The Highlander's Keep

by Bess McBride

  Mrs. Mackay spoke to me.

  “Can ye sit, lass? Where is your injury?”

  “I hurt my back. Yes, I think I can sit in a chair now.”

  Iskair set me down in a chair, and I gripped the arms, waiting for the spasms to pass.

  “What are ye going to do, Iskair? Ye ken Angus! He is away with Murdo, but they return this evening. She is no safe around Angus.”

  “I dinna ken, Mrs. Mackay. I have no place to hide her, and the men will speak out. Can ye find her a room until I talk to Murdo? She tells me she is an English viscount’s daughter and worth a goodly ransom. Murdo would be pleased to hear that.”

  “Aye, so would Angus.”

  “With my virtue intact!” I added.

  Mrs. Mackay turned to look at me, gray brows lifting in surprise.

  “She speaks! And that is no an English accent.”

  “It is, actually. I’ve traveled abroad, sooo...”

  “Aye, traveling, is it? Well then, English ye are. Are ye kin to the Morrisons?”

  “No, I was just visiting.”

  “Who were ye visiting?” Mrs. Mackay asked.

  “Do you know them all?” I arched an eyebrow.

  “I doooo,” she said.

  She had called my bluff. I had to say something.

  “Ann Morrison, the laird’s wife.”

  “Ann! How is the lass? I heard she had twin bairns! They must be so bonny!”

  I stared at the housekeeper, open mouthed. The affection in her voice was unmistakable.

  “You know Ann?”

  “Aye, Ann was brought here as a captive a year ago.” The housekeeper leaned in to whisper. “I was a Morrison before I married. Iskair’s mother was a Morrison.”

  I turned to look at Iskair, whose face reddened. He looked daggers at Mrs. Mackay

  “Wheesht, woman! Say no more.”

  “Ye are right. I will hide the lass in one of the rooms until ye can speak to Murdo.”

  “Everyone is a Morrison?”

  “Say naethin!” Iskair muttered as he bent to pick me up. “Murdo disna care to be reminded that his cousin married a Morrison, and it is best the Macleod forget his housekeeper was born a Morrison.”

  We followed Mrs. Mackay down low-ceilinged stone hallways and up an impossibly narrow, steep spiral staircase to another low-ceilinged hallway where the housekeeper stopped at an arched doorway and pushed opened the door. She stepped back, and Iskair carried me into a small bedroom.

  Muted red velvet upholstery, curtains and bed hangings warmed the stone room, along with a nondescript tartan carpet. The oak furniture—several chairs, a small oval table and a dresser—shone with polish. I noted a small white porcelain tub behind an embroidered screen, and a stone fireplace at one end of the room. The luxury in the castle was a far cry from the deprivations on Dun Eistean, and I pitied the Morrisons the loss of their home.

  “Her ladyship stayed in this room when she was here,” Mrs. Mackay said.

  “Her ladyship?” I asked as Iskair set me down on the four-poster bed.

  “Ann. I was ever so sorry to hear about Mary. It broke my heart that I could no attend her funeral. Broke my heart. The poor wee motherless bairns.”

  I glanced at Iskair in confusion.

  “I don’t understand, Mrs. Mackay. If you’re a Morrison, why are you here?”

  The housekeeper looked at me with sad sky-blue eyes.

  “Ann asked me that verra question. The Macleod had need of a housekeeper. I ken the castle. I was born here, in service all my life. The Morrisons will come home someday, and I will be here when they do. In the meantime, I do what I can to protect it.”

  Her love for the place was evident. I turned to Iskair.

  “So enough wheeshting from you. Do you consider yourself a Macaulay or a Morrison? I take it your loyalties lie with the Macaulays?”

  He ran a hand through his curly shoulder-length dark hair and sidestepped, literally.

  “Dinna fash about my allegiances, mistress. They are my concern.” He smiled to soften his words. Unlike Torq, he smiled readily and warmly.

  It was hard not to like him, so I did. I trusted him, but I didn’t know if he had the power to protect me. I even thought about disclosing my subterfuge, that I wasn’t, in fact, an heiress, but I decided against the idea. No matter how charming and open Iskair’s smile was, he was part of a group of marauders who had kidnapped me...and bashed me over the head.

