The door clunked shut with a portentous thunk. “Follow me, Yvette. Watch your step. These stairs are slippery from disuse.”
The two women edged down the narrow steps as speedily as their slippered feet allowed. More than once, Yvette extended a tentative hand to steady herself, coming in contact with slimy, damp stone walls and thick cobwebs. She shuddered, not allowing herself to think of the hairy creatures calling the webs home. She loathed spiders.
At last she and Aubry reached the bottom of the staircase. A complex labyrinth lay before them. Aubry hurried across a passageway.
Yvette noticed several other doorways and passages leading from the one they traversed. Ears and eyes straining, she heard rustling to her left. Startled, she inhaled sharply. A creature scuttled across the floor. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. When something touched her foot, a noise escaped her.
Aubry looked over her shoulder. “Only rats, the dungeon’s full of them.”
Dear God, Only rats? Yvette shuddered again. To keep her mind off the sharp-clawed inhabitants scurrying near her toes, she questioned Aubry. “Did you ever use these passages to escape the schoolroom?”
“What? I . . . um, no.”
“Adaira told me she used to sometimes sneak from the Keep through these tunnels.”
A non-committal grunt was Aubry’s only reply.
They turned a corner to another corridor. Yvette shivered. The farther they went, the colder it became. “How did you discover Seonaid was hurt?”
“I already told you, Aunt Giselle told me.”
Uneasiness began to sift the length of Yvette’s spine. “Weren’t you in the village?”
Aubry nodded. “I just returned.”
“Seonaid was tending her herbs in the wetlands?”
“Yvette, really! All these questions.” Aubry’s voice rang with irritation.
Aubry turned again, and they came to a door constructed of crudely carved wood. It stood ajar, evidence that Giselle and Isobel had come this way.
“Not much further, at the end of this tunnel.”
Thank goodness. Yvette didn’t like the dark or confined spaces. She peered in the direction of another dark corridor and shuddered. She could get lost in here. Was there a dungeon? There had to be. Adaira had said enemies and prisoners were smuggled in and out. God Almighty. Had Ewan’s ancestors tortured people in these cells?
“We’re here, Aubry said. “Help me push this door open.”
Yvette reached to push against the slab. It inched outward, groaning in protest. She glimpsed green grass a few feet beyond the door. Where was the loch? Something was wrong. She sensed it with everything inside her. Striving to appear calm, she asked, “Who went for help?”
“Aunt Giselle said Adaira did. She’s the fastest rider.”
Adaira? Lord above.
Adaira had left for the village hours ago. Yvette gave Aubry a mighty shove, before swiveling to run from whence she’d come. Aubry’s shriek of outrage echoed loudly, the sound magnified in the small enclosure.
Yvette took no more than a half-dozen steps before someone struck her on the back of the head.
Chapter 30
Whistling no particular melody, Ewan took the gatehouse steps two at a time. His afternoon in Craigcutty caused him to admire his wife even more. It turned out, she was a skilled diplomat.
He had offered time and again to help his clan, but obstinate Scot’s pride prevented them from accepting his charity. Yet, Yvette had persuaded the clan to allow her to help them. She claimed it was her way of convincing their laird that she was devoted to him and his people. And they had believed her as the improvements in the village proved.
Sauntering into the Great Hall, he exchanged significant grins and nods with the few men present. ‘Tis a good thing Yvette wasn’t there to see it. She’d be blushing throughout the evening. Seated at the smaller table before the hearth, the women were visiting as they busily sewed or embroidered. Everyone except Aubry who tapped her nails on her chair’s worn arms in what appeared to be boredom.
Ewan’s gaze surveyed the room. Where was Yvette?
Upstairs dressing for supper, no doubt.
A smile on his face, he decided to offer his assistance. Running up the stairs, he didn’t bother to knock, but entered her chamber unannounced. “Evvy?”
