by Gwyn Brodie
"Wait here," said the guard before disappearing inside the castle, leaving a second guard to keep a wary eye on them. A few minutes later, the first man returned. "The laird will see you after you take your horses to the stables, but first, you must leave your weapons here."
Galen quickly lowered his sleeve before the guard could see the small blade strapped to his forearm, then handed over his broadsword, targe and two dirks. He didn't wish to deal with MacPherson without having any weapon at all.
Once Cinead and Duncan had followed suit, laying down their arms, the guard opened the portcullis, waited until the three men passed through, then lowered it again.
After handing over their horses at the stables, they headed up to the castle. A sense of foreboding lay heavy on Galen's shoulders, and he stayed alert for any sign of treachery, for he didn't ken MacPherson and wasn't sure what to expect from him. He didn't want the three of them to end up in the dungeon alongside Ewan. Several well-armed guards followed them into the great hall and took up position in the center of the room facing them.
A man with long, black hair, near Galen's own age, rose from a settle near the fire. "I'm Alexander MacPherson, Laird of Blackstone. Which of you is the MacKinnon?"
Galen stepped forward. "'I am, and 'tis my brother that you hold here. I've come to fetch him."
Alexander scowled and shook his head. "'Tis not so simple a matter as that, MacKinnon. He'll not be going anywhere."
Anger burned a path through Galen's veins. "Ewan is but ten and six," he said through clenched teeth. He ached to plant his fist on the man's chin, sending him flying across the floor.
MacPherson's eyes narrowed. "Aye, and plenty old enough to be responsible for his misdeeds," he growled.
"What has he done that is so terrible you insist he remain here as your captive?" Galen's hands clenched into fists. Gaining his brother his freedom was going to be harder than he'd thought.
"Och, I'll tell you then." He shoved his fingers through his hair and narrowed his eyes. "The breeding stock at Blackstone has the reputation of being the best horseflesh in all the Highlands. While in France earlier this year, I purchased a magnificent stallion. I paid much more for him than I should have, but I desperately wanted him. I then brought him here to further my breeding program."
Galen blew out a breath. "I've not come here to learn about your breeding program, MacPherson, so get on with it then."
MacPherson paused, presenting Galen with an angry glare before continuing. "While passing through MacPherson land, your brother—who later informed me he was staying with his sister a few miles away—came across my stallion and took it upon himself to ride him without permission, which, of course, would not have been granted in the first place. The horse was purchased for breeding purposes and has only been ridden a few times. It takes a mighty strong hand to control the animal."
Galen shook his head. "I don't yet see the problem. Did he try to steal the horse?" Surely his brother wasn't destined to become a horse thief. His father and sister, Elizabeth, would be devastated if it was true.
"Nay, he didn't actually steal the stallion, but the horse was too much for the lad to handle and he ended up taking him through a stoutly built fence."
A wave of fear surged over Galen. "Was Ewan injured?"
MacPherson snorted. "Naught but a few minor cuts and bruises. 'Twas my prize stallion that suffered multiple injuries to his legs and body from the splintering wood. At the moment, the animal is hardly able to stand, let alone breed. I have two mares ready and the stallion I wanted to sire their foals is of no use to me. And I've lost a substantial amount of funds, for the foals have been promised. I've already received payment for each—which must now be reimbursed."
Galen blew out a long breath. "I agree Ewan's actions were foolish. He deserves some sort of punishment, and I'll see to it myself. What is the amount of payment that will release him to me?"
"Och, payment! I'll not be taking your payment," he shouted, clearly angered by Galen's suggestion. "The lad stays in the dungeon where he belongs. If the horse heals properly and is able to perform his duties, I'll allow your brother to leave. If not, I'll leave his punishment to the Privy Council."
A blade of panic stabbed at Galen. "Why, you arrogant bastard. I should beat you within an inch of your life," he said, drawing back his fist and taking a step toward MacPherson.
Cinead grabbed his shoulder. "Do you not see the many guards who watch us, my friend?" he whispered. "If you strike him we'll have no other choice than to fight our way out of here—without Ewan."