  I put a hand to the knot on my head to remind myself that no one was to be trusted.

  “I should go now,” Iskair said. “The lads will wonder what has become of me. Perhaps ye should rest.”

  “Oh! Do you have to go?”

  I knew, of course, that he did. I was just clinging to him.

  “Aye, lass. He is right,” Mrs. Mackay said. “The lads will look for him, and Iskair must speak to Murdo afore the lads have a chance to tell the chieftains about the raid...and the taking of ye. If we are to keep ye hidden until Murdo decides what to do wi ye, then he must go. I will bring ye some soup and bread and a bit of water to wash yer face and hands,” Mrs. Mackay said.

  I glanced at the door, noting it had a lock.

  “Dinna try to run, lass,” Iskair said, catching my glance. “They are as like to kill ye as recapture ye.”

  “I ken I must lock her in for her protection. Angus...” Mrs. Mackay said with a lift of her eyebrow.

  “Angus what?” I asked in a raspy voice.

  “Dinna fash, lass. I have the keys.” With that cryptic comment, Mrs. Mackay guided the much-larger Iskair out of the room.

  He threw a last reassuring look toward me before she closed the door. I heard a key in the lock.

  “I can’t just lay here,” I whispered. “I have to get up. Back, you just have to let me move!”

  Gritting my teeth, I slid my legs over the edge of the bed and lowered them to the floor. I rotated slowly to brace my hands on the bed, then inched around the frame, heading for a small slit in the stone wall that passed for a window. When I came close enough, I launched myself at the window, clinging to the sill, and I looked down into the enclosure that served as a courtyard.

  Iskair emerged from down below, and I watched as he crossed the courtyard and entered another section of the castle. I hated to see my so-called protector disappear, and I dreaded what was about to come. I hoped that Murdo Macaulay would take me up on my offer of ransom for my unviolated self, giving me some small reprieve as I tried to figure out what to do.

  Had I been intact, whole and hardy, I would have made a run for it at some point. But I was largely crippled. Escape under my own power was impossible.

  Rather than sidle back to the bed, I propped myself on the sill and lay there until I heard the key in the lock. Mrs. Mackay entered with a young, petite brown-haired aproned maid who carried a tray of food. The housekeeper carried a porcelain jug of steaming water, which she set on a dresser next to a porcelain basin and linen towel.

  “Mistress Dunnon! I didna think ye could stand!”

  I looked over my shoulder, unwilling to rotate.

  “I can’t really. I’m just hanging here.”

  “Igrid, set the tray on the table and run along, there’s a good lass!”

  The maid did so without question and left the room without a backward glance.

  “Come, lass. Sit down at the table and have yer food.”

  Mrs. Mackay spun me around, and I cried out at the sudden motion. Her eyes widened, and she dropped her hands.

  “Auch, lass. I am so sorry. I didna ken ye were in such pain.”

  “No, that’s okay. You didn’t know. I keep waiting for the pain to go away, but it doesn’t.”

  “I might have something in my stores to help ye. I will fetch it directly. Can I help ye to the table?”

  I nodded, and she let me lean on her while I sidestepped toward the table. I eased onto the chair, thrusting my legs out and leaning back in an effort to maintain some sort of straight postur
e.

  “Ye will no be able to spoon yer soup like that,” the housekeeper said with a half smile.

  “I’ll manage,” I said with a grim lift of my lips.

  “Then I will go fetch something to ease yer pain.”

  She left, and I reached for the porcelain bowl and brought it to my lips, no spoon involved. I drank the tasty carrot soup down as fast as my mouth could hold it. Then I reached for a slice of the oat bread.

  I was munching on the last of the bread when Mrs. Mackay returned, carrying with her a tankard and a vial of something clear.

  “I have brought ye some ale and something for yer pain.”

  “Oh!” I said. “What is it?”

  “It is just a mixture I make.”

  “But, Mrs. Mackay, what’s in it? I can’t drink the ale if I don’t know what’s in the mixture.”