A gown lay across the bed, but she was nowhere in sight. He peeked into the bathing chamber and the wardrobe. No Yvette. Her maidservant was absent too. Perhaps she was yet cloistered in the library. Tripping down the stairs, his boots ringing a sharp rhythm on the stone floor, he headed for the library.
The heavy door’s hinges squeaked in protest when he opened it. “Evvy?”
She wasn’t here either. Moving to her desk, Ewan noted the letter to her stepbrother and one started to her solicitor. She had not written much. Had she been interrupted? A pair of spectacles lay beside the letter. He grinned. She wore spectacles? Turning away from the desk, he stepped on something. Bending over, he retrieved a quill pen.
He scanned the room. Nothing appeared out of order. Where was she? Ewan tried to curb his unease. Returning to the Hall, he approached his mother. “Mother, have you seen Yvette?”
Giselle raised her gaze from her sewing and shook her head. “Not since luncheon. She’s been in the library since you left.”
He scanned the women present. “Where’s Seonaid?”
“With her animals.” Giselle tied off a thread. “She’s been caring for a hound all day.”
He met Hugh’s eyes across the Hall. Slanting his head, Ewan lifted his chin issuing a silent order. Hugh tapped Duncan and Dugall on the arms. The three men crossed to Ewan’s side. “Dugall, please find Seonaid. Tell her I need to see her at once.”
“Aye.” Dugall hurried from the hall.
Ewan placed his hand on Isobel’s shoulder. “I need Nessia too. Would you locate her for me?”
“Certainly.” She set aside her embroidery and headed to the kitchen.
Looking round, Ewan asked, “Where’s Adaira? She has not returned from the village yet?”
Giselle looked troubled. “Why, no.”
Hands on his hips, he glanced round the Great Hall. “Has anyone seen Yvette this afternoon?” He strove to remain calm. Someone must have seen her. His men had orders to guard her if she went to the bailey or left the Keep.
Aubry quipped, “Mayhap she decided wedded bliss wasn’t her cup of tea after all, and she snuck off while you were out.”
Ewan speared her with a frosty glare.
“I was but teasing,” sulked Aubry.
“I suggest you refrain from speaking of my wife at all, Aubry. I’ve not decided what recourse to take against you.”
Isobel returned to the Hall with Nessia.
“Nessia, have you seen your mistress this afternoon?”
“Nae. She told me what gown to air this morn. I have nae seen her since.”
Seonaid, with Dugall at her side, hurried in the room, wiping her hands on a soiled apron. “Ewan, you have need of me?”
A small gasp flitted across the room.
“Have you seen Yvette today?” Ewan asked, dreading her answer.
“Nae.” Meeting the worried eyes of those assembled, she asked, “Whatever is wrong?”
Aubry volunteered, “I’ll go search upstairs. Yesterday, Yvette told me she wanted to redecorate some of the bedchambers.” Scrutinizing the looks of disbelief directed at her, she challenged huffily, “‘Tis as good as any other place to begin looking.”
Ewan spotted Iona peeking around the dais, clutching her kitten to her gaunt chest. Her eyes kept shifting between Aubry and the others. He beckoned her forward. “Iona, did you have something to say?”
She nodded her head warily watching Aubry
leave the room.
Giselle extended her hand toward the waif. “Come. You’ve nothing to fear. Did you see Lady McTavish today?”
“Aye, in the entry this morn.”
Ewan sighed in frustration. He knew that already.
Lip trembling, fat tears squeezing over the rims of her flower-blue eyes, Iona whispered, “And when Lady Aubry took her below stairs.”
Her words were met with dead silence.
“Below stairs?” The menacing tone in Ewan’s voice didn’t bode well for Aubry. “To the dungeon”?
Bawling full on now, Iona shook her head up and down, her wild curls bouncing with the motion. “She said Lady Seonaid was hurt and needed her ladyship.”
“Merde!” Ewan swore, rage ripping through him.
Already vaulting into action, Duncan and Hugh seized tapers from the table.
