by Willa Blair
Abby took a deep breath, her heart pounding with anticipation, and followed Alannah into the darkness of the hut. The man was hoisting up the gate; not an easy task for one man. It took him a few moments of grunting and groaning before he raised it enough to tie off the rope. He lit another torch and peered down into the pit. Evidently, it seemed safe enough, because he motioned the women over. He handed the torch to Alannah.
The man dragged over a ladder that had been lying off to one side and carefully lowered it into the darkness. Alannah went first, holding on with one hand while she held the torch in the other. Abby followed, the handle of Alannah’s basket looped over her arm. As soon as the man saw that they were both on the ground, he quickly yanked the ladder up and out of the pit and within moments had once more lowered the gate in place.
Abby traded the basket for the torch, shining the light over the ground at her feet. It wasn’t as bad as she feared it would be; the bottom was hard ground, not slimy muck. It’s a root cellar, not a pit. Of course it wouldn’t be slimy and disgusting down here. No, just cold and dank, she thought to herself. But there didn’t appear to be any creepy-crawlies of any kind, so she was able to relax somewhat. She turned away from the ladder and shined the torch into the corner.
What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.
There was a man lying prone on the ground on a pile of furs. He was wearing a grungy, bloodstained shirt and plaid, and he appeared to be asleep. She glanced over at Alannah, and then crept forward as quietly as she could to get a better look. Her heart stopped for a moment, and then began thundering in earnest. It was him!
“Ian?” She called his name quietly, so as not to startle him. There was no reply.
“Ian?” Louder this time.
Abby continued to call Ian’s name, gently shaking his shoulder. Suddenly his eyes flew open and he launched himself to his feet in one smooth move, causing Abby to stumble back in surprise.
“Shit!” he hissed, clutching his bandaged head with his hands, which were tied at the wrists to a chain on the floor.
“Ian?”
He blinked at her in confusion. His eyes narrowed, then widened. “Abby? No, it can’t be. I must be dreamin’.” He stepped closer to her and reached his bound hands out to touch her face. His breath caught. “Abby? Are you really here?”
His eyes were filled with disbelief and hope, and her own eyes welled with tears at the sight. “I’m really here, Ian.” She reached up to cup his cheek, her fingertips grazing the dark stubble that covered his jaw.
“Thank God you’re safe, Abby!”
Ian looped his arms over her head and pulled her into an embrace so tight she couldn’t breathe, but she didn’t care. She was safe in his arms at last, and for the moment, the past four years did not matter. After a moment he stepped back, pulling his arms back over her head. He cupped her face in his hands, cradling her as though she were made of porcelain and gazed down at her with joy shining from his eyes.
Her heart flip-flopped. “You really came for me! But how…?”
Her words were cut off as he took her mouth in a tender kiss that made her forget whatever it was she’d been about to say. He pulled back and simply looked at her, his eyes roving over her face as if he still needed to convince himself that she was truly there.
“God, Abby, I thought I’d lost you. Just when I’d found you again.” He pressed her against the wall, and she lost all track of their surroundings as she lost herself in his kiss. She twined her fingers in his thick hair and he winced.
“Ow. Shit.”
“Oh, Ian, your head! I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“No, you didn’t hurt me, mo cridhe; a sword hilt to the back of my head hurt me. I’m all right now, though. Just a wee bit tender.”
“Well now, this is a touching sight, aye?”
All three looked up in surprise to see Ewan peering down through the gate, an angry sneer on his face, his eyes glittering with menace.
“I thought it was a strange coincidence that the day after we pick up a lass wandering all alone on our land, we find a Mackenzie spy not far behind,” he continued, his voice cold.
“Ewan…” began Alannah.
“Silence! Not one word out of you, Alannah! You’ve quite a bit to account for, yourself; lying to me about the lass’s condition this whole time.”
