by Madelyn Hill
As she neared the stairs, a rush of relief paced her steps. At a slow trot, she mounted them. She slipped on the third step. Groping for the wall proved futile as she tumbled backward. The torch fell onto the stone, still afire.
Strong arms wrapped around her. Galen, she smiled to herself, grateful to be saved from a harsh landing. She righted herself and turned toward him.
“Thank you—”
In the flickering light stood her nightmares personified.
Vivian gripped her chest and screamed.
Chapter 37
Sometime during the night, her hands were bound with strips of tough leather and she was tied to the settee. Try as she might, the bindings would not loosen. Vivian attempted to kick herself free of the musty settee. All to no avail.
Tears rimmed her eyes as she began to cry. How had Donal tracked her? What if Galen never found her?
Rocking forward only hurt more. The settee acted as if it had grown roots and planted itself.
She cried for help until she was hoarse.
“Stop.”
Blinking at the light by the door, she recognized Donal’s snippy voice. The room brightened as he walked in, carrying a cup she prayed was filled with water.
“You’ll make yourself ill,” he admonished. He brought the cup to her cracked lips. She gulped greedily.
He tsked. “Slowly.”
She wrenched away from him. “You must release me.”
Donal gave a humorless laugh. “That I can’t do. I need your father’s books.”
She spat a mouthful of water at him.
With a look of disgust, he wiped his face clean. “I’m sure Laird Maclean can be persuaded to give them to me.”
Rage sprung anew. “Leave him alone.”
“Ah, pretty Vivian, you’ve fallen for the tortured laird.” He leaned against the stone wall. “I could have made you happy.”
She sneered at him. “You are vile.”
He cocked his brow. “Such unladylike manners.” He came forward and allowed her one more sip of the heavenly water. “I’m off to the lab.”
She suppressed a shiver of dread as the door slammed behind him.
Vivian cursed the day she ever laid eyes on Donal Burke.
He left the stale chamber and headed into the main castle. Madame had given him brisk instructions to the study, reputed to house one Laird Maclean.
Madame warned him of using a torch, so he felt his way along the rough stone walls interrupted occasionally by a painting or tapestry. Slowly his eyes adjusted and his path was easier to discern.
At last, two broad doors loomed before him. He gripped the door handle, then hesitated. A cold sweat coated him as he turned one lever ever so slowly. Its click almost sent him running.
Guide me, Lucine Lady.
Donal slipped into the chamber. He laid his hand over the pocket of his surcoat, comforted by the rigid outline of his knife. Stepping further into the room, he scanned the interior. The laird wasn’t there, but Donal suspected he would return soon.
Donal hid behind a massive table laden with beakers and candles.
The door flew open. He peeked over the thick rim of the table. An imposing man, with broad shoulders and a stern grimace on his face, paced into the room. His lengthy stride brought him closer than Donal felt comfortable. For some reason, he stopped before the fireplace and just stood there.
He seized the opportunity. “Good day, Laird Maclean.”
The man turned and stabbed him with a lethal glare. “Who the hell are you?” He advanced menacingly, his hands flexing with each step.
“You’re in no position to be asking questions. For I’ll not be giving answers.” Confidence poured over him with each word. “I am here for Robert Stuart’s books.”
The man threw back his head and laughed. What gall, he thought. Not allowing it to rattle him, he continued, “I’m sure you’ll be getting them quickly.”
For a moment, the brawn of his opponent almost stopped him. But he pressed on as he unsheathed his knife and thrust it forward.
“Do you think I’m afraid of a wee knife?” Laird Maclean’s voice rumbled low, like the growl of a wolf.
It was his turn to chuckle. “Nay, but what of the life of a pretty lass?”
The laird leapt at him, pinning him against the table. The edge cut into his back as if he’d taken his own knife to it.
Razor sharp blue eyes pierced him with a lethal glare. “Where is she?”