Galen nodded. He had to see Ewan. But after his outburst, MacPherson might not allow him to. He unclenched his fist and lowered his arm. "Forgive my loss of temper. Might I at least see my brother before we leave here? I would like to send word to my father that he is well."
The laird hesitated, then nodded to one of the guards, who disappeared through a door at the end of the great hall. "Your brother will arrive here shortly. But if you're thinking of taking him by force, MacKinnon, I'd think again. My guards will be on alert for any sign of trickery," MacPherson said, before disappearing up the stairs.
After several minutes, footsteps brought Galen's head around to see Ewan come through the door.
"Galen," Ewan shouted, running across the room and throwing his arms around him, while the guard looked on. "I'm so glad to see you. Laird MacPherson is keeping me prisoner." Shoulder-length hair, the same dark shade as Galen's, framed his round face and his brown eyes were the exact color of their mother's.
"Ewan, I ken." Galen quickly looked him over. Except for a scrape down the right side of his face, he looked none the worse for wear. "How long have you been in the dungeon, lad?"
"Over a week, but the laird doesn't make me stay down there all the time. He allows me to help in the stables for most of the day. 'Tis my job to tend Philippe."
"Philippe?"
"Aye. The stallion that received injury because of me. I don't mind looking after him. I like the horse."
"Ah." Perhaps Laird MacPherson wasn't as heartless as Galen had at first thought him to be. But no matter. Once the authorities got involved, Ewan would be treated much worse—perhaps even hanged. Children as young as nine were sometimes held in jail for stealing food even though they were starving.
Ewan peered around Galen and smiled. "Cin, Duncan, glad to see you, too."
"Likewise, lad. We came along to keep an eye on this brother of yours," Cinead said, slapping Galen on the shoulder.
Ewan chuckled.
Galen hadn't seen Ewan in a couple of months and couldn't believe how much he'd grown. He was near as tall as Galen. Aye, he was a lanky lad, but with a little meat on his bones, he would someday make a formidable warrior. "What gave you the foolish notion to ride that horse, lad?" Galen asked, wanting naught more than to tan his brother's hide for causing so much trouble.
Ewan shrugged, then his eyes lit up with excitement. "You should see him, Galen. He's something to look at—a real piece of horseflesh. I just wanted to ride him for a bit, but he headed for the fence. He wore no reins, and I had no way to turn him or slow him down. All I could do was hold on to his mane. 'Twas a ride I'll not soon forget."
"It appears neither will MacPherson. He said you received no major injury. Did you?"
He shook his head. "Scrapes, scratches—and a few bruises here and there, but naught more."
"I'm glad to hear that. Was it you who sent the missive to father?"
"Nay, 'twas Elizabeth. Will McIntyre was with me and went to fetch her after the stable master dragged me to the castle."
Their poor sister must have been frightened out of her mind. After their mother died giving birth to Ewan, Elizabeth, then only thirteen, had taken over the job of mother. Eight years later, when she married the earl, the lad had gone with her. He'd been going back and forth between Moorloch Castle and the earl's and Elizabeth's manor house ever since.
"How does our sister fare? 'Tis not long before the bairn is to be bir
thed."
"She is well." Ewan let out a long sigh. "She and the earl visit me almost every day. He won't allow her to come alone." He hung his head. "She just looks at me and weeps."
He had to secure Ewan's freedom for Elizabeth's sake as well as his own. Being so upset couldn't be good for her or the bairn. If the horse healed, MacPherson said he would free him. But Galen couldn't take that chance. What if the stallion never healed? Nay, he couldn't wait and see what happened. He had to get him away from there. The sooner the better. But now wasn't the time. They were surrounded by MacPherson guards who watched them like a hungry pack of wolves, ready to pounce and sink their teeth in at any moment. He needed a plan, and then he would return for his brother.
He grasped Ewan's shoulders and whispered in his ear. "Don't fash yourself, lad. I'll be back soon to get you. Be strong, until I see you again."
Ewan nodded, his smile fading.
