Surely she’d be at Edirdovar Castle now.
Had MacKenzie accepted her? Did he suspect?
If he did not, what would he do to her?
Kaid proceeded down the other side of the room, trying to ignore the tension knotting in his shoulders and pounding in his head. His skin seemed like it was too tight on his body, and time stretched to eternal lengths.
Everything was different without Delilah.
A knock sounded at his door, making every muscle in his body flinch in agitation.
He glanced toward the chair by the fire where Claire was curled into a ball and fast asleep. The girl hadn’t left his side since Delilah’s departure. He was not sure which of them missed Delilah more.
“Enter.” He didn’t bother to walk toward the door to open it.
Rhona entered, the expression on her wizened face was withered and hesitant. “Forgive the interruption, laird. I wanted to ensure ye were well.”
Kaid ran a hand through his hair and almost waved off the question when Rhona spoke again. “Actually, we know ye’re no’ well, laird. It looks as if ye’ve no’ slept in days.”
She let the door slip closed behind her. Her customary basket was slung around the crook of her elbow and her purple cloak thrown over her shoulders.
She stepped closer to him and the basket bounced against her long white hair.
“Ye know me too well, Rhona.” He gave a hollow, mirthless chuckle.
The salty scent of roasting meat caught his attention and reminded him supper would be soon. He’d barely touched his midday meal and found he had no appetite. Claire would need to eat, though.
The girl hadn’t moved from where she lay, wrapped in one of Delilah’s shawls she’d left behind.
Rhona followed Kaid’s gaze without any expression before looking back toward him. “The lady is where she needs to be.” Her voice was lowered out of respect for the sleeping child, but her gaze sharpened. “With the man to whom she belongs.”
Kaid’s skin prickled at her words. He wanted to slam his fist into the wall and declare Delilah belonged to him, not MacKenzie.
But Rhona was old, and kind, and knew nothing of the swap between Delilah and Elizabeth. “I only hope it will be enough to placate MacKenzie.” The man’s name left an awful taste in Kaid’s mouth.
“Perhaps he’s far more of a rational man than ye think,” she offered.
Kaid stared hard at her for a moment, at a loss for words. Was the old woman mad?
“I’m sure it was that rationality which led him to slaughter helpless men, women, and children in the village.” Kaid couldn’t help the gruffness in his voice when he spoke.
Claire shifted in the chair.
Rhona’s crooked back straightened a little more at his words and her cheeks went pink. “Aye, well, I canna speak to that. But I ken ye most likely have need of more of yer sleeping draught. I hadna given ye more than a few days’ worth, and ye havena asked me for more.”
Kaid’s mouth went dry.
Valerian root.
He wished he could admit to having not let it intrude on his thoughts. But he had. It’d been on his mind while he lay awake at night in a bed still smelling of Delilah, and while trudging through the torment of eternally long days
Thinking of the reprieve the valerian root offered was an escape from what he would think of otherwise—the constant worry over Delilah’s safety, and the fear he might not ever see her again.
Sometime yesterday he’d finally allowed himself to consider the possibility that Delilah could die. MacKenzie’s wrath would be great if he found out he’d been lied to.
Coming to terms with the thought had not brought Kaid any peace. No, it’d made the idea circle in his head like a predator.
Rhona gave her kind smile and handed him a slim vial. “Here ye go. I’ve more if ye have need of it.”
Kaid accepted the vial. For being so small, it lay heavy in his palm. Cool and slick and tempting.
“Get some sleep, lad.” She patted his cheek the way his grandmother had done when he was a boy. The grassy scent of herbs followed the touch of her dry palm.
Without another word, she walked from the room and let the door click closed behind her.
But it wasn’t the actual effects of the valerian root he thought of when he stared down at the stoppered glass. It was Delilah, and how she’d pleaded with him not to take it, and the crackling hiss the emptied contents had made when they hit the flames.
