Captured by the Highlander

by Julianne MacLean

  She should not have denied him that.

  She had been selfish and insensitive.

  A moment later, she was standing at the foot of her bed, staring blankly at the wall . She did not even remember rising to her feet. She chewed on a thumbnail.

  Did Iain know Duncan was here? Had he been alone in the cave when he was captured? Where were Fergus and Gawyn and Angus?

  Again, she considered sending for a priest, when what she real y wanted to do was spirit Duncan out of there. To circumvent the time-consuming legalities that may or may not work in his favor, and act quickly and aggressively.

  But how? He was a prisoner in an English garrison. He was locked in a cell , chained to a wall . She was not a ruthless, axe-bearing warrior who possessed the strength and skill to break out of such a place and abduct someone in the dead of night, as he had once done.

  She could think of one man, however, who did possess those skills.

  Her heart began to race. Was it even possible?

  Yes, of course it was. It had to be.

  But if she was going to do anything to help Duncan, she could not waste another minute deliberating it. She would have to decide on a plan and set it in motion straightaway.

  She would travel to Moncrieffe Castle at first light. Once she got there, she would enlist Iain’s help to find Angus, and then she would say and do whatever it took to set aside their differences and unite in this one common goal—to save Duncan’s life.

  * * *

  Angus MacDonald rode across the drawbridge at Kinloch Castle and dismounted. He had left this place in high spirits not long ago, after the unexpected arrival of Richard Bennett’s head in a bag. For days, Angus had celebrated with his father, the chief, and the warriors of his clan. Feeling jubilant, Angus had raised a glass and spoken in honor of the great Butcher of the Highlands, a noble and courageous Scot.

  Angus had not known, however, that a few days later Duncan would disappoint him so absolutely and choose a woman— an Englishwoman—over his desire to fight for Scottish freedom.

  Nor had he imagined that he, Angus Bradach MacDonald, would ever be capable of such malice and treachery.

  He laid a hand on his gut, which had been churning since daybreak. He felt as if he’d eaten a plate of rancid meat but knew it was not so simple as that. This was not something he could purge. It was something very ugly that would follow him through the rest of his life and deep down into the fiery depths of his grave.

  He walked to the stables, delivered his horse to a groom, and strode to the great hall , which was silent and empty.

  There was a grim sort of gloom in the air. The celebrations were over.

  He looked up at the MacDonald heraldry hanging from the stone wall s—the crests and banners and tapestries. He was proud of his ancestry, devoted to his clan, and had made a vow to himself two days ago: that no woman would ever exert such influence over him as that woman had exerted over Duncan.

  Angus was a warrior—loyal to clan and country. He would be chief here one day, and for that reason, such blind passion could have no place in his life. He would take a wife, of course, in order to produce an heir—but by God, she would know her place. And she would most assuredly be Scottish.

  He turned and looked at the cross, carved deep into the stone of the hearth, and stood for a long time, staring at it, until a noise caused him to look up. A small bird was trapped inside the hall . It flew around the rafters and fluttered desperately in the highest peak of the ceiling.

  Angus looked down at the floor and felt suddenly as if he were sinking through the stones. He had been so angry with Duncan. But what had he done?

  He knelt down on both knees, cupped his hands together, and bowed his head. “Merciful God,” he whispered, “I pray for your forgiveness, and for the strength to endure the shame of my sins.”

  Then he heard the scrape of a sword at the back of the room and turned to see the dark glimmer of wrath in his father’s eyes. His father, his chief, the man he revered more than any other …

  He knew.

  And he, unlike God, would not merciful.

  * * *

  Amelia stepped out of her uncle’s coach and looked up at the massive stone façade of Moncrieffe Castle. The wind was gusting and whipping at her skirts. Her hat ribbons flew wildly around her face. She reached up to hold the hat in place and tried not to think about where Duncan was at that moment, or what torture he might be enduring, as she hurried from the coach to the castle entrance. Instead, she rehearsed her speech in her mind. She had much to accomplish here today, and she could not afford any emotional outbursts or thoughts about possible catastrophes. She could not allow herself to become distracted from what had to be done.

  The housekeeper met her in the entrance hall . She spoke awkwardly. “Lady Amelia, we were not expecting you. The earl is not at home. His Lairdship left for Edinburgh yesterday.”

  Amelia managed a courteous smile. “Edinburgh? On important business, no doubt. In that case, please inform his brother that I have arrived.”

  The housekeeper curtsied and hurried from the hall .

  A short time later, Amelia was shown into the gallery. She walked through the door expecting to meet with Iain and Josephine but found herself staring also at Fergus and Gawyn. They stood before the fireplace, wide-eyed and surprised to see her.

  “Gentlemen.” She removed her gloves. “I am pleased to find you both here. Something terrible has happened. I came as quickly as I could.”

  “Aye, we know all about it,” Fergus said with a note of contempt.

  She looked curiously at Iain. “You know?”

  He nodded, and Gawyn approached. “Lady Amelia, I’m pleased to see you as well . Did you come from the fort? Did you see Duncan? Is he alive?”

