Rodrick the Bold

by Suzan Tisdale

  Again, she nodded her head. There was no doubt in her mind this man meant every word he spoke.

  Slowly, he removed his hand from her face and stood to his full height. “Come now,” he said. “We have no time to dally!”

  Muriel all but flung herself from the bed, looking around the hut frantically for her child. Save for herself and this man, the hut was empty. Tears fell down her cheeks as white-hot fury and dread filled her heart. “Where is me babe?” she asked, choking on sobs.

  “Mangus has her safe and sound,” the man replied. “Now, get yer cloak and shoes.” He grabbed her arm and began to pull her toward the door. “And remember, yer child’s life rests solely in yer hands.”

  Good lord! She cried silently. I forgot about the sgian dubh!

  The wind, strong and at times violent, drowned out the sound of their footsteps. Walking in the dark shadows along the wall, they took Muriel to the rear of the wall, to a small door. Next to that door lay one of the McLaren men, sprawled out on his back. Blood oozed from a gaping wound on the side of his head. Blank, lifeless eyes stared up at the night sky. There would be no time to mourn the loss of an innocent young man.

  Her captor quietly pushed open the door before pulling Muriel through.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Moments later, they were standing in near complete darkness. He grabbed her arm forcefully once again as he shoved her along. With all her might, she wanted to scream, to call out for help. But she knew the moment she did that, a man she’d never met would be driving a dirk into her daughter’s heart.

  Muriel could not think clearly for she was too overcome with terror and dread. Blood rushed in her ears as they made their way across the small clearing and into the woods. Once, she tripped over her own feet and fell face first into the wet earth. She swallowed back her tears and the urge to groan. When the strange, angry man pulled her back to her feet, she was beset with memories of the year before when she’d been sold and taken to Captain Wallace’s ship.

  The wind soon blew the clouds away from the moon, and the earth was bathed in its white light. Muriel found no comfort in the brightness. Soon, she was being pulled along through the dense forest and bramble bushes. Limbs tore at her skin and her cloak. Her captor was not concerned with her safety or wellbeing, only that she remain quiet.

  They seemed to walk a mile or more before they came upon a small clearing. There, she saw at least a dozen men on horseback, but they were naught more than black shadows and shapes. “Where be my babe?” she whispered fearfully.

  The brutish man said nothing as he tossed her atop a horse before climbing up behind her. Soon, they were all riding farther and farther away from the place she had called home.

  “Where be my babe?” she asked once again, a bit more forcefully this time. She was growing angrier by the moment. They had stolen into the keep, into her home and were taking her to God only knew where. And they had her babe, threatening to kill Cora should she do anything wrong.

  The man behind her squeezed her tightly around her waist. “Wheest, or neither ye nor yer babe will make it to our destination.”

  “I want my babe!” she exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

  A moment later, she felt the cold steel of a dirk pressed against her throat. “I meant what I said,” he ground out. “Ye talk again before I give ye permission, and I will force ye to watch as we kill yer daughter.”

  Just before the sun began to peek out over the horizon, Muriel was much relieved to hear her daughter cry. Crying meant Cora was still alive and well. Thankfully, they gave the babe over to her. Tearfully, she took her daughter into her arms and held her tightly, but the babe continued to cry.

  “Shut the babe up,” her captor ground out.

  Muriel took the chance of a brief glance back at the cruel man. He appeared to be at least forty, and he was just as foul looking as she had imagined. A slight scar on one cheek, dark brown, furious looking eyes were staring straight ahead. He and the others wore plaids with colors she did not recognize.

  Using her cloak for some measure of privacy, she lowered the bodice of her nightdress to allow Cora to nurse. Her mind raced to find some logical reason as to why they’d been stolen away in the middle of the night, but she came up empty. None of this made a lick of sense.