Donal held no illusions that he’d be dead if he didn’t answer. “Don’t fret so,” he said with a gasping voice. “She’s safe.”
Laird Maclean gripped his collar. The action nearly choked all the breath from him. “Where is she?”
Donal placed his hands on the hard shoulders before him and pushed. “Give me the books and you’ll have your lady.”
With unmistakable loathing, the laird impaled him with a look of distrust. The hand at his throat tightened. “Do you wish to die?”
“Nay.” Donal held up his hands as if surrendering. He shrugged out of the laird’s grasp and walked behind the table once again. ‘Twas hard to think with the vexatious laird breathing down his neck. “If I tell you who employed me and where Vivian is, will you give me the books?”
Laird Maclean narrowed his eyes. “Aye.”
Donal kenned he lied, but he was not averse to piercing the laird’s hide, so he went along with the ruse.
“How easy you turn on the hand that feeds you, Burke.”
He swore under his breath. “Madame.”
“It appears you have forgotten our agreement,” she purred. With obvious feminine interest, she circled around Laird Maclean; her gaze lapped him up like a cat savored its milk. “And who is this fine specimen of a gentleman?”
“Laird Maclean, Madame. Madame, Laird Maclean.”
“And you possess the books we need? Interesting.”
The control the laird displayed amazed him. Where did one learn that cool, aristocratic stance? Donal mimicked him and looked down his nose at Madame.
“Burke,” she snapped. “Find the books.”
Roused to attention, he began searching the chamber. He moved to tip out a bookshelf filled with jars of elements, journals, and lab equipment.
The laird grabbed him and growled, “Do it, and you’ll meet your maker before nightfall.”
Madame snickered. “Don’t allow him to stop you.”
Laird Maclean turned toward her with such arrogance, Donal sucked in his breath. Maybe he’d aligned himself with the wrong person.
A wrinkle appeared on Madame’s brow as she fumbled with the pocket in her full skirt. “Do as I say. Get me the books.” She punctuated her statement by shoving a pistol into Laird Maclean’s face. Without a blink, the man acquiesced and motioned toward a small cupboard near the bay window.
Donal wasted no time in retrieving not just one but two of Robert Stuart’s priceless tomes. The weight of them suffused him with power and happiness.
“We’ve done it, Madame.”
A meaty fist collided with his face.
Galen flexed his hand as he watched the despicable man crumple to the floor.
“My laird, please . . . he made me do it.”
He turned toward the comely woman and cocked his brow. “Aye, I see that,” he said with a sardonic tone.
She pointed the gun once again at him. He smirked at the pistol barely the size of Auld Alice’s biscuits. “Step back, my laird.”
Galen moved just as a crucible came crashing down on the older woman’s head. He looked at Madge and held her gaze for a few moments. When he nodded, she reddened and turned away.
He knelt and began securing both intruders’ hands and feet with linen torn from the woman’s petticoat.
“Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph!” Alice bounded toward him. “Lad, tell me what has happened.”
He nodded toward the maid. “Madge did it.”
His maid turned on the young woman and began to bluster. Gal
en stilled her torrent of words with a hand on her shoulder. “Nay, Alice. Madge stopped the woman from shooting me.”
Alice tucked in her chin and looked at Madge like a proud mother hen. “Well, didn’t I tell you she was a good egg?”
Galen chuckled. “That you did.” He leaned against the lab table and crossed his arms across his chest. “We will put them in the dungeon. Then,” he said to Madge, “you’ll bring me to Vivian.”
“She’s been moved, m’laird,” the maid stammered. “And there’s so many hidden rooms in this blasted castle.”
Galen searched her face, kenned the trust he placed in her may help him find Vivian. “Where do we start?”
Alice looked at him, gripping his face between her aged hands. “Follow your heart, lad. ‘Tis the only answer.”
With that, Galen fled the room in search of the woman he loved.
Chapter 38
They’d moved her.