  “Yes, he still lives.”

  There was a clear exhalation of relief in the room.

  Josephine rose from her chair, came forward, and embraced Amelia, who was still trying to understand what all of this meant. They knew. Were they already planning how to extract Duncan from the prison?

  “I thought you’d be halfway to England by now,” Josephine said.

  Amelia held her close. “No. I couldn’t leave.” She stepped back and held both of Josephine’s hands in her own. “I’ve been at the fort for days, not knowing if I did the right thing by leaving here. Then last night there was a terrible commotion in the compound, and my uncle told me they had captured the Butcher. I was beside myself with despair. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here straightaway.”

  “How is he?” Iain asked with concern. “What have they done to him?”

  “Do they know his identity?” Fergus asked.

  Amelia shook her head. “No one knows who he is, at least not yet. But he is not well , Iain. He was badly beaten, which is a mixed blessing, I suppose. It’s why he is unrecognizable.”

  Josephine stepped back and covered her mouth with a hand. “Poor Duncan.”

  “They’ll hang him, I suppose,” Iain said.

  “Yes,” Amelia replied. “That is their intention, which is why I came so quickly. We must get him out of there somehow, and the sooner the better.”

  Fergus circled around the table. “You think it’s an easy thing to do, lass—to break a Scottish rebel out of an English prison?”

  She met his gaze directly. “Duncan managed to break in and carry me out on his back. Perhaps we can do the same for him.”

  Fergus scoffed. “You’re lighter than a daisy. He’s heavier than an ox, and chained up besides.”

  “He may be able to walk,” she argued, refusing to be daunted. “His worst wounds are on his hands and face.”

  “There’s still the wee issue of getting him free of the prison,” Fergus said. “The place is crawling with redcoats, and with the notorious Butcher as a captive, I suspect they have their watch doubled or tripled.”

  Amelia took a deep breath. “Yes. I realize it will be difficult.

  But as I said bef
ore, Duncan managed to get in quietly.”

  In fact, he had slit a few throats to get inside. He had been ruthless. There had been no mercy. Was she willing to condone such methods to save his life?

  “Where is Angus?” she asked. “Would he be willing to take such a risk? I could give him instructions and tell him exactly where Duncan is being held, and I have, in my trunks, three red uniforms that might be useful. I took them from the laundry before I left this morning. I doubt they’ve been missed yet.”

  A heavy silence descended upon the room. They all exchanged troubled glances.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Angus? Don’t tell me … has he been captured, too?”

  “Nay, lass, he wasn’t captured, but something did indeed happen to him,” Gawyn said, “and we’re all still recovering from the shock of it.”

  She frowned. “Tel me.”

  “He turned on us, lass. He’s the one who told the English soldiers where Duncan would be.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face. “I beg your pardon?

  Are you sure? No, it cannot be true. Angus hates the English.

  Why would he do such a thing?”

  “It’s unforgivable,” Gawyn said.

  “He’ll rot in hell ,” Iain added.

  “But are you sure it was him?” Amelia asked. “Perhaps you are mistaken.”

  “Always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt,” Iain said. “I admire that in you, Amelia, but in this case there can be no doubt of it. He’s the only one besides me who knew where Duncan would be that night. Angus was supposed to bring Fergus and Gawyn to meet him in the cave, to discuss the future of the Butcher’s campaign, but he went to the English soldiers instead. A boy who was spying for us saw him there, and rode hard to tell his father, but it was too late.”

  “But why would Angus do that?”

  “He was angry with Duncan. He believed his actions were a betrayal to Scotland.”

  “Because he proposed to me,” Amelia finished for Iain—

  once again feeling as if this was all her fault. “But I broke off our engagement,” she told them. “I had already left him. By all accounts, it was over, and he killed Richard, which is exactly what Angus wanted.”

  “Aye, but Duncan was going to give up his crusade as the Butcher,” Iain told her. “He didn’t want to fight any longer, at least not with his axe.”

  She took a moment to ponder this news. “He was truly going to give it up?”

  Josephine nodded. “Aye, Amelia. He couldn’t live with any more blood on his hands. He told Angus he was going to retire the Butcher for good.”

  Amelia bowed her head in sorrow for all the pain he was forced to endure because of her, especial y now, when he was England’s prisoner, tortured and sentenced to death.

  She sat down on a chair, then lifted her gaze and looked pleadingly at Iain. “We have to get him out of there.

  Everything he did, he did to protect others and fight for their safety and freedom. He cannot die. He deserves a chance to live.”

  “But how, Amelia? How do we get him out?”

  Her thoughts returned to the one thing he had asked of her. “Al he wanted,” she said, “was to speak to a priest. He wanted to confess his sins before he died. I denied him that, because I could not bear to give up hope that I could save him. But I think it’s time I respected his wishes.”

  “That’s very kind of you, Lady Amelia,” Gawyn said, “but it does not bring him back to us.”