“Nae,” Ewan said, “we need torches. There are some stored in the undercroft.”
Dugall bolted from the room returning moments later laden with tarred torches. On his heels were a score of McTavish clansmen.
Voice riddled with suppressed fury, Ewan ordered, “Alasdair, you and Hugh find Aubry. Bring her here. The rest of us will search the bowels of the Keep. We don’t know where Aubry may have taken Evvy.”
“I know.”
All gazes flew to the quaking waif. Iona bravely squared her small shoulders, and met Ewan’s intimidating gaze. “She be taking a tunnel that leads to the outside by the loch.”
Ewan knelt on one knee, placing one hand on Iona’s thin shoulder. “Thank you. You’ve proved yourself a brave Scot this day.”
Rising, he scanned the Hall. “Arm yourselves. Gregor, fetch me my scabbard and broadsword. Meet me here in five minutes.”
As the men hastened to do Ewan’s bidding, a grim-faced Hugh and Alasdair returned to the Hall. Hugh broke the news. “She’s flown. Aubry never went upstairs but fled the Keep. Mistress Peebles and Shamus saw her riding over the drawbridge.”
His mouth drawn into a tense line Alasdair said, “Aubry wasn’t alone. Frasar was with her.”
Shocked gasps rang out in unison.
Merde. Aubry had absconded with Campbell. She’d planned this then. A chill raked Ewan. What had she done with Yvette?
The clansmen moved to leave the Hall, but halted abruptly and staring dumbfounded at the irregular pair entering.
A nobleman stood before them wholly disheveled, several days’ growth of beard on his angular face. Adaira’s arm was wrapped in his steely grasp. Her eyes were swollen from crying, her hair a tangled mass hanging to her waist.
Hugh reached for his dirk. “What be the meaning of this? Unhand me daughter.”
“Clarendon?” Ewan’s eyebrows arched first in total surprise—he’d never seen The Earl angry before—then descended into a dark scowl. “Where the hell did you come from?”
Clarendon’s mouth skewed as he gave Adaira a slight shake. She protested not in the least but stared mutely at the floor.
Ewan stiffened and narrowed his eyes. “Here now, that’s my sister you are shaking about.”
Hugh and Dugall growled dual warnings.
Clarendon sliced a glance at the woman he restrained. “What, you’ve nothing to say now? You’ve been blathering non-stop for the past three days. You’d plenty to say then, most of it imprecise and illogical. Now you’re tongue-tied?” He jostled her again.
“Three days?” Ewan looked from Adaira to Clarendon.
“Your sister,” Clarendon leveled Adaira with a blistering glare, “has kept me as a forced guest in the dungeon below for three days past.”
Ewan narrowed his eyes. “Adaira?”
“I thought,” she peeked at him, then Clarendon. Shoulders slumping even more, she mumbled, “I thought he was the other one—the one who wants to harm Yvette.”
“What made you think that?” Ewan asked.
“I met him in the village. His horse was lame, and he was asking for directions to the Keep.”
Ewan’s eyes met Clarendon’s. There was a challenge in them.
“I often leave off my title when traveling,” said Clarendon. “I find it eliminates a lot of, shall we say, undesirable attention. Surely you understand.”
Ewan nodded crisply. He did understand. But to the matter at hand.
Adaira’s began to weep softly. Tears streamed from her eyes as she struggled to speak. “I saw Yvette below with Aubry. I was taking him,” she dared another peek at Clarendon, “some food.”
That explained the enormous mound of food she’d taken with her midday.
“I tried to follow them until I decided what to do. Yvette heard me though. I stopped, afraid Aubry would realize I was there.” Adaira was sobbing now. “I lost them, Ewan. I didn’t know which passage Aubry took. Then I heard a scream.”
Ewan sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. A scream? Fury roared through him. He felt it searing his veins. By God, if Aubry had harmed a hair on Yvette’s head, kin or not, he’d see her punished, with his own two hands.
“My lord, release my daughter.”