He pulled the stopper out, strode to the fire, and let the clear liquid stream out. The glowing red logs flickered for a second before all trace of the sleeping draught was gone.
He let the container and stopper roll from his fingers, where they landed in the hot ash gathered around the embers.
Claire shifted behind him and gave him a bleary-eyed look. “Elizabeth?”
Kaid rubbed a hand over her tousled blonde hair. Her skin was warm from sleep beneath the silky strands. “Nay, lass. But I believe supper is ready. Go get yerself some food, and I’ll see ye in the morning, aye?”
She nodded slowly and unfolded herself from the chair while wrapping Delilah’s shawl more tightly around her shoulders. Her shoes clopped against the hard floor, but she stopped before she exited the room and turned back to him.
“Do ye think MacKenzie will be kind to her?” Claire asked, her face pinched with worry.
Kaid forced a smooth expression on his face. “Aye, of course he will.”
Even as he said the words, they hung heavy around his heart, for he knew if MacKenzie were to discover Delilah’s lie, he would be anything but kind.
• • •
Night hung darker in Edirdovar Castle than it did at Ardvreck.
Delilah lay in a great bed and stared at the underside of the canopy. She knew there were boards and beams crossing up there, but it was so high up, and the room so black, she could not make them out.
It left her with a dizzying rush of disorientation. No matter how much she tried to focus, or force herself into thinking she might actually see it, she could not.
No matter how much she wished to be at Ardvreck with Kaid, she was not.
And tomorrow she would need to find some sort of a distraction to keep from having to marry MacKenzie.
Her hands fisted in the thick sheets beneath her. The poor quality fabric was stiff and scratching where it touched her skin.
She rolled over in an attempt to find a more comfortable position. Again. At this point, she was unable to determine if her restless sleep stemmed from a mattress filled with bumps or a mind filled with thoughts.
“Do you need anything, my lady?” Leasa whispered from her trundle bed beside Delilah’s. Her voice was thick with the effects of sleep.
Guilt nipped at Delilah. She hadn’t meant to wake Leasa. The journey had been taxing on the other woman and she needed the rest.
“I’m fine,” Delilah lied.
Silence answered her, and Delilah assumed the maid had fallen asleep.
“Is it because of the wedding?” Leasa’s voice had lost the heaviness of slumber.
Delilah flinched. “You know?”
“They want me to prepare you first thing in the morning.”
The darkness pressed around Delilah, and suddenly the large bedchamber seemed like a tight box around her. “We have to do something to get out of it.”
There was a long pause. “We have to find a woman here, correct?” Leasa asked.
This time Delilah had divulged the plan to Leasa en route to Edirdovar. It was a risk, in case Leasa accidentally said something she should not, but it was worth it to find Torra more quickly.
The creak of bed ropes indicated Leasa had risen from her bed. “If we look now, we might find her. And if so, could we not leave now?”
Delilah grinned. “That we could.”
There was an erratic thumping clatter from the other side of the room before a beam of moonlight shot into the chamber where Leasa had obviously opened a windo
w. The contrast of such brilliance to the darkness made the room seem as if it were lit as brightly as day.
Delilah slipped out of bed, grateful to no longer be locked in a battle of sleeplessness. “We should go separately. You explore the lower floors. If anyone asks where you are going, tell them you went to the kitchens to fetch me some bread and got lost.”
A believable tale when they were not offered so much as a bannock on their arrival. A ball of hunger gnawed in the pit of Delilah’s stomach.
Leasa pulled a heavy dressing gown over Delilah’s night clothes. “And if I’m caught,” Delilah said, “I’ll say I went looking for you.”
Delilah turned and found Leasa pale, either with fear or perhaps even from the white glow of the moon. Either way, she placed her hands on the maid’s narrow shoulders and gave a reassuring smile. “If we find her tonight, we may leave. And if we do not, we’ll…” Delilah’s own confidence faltered. “We’ll figure out something to keep the wedding at bay.”