There would be no hope for her to be found if Donal kept moving her from one room to another. Vivian searched her new prison for an escape. The paneled walls offered no windows and only a door. A door that she’d heard Donal lock and bar from the outside.
It seemed like hours since Donal had left her and she was hungry, sore, and tired. Not to mention frightened out of her wits. She stood and stretched. As she shoved her weight against the door, it refused to budge.
She pounded her fist against the door. “Let me out,” she screamed so loudly, her voice was hoarse. “Please,” she begged in a whimper.
It was futile to waste her energy. Vivian sat back on the floor and leaned against the wall for support.
Then she began to cry. It was more out of pity than fear. And frankly she was tired of being in the position of having no control over her life.
It had started when she landed on Mac Tìre. No father, no funds, and no freedom. When Nessa had told her of her mother, Vivian had known she had truly been a prisoner in her own home.
She drew a circle in the dirt on the floor. Then she began drawing alchemy symbols and formulas. The act relaxed her and she began to drift asleep.
She started at a rustling sound. It grew louder and louder as if a pack of rats scratched behind the wall. To her astonishment, a section of the wooden paneling shifted and swung open.
“Galen,” she exclaimed as she watched him emerge from the dark entrance.
He rushed to her, all the while crooning soft platitudes. Nessa, Auld Alice, and Madge appeared as well. Galen gripped her wrist. She gasped. He lessened his hold and scowled at the angry welts from the leather binding.
“Ah, lass.” He gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. She felt so safe with him, comforted by the pounding of his heart against her chest.
“My lady,” Nessa cried.
She loved them all for their concern, but Galen’s embrace was all she needed. Nessa halted and, to Vivian’s surprise, didn’t protest.
“How did you find me?” she whispered against his shirt, not wanting to separate from him for even a second.
He pulled back and wiped her tears with the rough pad of his thumb. “I found this.” He removed a torn piece of her gown from the pocket of his jacket.
“My dress.” She sighed as she sunk into Galen’s embrace.
Alice stepped forward. “Get her to her chamber, lad. She’s as pale as a fish’s belly.”
Galen scooped her up in his capable arms. His quick stride carried them from the east wing and to her chamber. Grateful to be out of her temporary prison, she sank into her bed.
Nessa bustled about, stoking the fire, straightening, and generally letting her displeasure be known with heavy sighs.
“I’ll get some hot food,” Alice said. “I’ll need your help, Madge.”
After they left, Galen paced before her bed, his jaw taut with tension.
Her heart ached. “’Twas Donal Burke.”
He paused and stared at her. “Aye. I met your Burke and Madame.”
She drew her brows together. “Madame?”
Galen rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away. He appeared to be weighing what he would divulge to her. “His superior.”
She saw Nessa stop sweeping and watch them expectantly. Vivian rose onto her elbows. “I never saw a woman.”
Concern creased his brow. “She didn’t make herself known to you?”
She shook her head. “I want to see her.” Shaking, she lifted from the bed. “He kept asking for my father’s books. I must see this woman.”
A wisp of admiration flashed in his eyes. Then they returned to their steely gaze. “Perhaps they kenned both of our fathers. I’ll accompany you.”
Relief swept through her.
Galen gave a brisk nod of his head and she followed him out of the chamber. He grasped her hand and pulled her close to his side. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”
A wave of fearful nerves skittered up her spine, but she nodded, buoyed by his support.
Galen led her down worn stone steps to a dungeon reeking of disuse. Moisture slicked the walls and steps as torches lit their way. Vivian heard terse voices, but only recognized Donal’s.
“Let us out of here,” he roared as they approached. The makeshift guard, Bernard, cast him a hard look.
Vivian searched the barred cell for the woman Galen had mentioned. Fabric rustled as an elegantly garbed lady came out of the shadows.
Chapter 39
“Mother?”
Vivian’s knees buckled. Galen grabbed her before she met with the damp floor. The dungeon hummed with palpable tension, then erupted into chaos.