Ewan’s gaze shifted to his mother. Though her tone was modulated and polite, it was also tough as steel and as every bit as unyielding.
Clarendon released Adaira. Sobbing loudly, she ran to her mother’s arms.
Ewan scowled again. They didn’t have time for this.
Clarendon met Ewan’s eyes. “To your sister’s credit, she’s not unintelligent.”
Ewan’s gaze swept over Adaira huddled in their mother’s arms, then shifted to Clarendon.
“She reasoned if Yvette was in danger from another source, I might be who I claimed I was. It took a great deal of persuading, but when I suggested, the delay might mean the difference between life and death for Yvette, Miss Ferguson released me.”
“Clarendon, will you remain in charge here? I need every man I can muster to search for Evvy.”
“With all due respect, Sethwick, she’s my stepsister. I should assist in the search for her.”
“She’s my wife.”
Stunned surprise registered on Clarendon’s face. “Wife? I had rumor of a betrothal, but . . .
Ewan gave the earl a lingering look. “She didn’t inform you?”
“No. Yvette wrote she had something to discuss with me. I was curious why she asked for my help procuring so many supplies, and why there was such a rush about it. I determined a visit was in order.”
“I haven’t the time to discuss the particulars, just now. My wife’s life may be in danger. I’d be grateful if you’d concede to remain here in the event I need your support at this end.”
Clarendon angled his head. “As you wish, Sethwick. I would like to bathe and change my clothing, if it can be arranged.”
Ewan glanced to his mother.
“I’ll see to it,” she assured him.
He turned to Adaira. “I expect a full accounting of your actions. Stay in your room ‘til I return.”
“Aye, daughter, I expect the same,” Hugh said scowling.
Gaze glued to the stone floor, Adaira simply nodded in response.
“Duncan, take half the men to the cellars. The rest of ye, follow me.” Sliding his broadsword into his scabbard, Ewan strode from the room.
Chapter 31
Yvette struggled upward through a blanket of thick blackness. Her eyes shut, she tried to remember what happened. Awareness and paralyzing fear gripped her simultaneously.
Aubry had tricked her. She remembered running. What happened afterwards? Try as she might, she could recollect no more. At least she was alive, and for that, she thanked God.
The base of her head throbbed. She cracked an eye open a hair’s breadth. No! Their backs were to her, but nonetheless, Yvette rec
ognized the two people sitting at the broken table.
Fielding and Pauline.
Without moving, she took stock of her surroundings. She was in a dilapidated cottage with a large portion of the thatched roof missing. The fading afternoon sun bore into the hut’s single room. She lay sprawled upon one of three mussed pallets on the floor. The door hung askew, light visible through its shrunken planks.
She shifted her gaze to the two shutterless windows. Their decaying sills provided a glimpse of the numerous tall trees without. Two pistols and a nasty looking knife lay atop the warped table. A cluster of what looked to be whiskey bottles sat beside them. From the condition of the interior, she guessed her abductors had been here for days, if not weeks. Why?
“At last, she ees awake.”
Yvette didn’t pretend otherwise. Struggling to a sitting position, she touched her head. Her hair was down, the ribbon gone. She felt an egg-sized lump and a mass of matted hair. Her hand came away smeared with drying blood. “How long was I unconscious?”
Pauline shrugged indifferently. “A coople of ‘ours.”
Yvette swallowed. Her mouth was dry. “May I have some water, please?”
Fielding poured water into a none-too-clean cup and brought it to her. He stood looming over her, watching as she drank the entire contents. She handed it to him without a word.
Deciding directness was the best approach she asked, “Why am I here?”
Pauline turned a hostile glare on her. “I want Sethwick. ‘E will come for you, no?”
What does she want with Ewan? Is that why they had tried to abduct her at Vangie’s too? It didn’t make sense. She and Ewan barely knew each other then.
“Why do you want with Ewan?”
Pauline’s face contorted in anger. “‘E keeled my brother.”
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