt, leaving her sword hidden. Then she crawled over the furs toward Drummond.

  “I’m your surprise,” she said, feeling like she was going to retch for what she was about to do. “I am here as your . . . betrothed.”

  Chapter 19

  Logan rode like the wind, knowing he had to make it to the Drummonds’ castle before Bug, or when Drummond discovered Rhoswen, both she and Bug would be killed. Bug always padlocked the back of his wagon before he traveled. So if Isobel really did see Rhoswen inside the wagon, she most likely hid in there hoping to get to Clan Drummond, not knowing she would end up locked inside.

  “Damn it, Jack,” he called out to his wolf as they got closer to the castle and he could see that Bug’s wagon was already inside the courtyard. The gate was open and he spied Rhoswen being pulled from the back of the cart by none other than Ranulph Drummond himself.

  Bug had told him about a secret entrance by an old stump outside the castle walls. But there was no time to find it now. He had to get inside before Drummond put his sword through Rhoswen’s heart.

  “Stay here, Jack,” he told his wolf, kicking his heels into the sides of his horse and speeding across the drawbridge that led directly into the castle courtyard. “Leave her alone,” he shouted, pulling his sword from the sheath and holding it high as he rode to Rhoswen’s rescue.

  “MacKeefe?” Drummond spun around on his heel, raising his sword in the air. Logan noticed at once that he held the Sword of Triumph in his hand. That only infuriated him, since whoever fought with the sword was undefeated. “I kent this was naught but a trap. Close the gates and raise the drawbridge!” he shouted to his men.

  Logan heard the portcullis being lowered and the sounds of the chains and pulleys raising the drawbridge, locking them inside. He was now a prisoner of the Drummonds just like Rhoswen and Bug.

  “Logan?” asked Rhoswen. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask ye the same,” he told her. “Why couldna ye just stay put and let me handle things?”

  “You said you wouldn’t help me. What else was I to do?”

  “Ye two ken each other?” asked Drummond. “What’s yer connection to this Sassenach, MacKeefe?”

  Before Logan could say a thing, Rhoswen stepped in between the two men, facing Drummond. “He only knows me because he helped me on the road when your men killed my father and guards and stole everything from me,” she spat.

  “Tamhas, I thought ye said they were all dead,” Drummond spoke to his lackey.

  “They were dead,” the man protested. “I dinna ken where she came from, Chieftain.”

  “Who exactly are ye?” asked Drummond, causing Logan to cringe because he knew Rhoswen was going to tell him exactly who she was and that was only going to get her killed.

  “She’s no one important,” Logan interrupted. “She’s only a Sassenach and means ye no harm. Let her and the merchant go, Drummond. Ye ken it’s really me ye want. And I’ll fight ye to the death to get the Sword of Triumph returned.”

  “Really?” Drummond chuckled. “Well, then, mayhap I’ll have to take ye up on yer challenge since we both ken that whoever wields the Sword of Triumph is undefeated. So we both ken that I will win and ye will die. Ye were a fool to enter into my courtyard by yerself MacKeefe. Ye’re goin’ to pay for that with yer life.”

  Rhoswen couldn’t let Logan die for trying to help her. She had to do something to distract Drummond. “I am Rhoswen Asquith of Yorkshire,” she told him. “You were once married to my sister, Ailsa.”

  “Ye are?” Drummond’s head snapped around but he still held his sword high. “Ye ken yer faither tricked me into marryin’ that whore! He kent she was pregnant with another man’s bairn when we made the alliance. That’s why I had to kill yer sister, just like I am goin’ to do to ye.”

  “Nay!” cried Logan.

  “Marry me instead,” said Rhoswen. “Take me in place of my sister, and let me raise her baby as my own.”

  “How do I even ken ye’re no’ already carryin’ another man’s bairn just like that traitorous sister of yers?”

  “Because I’m no’,” she told him. “I’m a virgin.” Her eyes flashed over to Logan when she said it, and she saw his eyes close slightly and the doomed look upon his face.

  “Let her go,” Logan said again. “She’s a Sassenach. Ye dinna want her.
She will only bring ye trouble.”

  “If that’s so, then ye willna mind if I kill her right here, right now, will ye, MacKeefe?”

  “Ye touch her and I’ll have yer head,” warned Logan.

  Rhoswen’s heart about beat out of her chest. This wasn’t good for her or for Logan.

  “Is that my sister’s baby?” she asked, trying to distract Drummond. The woman holding the crying baby came closer, cocking her head to look at Rhoswen.