  She looked a little huffy, and I regretted insulting her. Still, I wasn’t going to mix herbs with alcohol if I didn’t know what it was.

  “It is wild poppy.”

  “Poppy?” My eyes widened.

  “Aye. Pour a wee bit in yer ale, and ye will sleep in no time.”

  I smiled faintly. “Thank you.” I made a pretense of drinking the ale but really only sipped the bitter liquid.

  “I think the ale will put me right to sleep even without the poppy,” I said, feeling as if I spoke the truth.

  “Verra well. I must return to the kitchen. Angus and Murdo will return in a few hours and will be wanting something to eat.”

  She helped me to the bed, and I lay down.

  “I will return to check on ye later.”

  I nodded and watched the door close. Despite my anxieties, my eyes closed almost instantly.

  I awakened to the sight of daylight still peeping in through the window, and I crawled out of the bed. Nature called, and in the absence of a separate door, I assumed a chamber pot hid under the bed. There was nothing I could do. I had to slither down to my hands and knees to check.

  Not surprised to find a porcelain bowl, I pulled it out, wondering how on earth I was going to manage. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed the bed frame and pulled myself to my knees. I hiked my skirts up around my waist, positioned the pot and relieved myself.

  After pushing the pot back under the bed, I lowered myself into a heap on the floor while I waited for the pain to pass. I studied the stonework on the walls for a few minutes until I realized that sounds of activity outside the window had increased dramatically. Dogs barked, people shouted and the sound of horses’ hooves clopped on packed dirt.

  I steeled myself to crawl over to the window, the tartan carpet softening the journey on my knees. I pulled myself up and looked out.

  A group of mounted Highlanders milled about in the enclosure. My attention immediately zeroed in on two older men toward whom all attention focused—both large and burly, one sporting the Macaulay mustard-yellow tartan, the other blue-green.

  I spotted Iskair, who came out of the building that I’d seen him enter earlier. He looked up toward my window as if he could see me, but I doubted he could from his vantage point unless I stuck my head out.

  He stood by while Murdo Macaulay dismounted and leaned in to speak to his cousin. Angus Macleod slid off his horse, and two men led the horses away toward the stables. Murdo looked toward Angus, nodded to Iskair, and then clapped his much-younger cousin on the back.

  The two chieftains headed for the section of the castle below me, probably to the great room. A group of men followed them. Iskair set his hands on his elbows and looked up at my window again. I realized then that he actually could see me. I leaned out slightly and lifted my hand in greeting.

  He nodded, gestured that I should step out of sight, and followed the men into the great hall.

  I looked over my shoulder as if a knock was imminent on my door, but no one came. I supposed that was good news.

  Chapter Twelve

  Fifteen minutes passed, and still no one came. I worked my way around the room, grabbing onto furniture, toward the jug of water on the dresser. The water, now barely lukewarm, held a lavender smell. I washed my face and hands and dried off with the linen towel.

  Feeling a little bit refreshed, I turned and surveyed the room, unsure of what to do with myself. I didn’t want to lie down on the bed if someone was coming for me. I would have felt too vulnerable lying in the bed, too suggestive. I thought about slumping down into the chair, but that hadn’t been particularly comfortable. My feet were tired from standing. I looked down at the tartan carpet. It was the floor for me. I lowered myself carefully and sprawled out on my side to stare at the sky through the open window.

  I finally allowed myself to think about Torq. I hoped he hadn’t been too badly hurt, as Iskair had indicated. I suspected Torq would probably worry about me. I knew Ann would, but I really thought there was little they could do. Nothing, in fact. I doubted if John had any money for ransom. I suspected his money was tied up in the castle and surrounding property, which were no longer his.

  It was up to me to get myself out of this fix, and I hoped that Iskair had convinced his cousin to hold me for ransom...to protect me for ransom.

  The sound of a key in the lock caught my attention, and I looked up. Iskair stood in the doorway, looking down at me with an expression of concern. He shut the door behind him and hurried to my side.

  “Did ye fall, lass?”

  He started to pull me from the floor, and I moaned.