He hauled up the gate and motioned to one of his men, who dropped down into the cellar, his dirk in his hand. He grabbed Abby’s arm and pulled her out of Ian’s reach, holding the point of the dagger to her throat. She froze as the cold steel touched her flesh. What would he do to them?
“You first, Alannah,” growled Ewan. “Get up here, now.”
With an apologetic glance at Abby, she obeyed, ascending the ladder. Ewan took her by the arm and glared down at her with a look of disgust on his face. “Go home, Alannah. And do not think to return to the village until I send for you.”
With a defiant glare, Alannah stalked out the door.
Ewan’s gaze returned to the prisoners. “Bring her up,” he ordered the man who held her. He prodded Abby toward the ladder, his dirk still at her throat.
Ian lunged at him until he was jerked back by the short length of rope. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on her, you swiving bastard!”
“Ian, no! Please stay back. I’ll be fine.” She wasn’t quite sure of that, but she didn’t want the man to turn his dagger on Ian.
“Get back in your corner, Mackenzie. No harm will come to your lass. But I will have answers from her—from both of you—and until I get them, you’ll not see each other.” Ewan pulled Abby up the ladder and took her by the arm. She was surprised that he held her only as tightly as he needed to ensure she wouldn’t run, but made no attempt to hurt her.
“Let’s go, lass,” he said, starting toward the doorway of the hut.
“Abby!” Ian sounded frantic.
“I’m all right, Ian!” she shouted back. “I’ll see you soon.” I hope.
As Ewan led her from the hut, she heard the gate slam into place behind them.
****
The ladder was pulled up and the trap door slammed shut, leaving Ian in the dark. His head throbbed madly, and in the Stygian darkness he felt the close confines of the walls closing in around him. Disoriented, he reached blindly for the wall and slid down its length until he was sitting on the cold floor.
He yanked at the chain attached to his wrists, though he knew it was utterly futile to do so. Even if he managed to get free from the chain, he had no way of getting to the trap door to climb out.
“Son of a bitch!” he snarled, striking the wall in frustration. The chain rattled, mocking his helplessness. How dare that bastard lay his filthy hands on Abby—how dare he hold his dagger to her throat? She was an innocent victim—what the hell right did that cretin have to terrorize her?
Ian tucked the furs around his legs and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes in an attempt to alleviate his headache. His anger faded somewhat as it gave way to relief.
He’d found her. All right, technically, she’d found him. But she was alive and seemed to be unharmed.
When he’d heard her voice calling him; when he’d opened his eyes and stared into her blue-gray eyes, he’d thought for sure he was dreaming. He’d thought he’d blown it when he’d interrogated Alannah and she’d left in a flurry of indignation. He didn’t know what made her react that way to him; he could only assume that Abby had made up a story about being chased or attacked. Clever lass, he thought. She must have been terrified, and yet she was still able to keep her wits about her. Alannah must have told her that the prisoner had been asking about her.
“Thank God she’s all right,” he murmured out loud. He stretched out on the cold floor and swaddled himself in furs as best as he could with his hands tied. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but at least they were in it together, not 400 years apart. For now, that would have to do.
****
Abby
stumbled along blindly in Ewan’s wake, still feeling Ian’s lips upon hers, his hands on her face. He’d really come for her! And his bravery had been rewarded with blood, chains and darkness. Oh God, this is all my fault. If I hadn’t stormed away from him like a child having a temper tantrum, none of this would have happened!
She was jolted out of her reverie when Ewan opened the door to a small cottage and nudged her none-so-gently through the doorway.
“Get inside.”
She’d been so caught up in her thoughts of Ian that she’d forgotten about the shocking discovery that Ewan spoke English. He busied himself lighting a fire in the hearth. She looked around at the one-room cottage. It was little more than a cell, with a narrow bed against one wall, a few shelves, and a small table with two chairs.
“There are candles on the shelf. A guard will be posted outside. I’ll deal with you in the morning.”
“But you don’t understand, I…” she broke off when Ewan crossed the room in two strides and glared down at her. She stumbled back, slamming the backs of her legs into the bedframe.