  “No,” she said, “but I believe if we can get a priest into his cell , we may be able to deliver him to a safe haven, without ever hurting a single soul.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Father Douglas arrived at Fort William on a Wednesday. His coach, drawn by three impressive chestnut geldings, rolled through the village of Maryburgh and passed through the fortress gates at noon. He was greeted by a young sentry, then escorted into the officers’ mess for a hot meal of pork stew and rye bread, followed by fruitcake and sweet cream for dessert.

  He had the pleasure of meeting Colonel Worthington in his private chambers after the midday meal. The colonel offered him a glass of claret and informed him that the Butcher of the Highlands had been tried for treason that morning and had been found guilty.

  His sentence was as followed: He would be removed from Fort William in five days. He would then be transported to the Tolbooth in Edinburgh, where he would remain, incarcerated, for twenty-seven days. On the twenty-eighth day, he would be hanged.

  Colonel Worthington was against such a public and lavish display. He believed there would be a riot, not to mention the fact that the risk of escape during the transfer was too great.

  He believed the Butcher should be put to death at Fort William as quickly as possible, but sadly, politics prevailed and the King’s advisors wished otherwise. They’d communicated their instructions for the Butcher’s imminent capture and death six months ago.

  “It is why I am a soldier and not a politician,” the colonel said with a heavy sigh as he sipped his claret. “I have no interest in showmanship. I want only results, without such pointless fanfare.”

  Later that evening, Father Douglas was escorted to the prison by two heavily armed guards. They unlocked the cell door and waited outside while he heard the Butcher’s confession.

  * * *

  The following morning, a whistle blew. Two guards woke inside a prison cell , chained to a wall. Their heads were throbbing, their weapons gone. A third guard dashed through the corridor to the Butcher’s cell . “Wake up, you cockeyed fools!” While the two soldiers sat up groggily, the one outside fumbled with his keys, dropped them on the floor, bent to pick them up, then unlocked the Butcher’s door and pushed it open.

  His wide-eyed gaze fell upon the priest, Father Douglas, chained to the wall and gagged with a wad of green tartan.

  He was fast asleep and wore nothing but his linen shirt. His robes were gone.

  The guard hurried to free him. He unlocked the manacles and pulled the gag out of the priest’s mouth. “Are you all right, Father Douglas?”

  Father Douglas pressed a hand to the back of his head and groaned. “My word, someone must have clubbed me.”

  Then he noticed his current state of undress. “Why am I half-naked? Where are my robes?”

  The guard looked around in dismay. “It appears you’ve been robbed, Father.”

  “By whom?”

  “Who else but the Butcher?”

  Father Douglas frowned up at the guard. “But I came here to listen to his confession. He was shackled to this wall and was supposed to be on death’s door. How could he have accomplished such a feat? And where is he now?”

  The guard helped Father Douglas to his feet. “If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say he’s halfway to Ireland.”

  “I suppose I should be thankful,” Father Douglas said, “that he took my robes and nothing else. I’m relieved to discover that I am still in possession of my head.”

  “The Almighty must have been watching over you,” the guard said.

  “Though it appears He was watching over someone else, too—the prisoner who just escaped.”

  The guard helped Father Douglas out of the cell . “Have no worries, Father. Justice will prevail. It always does where villains are concerned.”

  They slowly made their way up the stairs. “But we’re on Scottish soil, young man. Some might take issue with your opinions and call the Butcher a hero.”

  “And you, Father? What would you call him?”

  He took a long time to consider the question; then he chuckled. “I am inside an English prison, but I am still a Scot by blood. So I suppose I will simply call him lucky.”

  * * *

  Sitting at the edge of the glade not far from the MacKenzies’cottage, on the banks of a cool, babbling brook, Amelia tried to make sense of the extraordinary events of her life. A few days ago, she had fled from an English garrison where Dunc
an was incarcerated, leaving him behind—alone—all the while hoping that she might find the help she needed in order to free him.

  Now she sat by this stream in the Scottish interior, praying that her plan had not gone awry and that Duncan would somehow survive.

  She lifted her eyes and looked around. This was the very place they had stopped after escaping the English soldiers at Loch Fannich. It was where she had first seen Duncan in a different light, just before he collapsed at her feet as a result of the head wound she had inflicted upon him. She had run off and left him alone that night, too, in search of help from others.

  Something caught her eye at that moment—a flash of gray on the other side of the stream. Duncan? Her heart skipped a beat, however, as she recognized the visitor.

  Strangely unafraid, Amelia sat motionless. The wolf sniffed around and soon caught Amelia in her gaze.

  How odd and incredible to again be so close to a creature of the wild. Amelia wished she had something to offer the wolf but knew that would be a mistake, because it would only encourage her to return and perhaps discover that the MacKenzies had a stable full of plump, juicy animals.

  But it was not wrong to enjoy the wolf’s company, Amelia decided, while she marveled at the fact that she felt so very safe in her presence.

  Suddenly, however, the wolf lifted her head. Her ears pricked; then she darted in the other direction. She flew into the bush and vanished as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Amelia to wonder if she had imagined the entire thing.

  The forest grew quiet again until a clear rustling began behind her, followed by the sound of hooves on the moss.