With a heavy heart, Galen watched the guard take Ewan back toward the dungeon. But before disappearing from sight, he turned around and looked at Galen, reminding him of when Ewan was about eight-years-old. An earl's son, who was a couple years older, punched Ewan in the stomach. He doubled over with pain, but refused to let the other boy see him cry. Galen had known then—just as he did now—the tears were there.
After retrieving their horses, MacPherson's guards escorted them to the portcullis and carefully watched them until the gates' iron jaws were shut tight.
They dismounted and reclaimed their weapons.
"What are you going to do now, Galen?" Duncan asked, keeping his voice low, as he strapped on his broadsword.
Galen let out a long breath. "I don't ken just yet." He secured the two dirks to his belt, shoved his broadsword into its scabbard and picked up his targe.
"Whatever 'tis you decide to do, Duncan and I will be with you," Cinead said, his blond brows lowered over pale blue eyes. He swung onto the back of his horse, Shadowmere.
"That, I already ken," he said, grinning broadly. "Let's ride into the village and find something to eat. Perhaps I'll be able to think better when I get some food in my belly."
"I'm with you," Duncan said, grinning and patting his flat stomach.
Before they headed toward the village, Galen glanced up at the castle. MacPherson watched them from a second level window. He had to think of a way to get the laird to release Ewan. Galen intended to make absolutely certain the authorities never got their hands on his brother—even if it meant taking him by force.
Chapter Two
Dread filled Sorcha as she slipped on her cloak, then stuffed a small leather pouch filled with coins into the hidden pocket she'd had Inna stitch near the hem. She lingered in her bedchamber as long as she dared, before making her way downstairs for the evening meal. She didn't wish to be near Archibald Campbell any more than deemed necessary.
As she made her way across Clifftower Castle's crowded great hall, she dared a glance at Archibald, already seated at the high table and near finished with his meal.
He frowned when he spotted her, then drained his goblet of wine and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.
She blew out a long breath. He'd have a great deal to say about her late arrival, she was certain. But the less time she was forced to spend with him, the better.
As usual, the great hall overflowed with people partaking in the last meal of the day. At the back of the room, an elderly man played the bagpipes, while a group of young men argued as they recounted a recent hunting trip. A cluster of children in the far corner of the room squealed with delight as a boy tossed scraps high into the air, only to be caught in the enormous jaws of two massive wolfhounds.
Once she reached Archibald's table, Sorcha reluctantly took a seat beside him. Not that she had any appetite, nor had she, since the night, near a week ago, she'd caught him in the solar trying to seduce Ellie, the servant girl. The following morning he began to physically abuse Sorcha, and her eyes had been opened to his true character. But if all went as planned, after tonight she'd never have to see him again.
Now, she did her best to ignore him, keeping her gaze averted to the colorful tapestry hanging above the massive fireplace nearby. She tore off a small piece of bread and stuffed it into her mouth.
Archibald growled his annoyance. "Each meal your arrival is later than the last. When I break my fast on the morrow, you'll be here beside me. If you're not, I'll be fetching you myself. Is that clear, Sorcha?"
"Aye, 'tis clear," she said without looking his way.
He snorted. "Surely you're not still angry about what happened in the solar. 'Tis something you must learn to accept for I'll not be changing my ways." Then his face broke into a lecherous grin. "I promise your anger will subside once I have you in my bed. You'll not be disappointed when I take my pleasure."
Sorcha forced back a gag. The very thought of him touching her in such an intimate manner disgusted her. She had no intention of ever finding herself in his bed. And since she had been made aware of his indiscretions, Archibald no longer tried to hide his actions. He did as he pleased, and no one at Clifftower dared object, for, she'd been told in whispered conservations with both the servants and residents, they feared for their safety if they were to ever go against their laird's wishes.
Archibald's fingers suddenly gripped her knee, then slowly slid up her thigh.
She stiffened and her stomach tensed. He'd taken to putting his hands on her whenever he had the opportunity, and Sorcha didn't like it even a wee bit. She shoved his hand away and readied herself for the retaliation she knew would come.