“I understand that you are intimate with an enemy of my clan. That’s all I need to know for now. I will speak with you tomorrow.”
Without waiting for her reply, he brushed past her and left the cottage, slamming the door behind him. She heard him bark something to his men—ordering them to stand guard, she assumed—and was gone.
Abby sank down on the narrow bed, suddenly overcome with fatigue. It was the wee hours of the night and the adrenaline rush that had come over her at the sight of Ian was wearing off. She laid back on the uncomfortable bed and stared at the rafters. It was utterly silent but for the occasional crackle of the fire, and she lay there with nothing to do but think.
She’d been so happy with Ian, had been ready to plan a future with him. Once his acting career had begun to take off, she’d feared she would lose him. After all, she was a nobody from New York; how could she compete with Hollywood and all its accoutrements? There’d been rumors that he was involved with other women, including his very well-known, very beautiful costar.
And she’d believed all of them. She’d let herself be convinced by her friends and her own fears that he was cheating on her, and she never gave him a chance to defend himself. Instead, she’d automatically assumed the worst of him, and cut him out of her life with no explanation. And because of her own self-righteousness, she’d spent the last four years alone, unable to get on with her life because no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forget him.
And just days earlier—was it only days?—when they’d sat by Loch Ness to try and talk about what had gone wrong between them, she’d acted like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. She’d stalked away from him because she hadn’t wanted to face the idea that she might have made a mistake.
Yet in spite of everything, he’d come for her; had been injured and imprisoned trying to find her. A wave of shame swept over her twisting her stomach into knots. He could very well have been killed by that blow to the head, and it would have been her fault.
She had to make things right, to beg his forgiveness. He’d deserved an explanation back then, and the least she could do was try to give him one now.
Surely Ewan would let them see each other tomorrow, wouldn’t he? A sudden chill ran through her, and she dragged the furs over herself, wishing that she had Ian beside her to keep her warm. Holding onto that image, she finally drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 12
The sound of voices overhead jolted Ian out of a restless sleep. He’d dreamt that he and Abby were walking hand in hand when she was suddenly yanked away from him by unseen hands and then dragged, kicking and screaming, into the mist. He had awakened in a cold sweat, his heart pounding, only to fall back asleep and have the same dream again. When he heard the gate being raised, he breathed a sigh of relief that he would be free from his dreams, at least for now.
He was shoved up the ladder by a silent thug and led first to the privy and then to a building that was obviously a meeting hall. It had one big rectangular room with a hearth at the far end. The room was dominated by a long table surrounded by benches. At the head of the table stood the bearded man who seemed to be in charge of everything, the man who’d ordered his men to lay their hands on Abby.
Ian seethed with anger. “Where is Abby, you bastard?”
The other man stalked towards him and drew his dirk in one smooth move, pressing it into the notch of Ian’s throat. His eyes glittered menacingly.
“You’re in my territory now, Mackenzie, and you would be wise to hold your tongue. I don’t harm innocent women, but that one was found wandering alone on our lands. She gave no explanation as to how she came to be here, and she refused to answer my questions. And she spoke to you not in Gaelic, but in English, and with a strange accent. This, too, makes me wonder. Thus I will hold her until my curiosity is satisfied.”
“Who the hell are you to make such demands of a young lass that you found alone, injured, and terrified? An honorable man would not treat her this way!”
His captor withdrew his dirk and sheathed it before sauntering to the chair at the head of the table. He sat down and took his time making himself comfortable before raising his eyebrows mockingly.
“Your lass is safe, Mackenzie, and you’d do well not to insult me at this time.” He nodded to the bench catty-corner to his chair. “Sit down. I’m having food brought in shortly, but before you break your fast, I will have some answers from you.”
With a defiant glare, Ian sat on the bench and rested his bound hands before him on the table. “Well? Let’s be on with it. Ask me your questions.”