  “No, I was just laying there. The chair is uncomfortable. I was tired of standing, and I wasn’t about to be caught dead in a bed.”

  He supported me in a standing position.

  “Well, if ye canna stand and ye canna sit or lie down, what am I to do wi ye?”

  “Ideally, you could just carry me out of here, and off we go! Drop me off at the nearest village or something...away from here.”

  I gave him a half smile.

  “Ye ken I canna do such, lass,” he said earnestly, apparently unaware that I was half joking. “My cousin wants to meet wi ye. I confided in him, and he has no spoken to Angus yet. It is a problem though. If Angus discovers that Murdo has hidden a source of ransom—and a lass—from him, he will no take kindly to such.”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “We leave tomorrow for Broder Castle. Ye will stay here until tonight, when I will spirit ye out of the castle. We will await Murdo and the lads and meet them on the way, no one the wiser.”

  “What about the men you were with? Won’t they tell Angus about me?”

  “Nay, they are Macaulay lads, loyal to the Macaulay. I have spoken to them, promising a share of the ransom.”

  He looked down at me.

  “Ye spoke the truth when ye said yer family would pay a ransom for ye?”

  I blinked and looked up at him.

  “Oh yes! Yes, they will. You bet!”

  “Verra well. I will return at midnight for ye. Mrs. Mackay will send ye some supper. Try to rest. Where shall I set ye?”

  “Well, I guess the bed,” I said. “How badly was Torq hurt?” I asked as he supported me to the bed.

  “Torq? I told ye, no bad at all. I wasna there, mind, but they said they left him alive. I told ye he is hard to kill.”

  “Have you tried to kill him before?” I settled back onto the pillows.

  Iskair, on the point of leaving, turned.

  “Aye, my mother thought so when we were wee laddies.”

  “Wee laddies?”

  Iskair looked toward the door.

  “Torq is my cousin. I am verra angry that the lads hurt him, but there was naethin I could do about it after the fact. I am in a difficult position.”

  “Why are you even here, Iskair? Why would you attack the keep? They’re your family too. I don’t understand.”

  “I ken ye dinna understand, Mistress Dunnon. These are matters of which ye dinna need to understand. Trust me.”

  “I’m not sure how to trust you. I trust you with my safety, bu
t only you, and I have no idea where your allegiances lie. You’re an enigma, Iskair.”

  He smiled. “As ye wish. I must return to the hall. Rest.”

  He shut the door behind him, and unfortunately, I heard the key in the lock again. With little else to do, I closed my eyes and slept.

  I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when I heard a knock on the door. No one entered, and I called out groggily.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened, and the tall, burly chieftain that I’d seen in the courtyard entered, followed by Iskair.

  I gasped and pushed myself upright, swinging my feet over the bed. No matter how much my back shrieked at the motion, the sudden rush of alarm coursing through my body allowed me to move quickly. I was not going to be found lying on a bed. I just wasn’t.

  Long, stringy gray hair hung down the sides of his rounded face. His beard and mustache were more white than gray. Dark eyes buried in fleshy eyelids stared at me. His great kilt seemed larger than Iskair’s, and I assumed it was because he had a lot of body mass to cover. A jeweled brooch secured his sash to a dark jacket.

  I pushed myself off the bed to stand, keeping one hand braced on the mattress. I shot a look beyond Murdo Macaulay toward Iskair, who assumed a deferential stance that I hadn’t seen him exhibit before.

  “How much do ye ken yer family will give for ye?” Murdo began abruptly. His teeth were in poor shape.

  Iskair spoke up.

  “Mistress Dunnon, may I present our chieftain, Laird Murdo Macaulay?”

  I refused to curtsey and wasn’t even sure if I was supposed to.

  “Aye, of course, introductions. Mistress Dunnon. Pleased to meet ye. Now, how much do ye ken yer family will give for ye? Iskair tells me that yer father is an English viscount?”

  “Yes,” I said briefly with the feeling that every time I lied about my wealthy viscount father, I was digging my grave even deeper. “He’ll pay the ransom, but I think the English might have something to say about my kidnapping.” I couldn’t believe I was complicating matters even further by dragging the English into the conversation, like a threat.