Leasa nodded, a gesture sharp with determination.
Together, they slipped into the darkened hall without the luxury of candles to light their paths, lest they call unwanted attention to themselves.
They knew little of Torra MacKenzie, only that she was several years older than Delilah and her hair was a mass of brilliant red curls. Surely her hair would make her easy to find, though neither Delilah nor Leasa saw a woman fitting her description upon their arrival the prior night.
One of the important lessons Delilah had learned with her training was the ability to move silently and blend into shadows. The skill was imperative on a night such as this.
While Leasa was tasked with searching near the kitchens, Delilah made quick work of the upper floors. She avoided the topmost floor, where the servants slept, and the bed chamber above her own in the squared tower, which she assumed to be MacKenzie’s.
Not a single door was locked and every room but hers was empty. Not only without a person within, but also without any furnishings.
The haste with which MacKenzie intended to wed Elizabeth was suddenly becoming clear. Certainly it was not out of affection for the woman, but out of need to fill his surprisingly empty coffers.
It was obvious MacKenzie had no wealth.
No wealth, and no hidden sister.
Delilah’s heart crumpled in her chest when she reached the last empty chamber. Perhaps there was something she hadn’t checked, a room she had might have missed. Would he have hidden Torra away?
Delilah stared out of the empty castle from the stairs on the first floor to where a light rain pattered over the garden outside. Everything was slick and shadowed, but a stone chapel was visible a short distance away.
A chapel.
Consecrated ground.
If Torra was dead, would she not be buried there?
Delilah cleared the rest of the stairs and found a door leading outside. She slid the bar bolting it shut and pushed. The aged hinges gave a squealing groan.
She froze for a moment, and waited an endless second to see if someone would approach her.
Though she’d not seen any guards in the night, she knew them to be present. She’d seen many on her arrival, even if none appeared to be sleeping within the upper floors of the castle. Now that she thought of it, where did all the guards sleep? And why had she not run into a single one?
When no one showed themselves, she slipped outside and left the door slightly cracked. After all, she would be but a moment.
The earth was spongy under her slippered feet, loosened by the rain. The powerful scent of wet soil blended with the sweet perfume of summer flowers blooming. Vines and thick roots crowded the ground underfoot and made picking her way through the overgrown garden more time consuming than anticipated. Delilah kept her steps light yet focused, her concentration fixed on keeping her balance.
Fat blooms hanging from narrow stems bobbed haphazardly in her path and splattered rainwater against her night clothes when she slipped past them.
Though the rain did not come hard, it was substantial enough to soak through Delilah’s overdress and the thin night rail, settling deep into her skin.
She was only just beginning to reconcile the true awfulness of her idea when the church loomed before her. Rainwater gathered at the eaves and trailed like tears down the broken stained glass windows which had once, no doubt, been fine.
Perhaps she ought to turn around. But she was so close.
A quick glance at the lawn behind the sad building revealed several stone markers set deep into the earth and one large jagged rock at the center of the graves. The overgrown plants had not confined their vengeance to the garden, and ran over the large rock in jagged black lines.
A flash of lightning lit the area in a wash of blue white.
The name on the rock was still carved deep despite the weather wear.
T— MacKenzie
Delilah’s heart slid into her stomach. Was that Torra?
A groan of despair tore from her throat. If Torra was dead, there would be no helping the MacLeods.
“Elizabeth!” The irritation in the male voice bit through her concentration.
Delilah darted toward the rock, reaching for the tangle of vines over the name.
She had to see.
She had to know.
Her fingernails raked over the cold, rough stone. Despite the strength of her desperation, only part of the obscuring fauna gave way.
Enough to reveal TOR-
Arms caught her around the waist, pinning her arms to her sides, and pulled her back in a rough gesture. “Have ye lost yer mind?”
Had Delilah not already felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach, she might have fought back.
But there, seeing the grave marker in front of her, was an overwhelming shock. One she truly had not anticipated.