  They were not part of Captain Wallace’s crew, of that much she was certain. These men were warriors, but just which clan they belonged to, she couldn’t begin to guess. Mayhap this was all a terrible mistake and they didn’t mean to kidnap her. What if they had been coming for Rose? ’Twas quite possible. Kidnapping a chief’s wife or their children and holding them for ransom was a common occurrence amongst the Highland clans. Mayhap if she told them who she was, they would realize their mistake and return her at once.

  “Me name be Muriel MacElroy, wife of Rodrick,” she began.

  “I ken who ye be,” the man said.

  “But why have ye taken me?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Me husband can ill afford to pay a ransom,” she explained.

  He grunted but refused to look at her or offer a reply.

  “I should verra much like an explanation as to why ye drug me out of me home in the middle of the night,” she said, her words clipped and biting.

  He grunted again. “I will let Fergus MacDonald explain it to ye.”

  An unprecedented terror consumed her to her bones. Fergus? Nay! That cannot be! A hundred questions flashed in her mind. Why? Why would he come after her now? What could he possibly want from her? Why would he take such a risk as this? Unfortunately, she could find no answers, at least none that did not involve her being made his slave again.

  Tears welled in her eyes. Unable to stop them, she left them fall, along with any hope of ever having a normal kind of existence.

  Fury unlike anything he had ever experienced before burned deep in Rodrick the Bold’s gut. White-hot fury drowned out the voices of the messengers who brought the news. Someone had stolen into their keep and taken his wife and daughter.

  “We found Callum dead late last night,” the young man was telling him and Ian. “We do no’ ken how in the bloody hell they got inside the keep!”

  Ian, almost as equally furious as Rodrick, but for entirely different reasons, was pacing back and forth. They were standing in a small clearing, halfway between their keep and the Randall holding. The plan had been to hide, to lie in wait in the hopes of catching a few unsuspecting Randalls and questioning them about their previous attack on their border.

  “Bloody hell!” he ground out. “What do ye mean ye have no idea how they got inside our walls?”

  The young man paled and seemed to shrink before his laird and chief. Behind him, the other messenger took a few steps back.

  “It doesn’t bloody matter how they got in!” Rodrick bellowed. “They have taken me wife and daughter!”

  Terrified, the two young men knew not what to do or say at the moment. They stood on weak legs and held their tongues.

  Furiously, Rodrick stormed across the small clearing toward Caderyn. There was no reason for Ian to ask him where he was going.

  “Wait!” Ian called out to him as he raced to catch up to him. “What if it was the Randalls who took them?” he asked Rodrick.

  Rodrick didn’t pause for even a brief moment. “If it was the Randalls, we would have seen them,” he replied as he took to his horse.

  That much was true. The Randalls would have had to come through this part of their lands to get from the Mackintosh keep to their own.

  “Mount up!” Ian called out to the rest of their men. Soon, they were tearing across the countryside heading back to their keep.

  Ian pulled his horse alongside Rodrick’s. “Hopefully we will find more answers upon our return,” he said. Even he didn’t believe his own words. But if anyone understood what Rodrick was going through, ’twas he. His sweet Rose had been kidnapped by the Bowie’s more than a year ago. ’Twas the single most difficult time of his entire life.
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  “We will find them,” he told Rodrick.

  Rodrick didn’t so much as grunt or look his way.

  A few hours later, they were tearing through the gates of the Mackintosh keep. Rodrick slid from Caderyn before the animal had come to a complete stop. Men and women alike came rushing up to him and Ian.

  “Laird!” Phillip McLaren called out as he ran across the yard to meet them. “They be heading’ north!”

  Rodrick stopped dead in his tracks. The long ride home had done nothing to quell his fury. Ian came to stand beside him.

  Out of breath, Phillip began to explain what they knew. “As soon as we found Callum dead, we searched the entire keep and all the huts. We soon discovered Muriel and the babe were missin’.”

  A dull ache began to form behind Rodrick’s left eye. “We ken me wife and daughter are gone!” he yelled.