  “Ye look a lot like yer sister,” she said, barely able to be heard above the baby’s crying now.

  “Please. Can I at least hold him once before I die?” she begged.

  “Rhoswen, step aside because I’m’ goin’ to kill Drummond,” Logan said under his breath. She shot him a glance to be quiet and shook her head, telling him not to do it.

  “May she at least hold her nephew once?” the woman asked Drummond.

  “Fine, go ahead,” said Drummond, acting like it didn’t matter to him. “And then when she’s done, I’ll kill both her and the boy since I am tired of the whelp’s cryin’ since the day I killed his mathair.”

  The woman handed the boy over to Rhoswen and she hugged the baby to her chest, kissing him on the top of his head. All the love she’d had for her poor departed sister and mother flowed forth from her and into the baby, making him stop his crying. He snuggled up against her chest, putting his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes. Rhoswen cradled the boy and protected him, ready to hold him safely in her arms as they both went to their deaths. Her only hope was that Drummond would kill them before Logan because she could not bear seeing Logan killed right in front of her. She loved Logan so much that the thought of losing him was more than she could take.

  “Well, look at that,” said Bug, walking over to Rhoswen. “She must be a lucky charm, just like that sword,” he told Drummond. “All she did was hold the bairn and he stopped cryin’. Mayhap marryin’ her would bring yer clan luck as well.”

  “Aye,” said Drummond in thought. “The only reason I kept the boy was because I always wanted a son. If she can control it and keep it from cryin’ then mayhap I’ll keep them both.”

  “Nay, she’s no’ yers,” shouted Logan. “She’s mine and ye willna steal her from me the way ye already stole my sword. I love Rhoswen, and ye canna have her.”

  Rhoswen cringed when Logan professed his love for her right in front of Drummond. While her heart swelled to know how he really felt about her, this wasn’t the time or the place to tell her. All he did was make things worse because she knew Drummond would never give her up now if he knew that Logan wanted her.

  “So I see she does mean somethin’ to ye after all, MacKeefe,” said Drummond, pulling Rhoswen in front of him and holding the Sword of Triumph to her throat. The motion woke little Lockie and he once again started crying.

  “Drop yer sword, MacKeefe, or the girl dies,” spat Drummond.

  “Do it, Logan,” Rhoswen urged him, hugging the baby to her to try to calm the boy. “Do what he says, I beg you. I don’t want to die.” Suddenly, Rhoswen wondered if this is how her poor sister felt when Drummond killed her. It fanned the flames of vengeance within her and all the hatred her father possessed for this man flowed through her veins now. If she lived through this, she swore she would kill Drummond, because now she realized why her father said this man had to die.

  “Dinna hurt her or the bairn,” Logan said softly, slowly lowering his sword and dropping it at his feet. The metal clanged against the cobblestones, sealing his fate as well as Rhoswen’s. “I will die for Rhoswen if I have to, but I swear I will never let ye lay a hand on her.”

  “Throw MacKeefe in the dungeon, and someone fetch the priest,” ordered Drummond.

  “Canna I kill the bastard?” asked his henchman. “I want to kill him.”

  “Nay!” shouted Drummond. “MacKeefe will die, but it will be by my hand and no one will take that from me. But first, I will make him watch me marry and bed the girl he loves.”

  “Excuse me, my laird,” said Bug, raising his finger in the air. “If ye’d just open the gate, I’ll be goin’. I have many more rounds to make today.”

  “Nay, ye’ll stay here as well,” commanded Drummond.

  “As yer prisoner?” asked Bug. “Now, now, I thought we were friends. Ye must realize by now that I had nothin’ to do with the girl bein’ in the wagon. I never even saw her before in my life until now.”

  “Haud yer wheesht or I’ll kill ye along with MacKeefe,” spat Drummond. “I saw the wares in the back of yer wagon as well as the spices. Ye’ll unpack the wagon and use everythin’ inside for my weddin’ celebration.”

  “Everythin?” Bug’s eyes bugged out even more if that was at all possible. “But these are my things,” he told them. “I am a poor man makin’ my livin’ by tradin’ and sellin’ my wares.”

  “Well, I guess they are my things now, so get goin’. Unless ye want me to take off yer head right now, because ye are startin’ to irritate me.”

  “Now, now, there’s no need for threats,” said Bug, holding out his hands. “I’ll just start unloadin’ the wagon if ye’ll just tell me where ye want everythin’.”