“Since we weren’t properly introduced—”
“Aye, that would be because six against one wasn’t good enough for you, so you jumped me from behind like a coward and knocked me senseless before I could catch your name,” Ian interrupted. There was a flare of anger in the other man’s eyes, and Ian’s lips curved in a smirk, satisfied to see he’d finally gotten a rise out of his captor.
“I am Ewan Fraser, son of Ronald Fraser,” the man continued, “and I am charged with the safety and well-being of the people in this village.
Okay, he could do formal. “And I am Ian Mackenzie, son of Duncan Mackenzie, who once lived on the other side of the loch, and whose clan is allies with yours.”
Ewan leaned forward suddenly, his face turning pale under his beard. “Did you just say your father is Duncan Mackenzie?”
“Aye, I did,” replied Ian, wondering why Ewan was so shocked by this. He glanced around the room and saw that Ewan’s formerly expressionless men were all staring at him intently, similar expressions of shock on their faces.
“And he is formerly from this area?”
“Aye, that’s what I said, isn’t it? What’s this about? Why do you all look as though you’ve seen a ghost?”
“Because Duncan Mackenzie vanished over thirty years ago after the death of his wife and bairn. His kinsmen accused mine of murdering him, and we’ve been feuding ever since.”
“Feuding?” Now it was Ian’s turn to be stunned.
“Aye, for over thirty years. You didn’t know?” Ewan sounded incredulous.
“Nay,” Ian whispered. His father would be horrified to know that his grief-stricken disappearance had led to three decades of bloodshed. What would he have done? Would he have tried to return?
“How old are you, Mackenzie? And where in hell have you been living all this time?”
Still stunned to learn of the feud, it took Ian a moment to realize Ewan had spoken. “I’m a score and eight, and we’ve been living in…the Borders,” Ian replied, thinking fast.
The Border territories were far enough south and referred to a large enough area that hopefully he wouldn’t have to be more specific. He’d always prided himself on his honesty, and he was fast discovering that sometimes it was good to be able to lie.
“Can you prove you’re Duncan Mackenzie’s son?”
Ian opened his mouth to say that he’d left his birth certificate at home, but quickly remembered where—and when—he was. Sarcasm wouldn’t really work in his favor in this particular instance. “I’ve got a dirk that has my father’s name carved into it. That is, if you have my saddlebags around here someplace.”
“I’ll send someone in a moment. I don’t think that will be enough, though. Is there nothing else?”
Ewan had adopted a whole new attitude since Ian had mentioned being Duncan’s son. He was no longer cold and arrogant; instead his face was alight with barely contained excitement. The whole room seemed to be buzzing with it as well. Ian knew why. If he could prove that he was Duncan’s son, it would mean that Duncan hadn’t come to any mischief at the hands of Ewan’s kinsmen. He could end thirty years of fighting. That was a powerful bargaining chip, and one he planned to use.
“Before I say anything else, I want to see Abby. Have her brought here so I can see that she’s all right.” Ian met Ewan’s gaze evenly, daring him to refuse.
To his surprise, Ewan simply turned to one of his men. “Bring her.” He sent another one for food.
A few minutes later, there was the sound of footsteps outside before the door creaked open.
“Ian! Thank God you’re all right!” Abby broke away from the guard that was holding her arm and ran to him.
Ian jumped to his feet, closing his eyes for a moment and offering a silent prayer that she was unharmed. He opened them again, and simply stared at her, his eyes roving over her from head to toe. She was wearing a long skirt over a white underdress, and her hair was braided back, a few short tendrils framing her face. There were shadows under her eyes, indicating her night had been no more restful than his, but there was a relieved smile on her face and her eyes sparkled.
She had never looked lovelier, and he wanted nothing more than to have her in his arms.
He raised his hands and glanced at Ewan. Time to make nice. “Please untie me, Fraser. I’m not going anywhere.” Not yet, and certainly not while Abby is here, he amended silently. Ewan stepped forward and made short work of untying the knot, and within moments Ian’s hands were free.