  Nonplussed, Phillip continued to explain. “As soon as we kent they were missin’, I sent men out in search of them.” He reached into his sporran then and pulled out a bit of brown wool. “One of the men found this in the woods north of here.” He handed the fabric to Rodrick.

  “Be it Muriel’s?” Ian asked.

  Rodrick nodded his head. “Aye,” he ground out. Dread and anger blended together as he rubbed the fabric betwixt his fingers.

  “I had the men continue to search,” Phillip told them. “We suspect they got at least a three-hour head start on us.”

  Rodrick glanced at the man, thankful he had shown some common sense. Phillip might not be the best of fighting men, but he was showing promise. The fact he had not simply waited for orders elevated him in Rodrick’s eyes.

  “Rodrick, we shall gather supplies and head out,” Ian said before turning to Phillip. “We’ll need fresh horses,” he said to Phillip.

  “We have them waitin’ already,” Phillip said. “As well as food and more men.”

  Ian slapped the man on his back with his palm. “Good,” he replied before turning his attention back to Rodrick. “We can no’ afford to take all the men away from the keep,” he said.

  Rose came pushing through the crowd then. Her eyes were red from crying. “Ian!” she called out to him. He drew her in for a warm embrace.

  “Rodrick,” she said as she pulled away. “I be so sorry!”

  Rodrick could only offer her a curt nod. Words were lodged in his throat, along with bile and worry. “Ye will get them back,” Rose told him as she placed a hand on his arm. “I ken ye will.”

  He would get her back or he’d die trying.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Muriel had not eaten a thing since the night she’d been taken from her home. She doubted she could have eaten even the tiniest morsel of food, for her stomach was filled with too much fear and dread.

  The ferry ride across the sea to Skye had been tumultuous, to say the least. A storm had come in, rocking the ferry back and forth violently. She clung to Cora with all her might and prayed. She prayed for their safety, but mostly, she prayed that Rodrick would get to her in time.

  Rodrick would come for her. This she knew to her marrow.

  The only worry she possessed was that they would not figure out in time just who had taken her or where they were going. But she knew he would come for her. That thought was the only thing that kept her moving forward. Rodrick would not forsake her. He would not forget about her.

  ’Twas midday by the time the ferry landed on Skye. There was no reason to ask where they were going. The questions that loomed large were ‘why?’ and ‘for what purpose??’ What could Fergus possibly want from her? He’d already sold her once before. He and Anthara had washed their hands of her a year ago. Why on earth were they coming back into her life now?

  On weak legs, cold and drenched from the journey, she followed her captors through the small village. As soon as Fergus and Anthara’s home came into her line of vision, her dread intensified to the point she felt light headed. This had been her hell on earth for many months. A hell she had thought she’d left behind. Now, she was back again. Muriel could not help but feel terrified and helpless. But this time, she was not without hope.

  Rodrick will come for me, she told herself. He will kill ye all. Knowing this tiny fact bolstered her resolve and determination.

  Soon, they were stepping over the threshold of the back door, returning her to the man who had been her tormentor and abuser.

  Ye will no’ win again.

  Fergus MacDonald jumped from his seat by the fire and walked toward Muriel. His smile might have fooled a complete stranger, but Muriel knew it for what it was: naught more than a mask to cover the face belonging to a most cruel and sadistic man.

  “Muriel,” he said, still smiling as if she were a long, lost friend. He dismissed all but one of the men. The one who had taken her from her bed remained behind, standing near the door, quietly observing.

  A year ago, she would have felt small and weak and very afraid in the presence of these men, but not this day. She was a different person now: a wife and mother. Instead of trembling, she gave Fergus a cold, hard stare and drew strength from deep within. Pushing her shoulders back and lifting her chin, she refused to take her eyes off him.

  “’Tis good to see ye again,” Fergus said as he retook his chair.

  “I can no’ say the same to ye,” she told him bluntly.

  Her response surprised him. Cocking his head to one side, he studied her for the briefest of moments. With a nod toward the bundle in her arms, he said, “I would like to meet me daughter.”