“Her mother!” Donal lunged at his cellmate, grabbing her by the neck. “How could you use me this way?”
Ellen Stuart retained her superior stance. “Shut up, you arse.”
Vivian’s stomach roiled as she looked at the woman who had abandoned her, the mother whose picture graced the wall in her father’s bedchamber. “Why?” she said, her voice scratching her throat as it tightened with anger. “Father . . .”
Her mother’s face contorted into a scowl. “He promised me the world, then I got nothing.” She shrugged carelessly. “Now I will have my riches.”
“You were after money?” She suppressed the urge to vomit or flee. Her emotions tangled and nearly made her swoon again. Hatred of the woman flared, burn in her stomach. “Father was wealthy.”
She grunted. “He never gave me any of it. That grand house went to ruin because of his stinginess.”
Vivian clutched her chest, hoping her breathing would return to normal. Galen wrapped his strong arm around her waist.
“My father was part of your plan, I assume?” Though he spoke quietly, his voice raised the hairs on her neck.
Donal blanched and even her mother stepped back.
“His death was courtesy of Burke,” Ellen replied haughtily with a glare tossed toward Donal. “I warned him we would need the man still alive, but he became clumsy.”
“Clumsy?”
She lunged at the bars, but Galen caught her. “Nay, lass. They’ll be handled. Not to worry.” He cast her a sympathetic look, but his body was as hard as carved stone.
“Your father was weak, my daughter. All he talked about was gold. Turning lead into gold. As if it were possible.” Her mother continued as if she were conversing over tea and pastries. “Then months went by and he made progress with that blasted alchemy. I thought I’d get my due,” she finished, her voice softly echoing off the stone interior.
“Your due?” Vivian cried. “You sicken me.”
She turned and paced toward the stairs, fueled by unbelievable fury.
“Don’t you walk away from me. I’m your mother!”
“Hush,” Bernard yelled.
“Vivian!”
Galen’s voice rose over the racket of Bernard and her mother. “Cease.”
Ignoring her mother’s pleas, Vivian continued up the stairwell. Thoughts swirled with each step. Guilt, such overwhelming guilt over t
he hatred she now felt. And regret for bringing such tragedy to Lomarcan Castle weighted her shoulders.
The scratch of footfalls assured her Galen was behind her, yet she hadn’t the strength to turn her head and look. She stepped into the main hall. Galen gently squeezed her shoulders.
“Please look at me.”
“I can’t,” she said softly. “I couldn’t stand the hatred in your eyes.”
He embraced her from behind. Whispering in her ear, he said, “I love you. Should you look, ’tis all you will see.”
She turned toward him and searched his face. “You love me?”
Galen threw back his head and laughed. “Aye, Vivian. I think I have loved you since I plucked you off the beach.” He leaned down and captured her lips with his. He cradled her face with his strong hands and tenderly assaulted her mouth. His actions were so sweet, she melted into him, gripped onto his broad shoulders, and clung to him.
Donal’s shouting was heard in the distance. She ripped from Galen’s embrace. Emotions swirled in her heart and mind, contradicting each other as one prompted her to love Galen and the other prompted her to leave Wolf’s Castle.
“I’ve brought this to your home.” She broke from his embrace and ran to her chamber. Slamming the door helped ease a fraction of her anguish. Her maid, Nessa, started, then came bustling forward.
“Lass?”
Vivian sank onto the floor like a rag doll, numb with grief. “Donal worked for my mother.”
“Ellen Stuart? Here?” Her stout maid crouched down beside her. “How can that be possible?”
She just shook her head, too weary to offer an explanation.
“How did she arrive?”
“Nessa, I ken nothing.” She rose from the cool floor and glanced about the room she’d begun to consider her home. Her heart twisted in her chest. Despite Galen’s claims, she no longer felt she belonged at Lomarcan.