Anger flashed through Archibald's black eyes. He growled and grabbed the back of her upper arm, digging his nails into her soft flesh until she winced. "My dear Sorcha," he whispered against her ear through clenched teeth, "surely you've not forgotten we are to be married within a fortnight?"
Pain radiated into her shoulder and her eyes filled with tears. She shook her head. "Nay," she said, forcing herself not to cry out.
Over the past week Sorcha had grown more and more afraid of him. She never knew what he would do next, or what would set him off. Archibald often pinched her if others were about and might see him. Sometimes when they were alone, he would strike her for no apparent reason—but not her face, for he was careful to only do so where clothing would cover the markings. He was a cruel man, and Sorcha carried many bruises along her back, arms and shoulders to prove it true. She shuddered to think of his treatment of her should she marry him—which she wasn't about to do.
In the beginning, she had fought back, but 'twas no use. He was much larger and stronger. How her fingers itched to bury the blade of her sgian dubh into his black heart. But if she tried and failed, he'd have killed her for sure.
As if her daily torment wasn't enough, she'd started having nightmares about Archibald. On several nights Inna had shaken her awake, as Sorcha had taken to screaming in her sleep. Once she was fully awake, she would find her heart pounding against her ribs, and her body trembling and drenched with sweat.
Just when she thought she could no longer bear the excruciating pain he was inflicting upon her, his elderly steward appeared and Archibald loosened his grip on her arm.
The old man whispered something into his ear, then disappeared into the crowd.
Archibald smiled at her as if naught had happened. She despised his smile. It was cold, empty and meaningless. "I must leave you now, for I've an important matter to attend to in the library. It shouldn't take long. When I return, we'll retire to our bedchambers together."
He leaned forward, intent on kissing her on the lips, but she quickly turned her head, forcing him to kiss her cheek. He frowned, but said naught. Sorcha knew she would pay dearly for her obstinacy sooner or later—she always did.
She massaged her aching arm, as she waited for Archibald to leave the great hall, then breathed a sigh of relief. His being called away was a Godsend. It afforded Sorcha the opportunity she'd been waiting for.
Several of
the Campbell guards were easily bribed into helping her escape, but she had yet to provide them with any sort of payment. She feared if she didn't pay them soon, they'd refuse to follow through with their part of the bargain. And she couldn't allow that to happen. Sorcha was determined not to remain under Clifftower's roof for one more day.
Sorcha made certain no one was watching, then nodded to Angus, one of the two MacPherson guards Alex had left with her, before he returned to Blackstone castle.
Angus took a step toward her, but she quickly waved him away. Garreth Campbell, head of the Campbell guards and Archibald's nephew, was heading right for her. Though she liked the handsome young man with the long, dark hair and sparkling blue eyes, his timing couldn't have been any worse.
Garreth smiled, taking a seat on the bench across from Sorcha. "M'lady, I wish to apologize to you for my uncle's unpleasant behavior. He has no right to treat you as he does," he said, his earlier smile having disappeared altogether.
Since her arrival at Clifftower, Sorcha had often caught him watching her, and was well aware of the fact that he cared for her. "'Tis most noble of you to say so, Garreth, but I'm afraid there is naught you—nor I—can do about it." She usually enjoyed his company, but now she prayed he'd not stay for long. Sorcha had to make certain the Campbell guards received payment as soon as possible. She couldn't take a chance on them changing their minds.
He frowned. "I spoke with my uncle earlier today regarding his ill treatment of you. But I fear he wouldn't listen. He told me to mind my own business and that you were his and not mine." His gaze dropped to her mouth. "If you were mine…" he whispered. Then realizing what he just said, his face reddened and he quickly got to his feet, almost tipping the bench over in the process. "I'm afraid I must leave you to attend to my duties. I bid you goodnight, m'lady," he said before hurrying out of the room and disappearing into the night.
Sorcha stared at the entrance to the great hall, whispering a silent prayer, asking for a few moments longer, then nodded to Angus, who quickly moved to her side. She pretended to have him help with her cloak, so she could remove the small leather pouch of coins from the hidden pocket, then discretely tucked it into his belt.