The man who held her whirled her around, revealing the very handsome, very angry face of Laird MacKenzie.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was five days since Delilah’s departure before the dark shape of a distant horse rider was visible on the thin trail over the hills. The early afternoon sun bathed the path in hues of red and orange, leaving the rider’s shadow long across the landscape.
Kaid’s pulse jumped to attention. He glanced at Claire, but did not share what he’d seen. Not yet.
He’d decided to occupy the girl’s time with education, and the little girl had a square of parchment in front of her with several rows of numbers running down the topmost portion.
She held the quill pinched between her fingers, her tongue pushed out between her lips, and carved a number onto the page. The tip of the quill had long since bent, but Claire had not seemed to notice.
Kaid knew if he told her about the rider now, she might never finish. Certainly, she would be too eager for word of Delilah.
No, it would be better to wait for the rider to come to him.
Kaid would spare her the wait he must endure.
He bent over Claire’s work and praised her. Happiness lit her face.
“My da was good with numbers.” Claire proudly squared her shoulders in the same manner as Delilah.
It was hard to concentrate on the story that followed when all Kaid could think of was news of Delilah.
A knock came at the door and Kaid’s heart hammered in his chest.
Lachlan entered the room, something long and awkwardly bundled in plaid in his arms. “Laird, I have yer father’s sword, as promised.”
Kaid thanked the warrior and hefted the sword’s proffered bulk. Claire looked up at him with her lips pursed. Kaid set the sword on the desk, away from Claire’s work.
He ruffled her hair. “Ye may ask after Lady Elizabeth, and then I want ye to go to the kitchens for a bit while I speak with Lachlan, aye?”
Claire slid obediently from the large chair and went to stand in front of the other man. The size difference between the massive warrior and the fragile child was like comparing a bear to a kitten.
>
“Lachlan, can ye tell me how Lady Elizabeth fares?” she asked in her fragile voice. The look on her face was so openly hopeful, it near tore into Kaid’s chest. “Does she miss me?”
Lachlan knelt in front of the girl and offered a kind smile. “She’s doing verra well and misses ye terribly.”
Claire beamed up at him with wide, unsuppressed joy and threw her arms around Lachlan’s neck. “Thank ye.”
Lachlan waited until she released him before he rose. Reassured “Elizabeth” was well, Claire strode toward the door, gave them both a shy wave, and slipped out.
Having the child leave the room was like walking from a beam of sunlight into the shadows. Lachlan’s smile melted from his face and was replaced by his more common stern expression.
The time for placating niceties was done.
Lachlan nodded to where the sword was wrapped still on the table. “It looked like yer da’s sword, but I wasna certain.”
Kaid carefully unwound the plaid from the sword to reveal the wide pommel lined with twisted leather and the ornate image of a bull’s head glaring stubbornly at him. The tension in his body washed away. “Aye, it’s my da’s blade.”
He stared down at it for a long moment and saw in his mind the countless times his father had brandished the blade. Something in Kaid’s chest flinched with a deep, unacknowledged hurt.
Kaid had stepped so quickly into the role of laird, and had been so overwhelmed by the loss of so many innocent villagers, he hadn’t allowed himself to truly grieve his father’s death.
The sorrow settled now across his shoulders, heavy and stifling.
He pressed the heels of his palms on either side of the desk’s surface. “And Lady Elizabeth?”
“I delivered her safely to MacKenzie who took her inside,” Lachlan answered. “I heard the servants talking. He intended to wed her the day after she arrived.”
A chill descended over Kaid’s entire body, like he’d been plunged into a loch midwinter. “Today,” he said.
Lachlan nodded. Exhaustion lined his young face, evidence he’d ridden most likely all day and night to arrive with the news. “Aye. It would appear he readily accepted yer offer of peace and is going along with everything as promised.”
Highland Ruse: Mercenary Maidens - Book Two Page 17