  “Take the wagon around to the kitchen and help my cook prepare a weddin’ feast,” ordered Drummond. “Rona, prepare my bride, and someone send a messenger to town to collect the priest. The weddin’ will take place as soon as he arrives.”

  “I’ll no’ let ye marry my lassie, Drummond. I told ye that before and I’ll tell ye again. She’s mine!” shouted Logan, pulling against the ropes the guards used to tie and hold his hands. A guard on either side of him held on to him tightly.

  Drummond rolled his eyes. “MacKeefe, ye’re in no position to be makin’ any demands from me. I suggest ye pipe down because if ye continue to irritate me, I might just kill ye before the weddin’. And then ye’d miss the fun of seein’ me make her scream out in passion when I take her to my bed afterwards. And I assure ye, I can make her scream.”

  “Arrrgh,” cried Logan as the guards hauled him toward the dungeon with him struggling every step of the way. “I hate ye, Drummond. Ye will die for this! I swear I will kill ye,” he yelled as Rhoswen watched him disappear into the keep.

  “Come along, lass,” said the kind woman named Rona. “I’ll get ye cleaned up and dressed really pretty for yer weddin’. Drummond isna that bad as long as ye dinna anger him.”

  “Who are ye?” asked Rhoswen. “Are ye his girl or perhaps his . . . wife?”

  The woman chuckled. “Och, nay, I could only wish I were so lucky. He hasna taken a wife since he killed Ailsa.”

  Anger once again coursed through Rhoswen’s veins to hear this. She didn’t want to even think about the wretched man killing her sister.

  “I willna marry the cur,” she spat. “He is evil and needs to die.”

  “Dinna say that,” said Rona.

  “He killed my sister,” she told the woman. “I could never love a man who has taken the life of someone I love.”

  “Dinna fight it. Ye have no choice.”

  “Why do ye say that?” asked Rhoswen, feeling ready to strangle the man with her bare hands.

  “Because if ye love that man named Logan MacKeefe who claims to love ye, then ye must do everythin’ in yer power to make sure that he doesna die.”

  Chapter 20

  “Let me out of here,” yelled Logan, banging on the bars of the dungeon door. They’d thrown him in here an hour ago, and no one had been back yet. The place was dark and dreary and smelled like urine and musty earth. He could hear dripping water from overhead and the sounds of occasional rats scurrying by, their nails clicking on the stone floor.

  “It’s no use. No one will come until it’s time for your bread and water.” A small voice was heard from the next cell. It sounded like a female but he couldn’t be sure. It could be the voice of a young lad. The voice was so soft that he’d barely been able to make out what was said.

  “Who’s there?” he asked,
grabbing on to the bars, straining his eyes to see into the next cell. There was only one torch lighting the dungeon and it was back by the door that led to the underground cells. He was able to make out the silhouette of a small, crumpled form, huddled against the far wall in the cell next to him. “Who are ye?” he asked. “What is yer name?”

  “I’m . . . Ailsa,” said the person, making Logan jerk back in surprise.

  “Ailsa?” he whispered, leaning in closer to the bars to try to see the girl. “Are ye Rhoswen’s sister?”

  “You know my sister?”

  The girl turned her pale face toward Logan, the scant light of the torch falling across one cheek. Her eyelid was swollen and her lip split. Bruises covered her neck, and she looked like she was close to death. She was gaunt, as if she hadn’t eaten and had barely any life in her at all.

  “God’s eyes, what did Drummond do to ye?” he spat, feeling anger rising within him and the quest for vengeance rearing its ugly head. “Rhoswen thinks ye are dead. She’s come to save yer son.”

  “Lockie,” the girl said, reaching out toward his cell with one shaky hand. Her other hand clutched at the shawl around her shoulders. She was barefoot and only wore a thin shift under the shawl. “Is my baby . . . still alive?”

  “Aye, Lockie is fine,” Logan assured her. “Tell me, lass, why are ye in here? What is goin’ on?”

  “Who . . . are you?” she asked, turning her head slightly to look at him through the eye that wasn’t swollen.

  “I’m a MacKeefe. Logan MacKeefe,” he told her, his heart going out to her as well as to Rhoswen. “Yer sister, Rhoswen, is here at the castle.”

  “She is?” Fear washed over her face. “Nay, she is not supposed to be here. Drummond will kill her. That’s what he plans to do . . . to my father.”

  Logan hated to tell her, but the girl needed to know. “Yer da is dead, lass. Killed by Drummond’s men on the trip to the Highlands.”