  Grinding her teeth, Muriel held Cora even closer. “She is no’ yers. She belongs to me husband, Rodrick. And I want to be returned to him immediately.”

  Fergus raised a brow dubiously. “Well, now, I have ciphered it all out, Muriel and I ken fer a fact the babe be mine.”

  “Nay,” she said, trying to calm the worry growing in her belly. “She belongs to Rodrick.” As far as she was concerned, Rodrick was Cora’s father.

  Disgusted, Fergus pursed his lips together and gave a slow shake of his head. “We both ken that is no’ the truth.”

  Ignoring his statement, Muriel said, “Release me and ye might live another day.”

  He began to laugh then, throwing his head back and chuckling heartily like the fool that he was. “Och! Muriel!” he said after a time, “just who do ye think will be takin’ me life?”

  Tilting her head ever so slightly, she glowered at him. “Rodrick.”

  He stood then, shaking his head slowly, looking as though he held the greatest of secrets. “Ye mean the man I have locked away in me da’s dungeon?”

  Nay! Muriel cried silently. Nay, that can no’ be!

  Knowing Fergus’s propensity for lying, she refused to believe him. He is just tryin’ to scare ye to get ye to do what he wants. “Ye lie,” she accused.

  “Do I?” he asked.

  Although her stomach was drawing into knots, she refused to give up hope just yet. “Ye do,” she insisted. Thinking quickly, hoping to catch him up in his own false words, she said, “If ye have him, then show him to me.”

  “Nay, I do no’ think so,” Fergus said, his smile gone now.

  “Then bring to me the ring Rodrick wears around his neck,” she challenged.

  Fergus looked to the man who had been standing quietly near the door. “Roger? Was Rodrick the Bold wearin’ a ring around his neck when ye captured him?”

  Roger took a step forward and smiled deviously at Muriel. “Nay, I do no’ think he was, m’laird. But then, he put up a good fight. Until the blade of me brother’s sword near gutted him.”

  Muriel sucked in a deep breath as she took a step back. Nay! Nay! Nay! That can no’ be!

  “He be quite injured,” Fergus said. “He might live if he had a healer.”

  The prospect of losing Rodrick was almost too much to bear. Tears welled in Muriel’s eyes, her resolve quickly fading.

  In a few short strides, Fergus was standing so close to her she could feel his breath on he
r face. “Now, if ye were to cooperate and do as I say, then I will allow a healer to tend to yer husband’s wounds.”

  Muriel felt light-headed and terrified all at once. If what he said was true, she could not chance angering Fergus. The image of Rodrick bleeding to death in a cold dungeon made her feel sick to her stomach. But if what he said was naught more than a lie? Either way, she had to either buy her husband’s freedom and life or give him time to get here. But what could Fergus possibly want from her that would justify him kidnapping her, her babe, and possibly killing her husband? Any answer that came to mind terrified her.

  Fergus gave her very little time to think. “Ye see, me da wants to take away me inheritance. All I need do to keep it is to produce an heir. It matters no’ who the mother be, just that I have fathered one.”

  Fergus wanted her babe.

  Too paralyzed with the realization, Muriel could neither cry nor even speak. All she could do was to look at him in abject terror. He wants me babe.

  “I care no’ a whit about the child, ye ken. But I have to prove to me da that I have fathered one,” he explained.

  “Ye’re mad,” she finally ground out. “Ye will have to take this babe from me cold dead hands!”

  He laughed at her distress and horror. “That could be arranged,” he said. “But I fear me da will want proof from ye that ’twas I who fathered yer bastard child.”

  Bile rose in her throat. He was quite serious.

  “Me da returns on the morrow. Ye and I shall go to him then and present the babe to him as mine. As soon as ye have convinced him of the truth — that ’twas I who fathered the babe— I shall have a healer tend to yer husband’s injuries and set the both of ye free. If ye do a verra good job, I might even let ye take the brat back home with ye.”