The Highlander's Keep (Searching for a Highlander Book 2)

by Bess McBride

  Murdo looked over his shoulder toward Iskair.

  “Scrappy lass. The English dinna concern themselves overmuch in our affairs up here in the Western Isles, though to be sure they might be interested in the taking of a viscount’s daughter. If yer family pays promptly, ye can be home within a month.”

  “A month!” I protested feebly. I almost forgot that his estimate didn’t matter. I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Aye. A fortnight to demand the ransom, a fortnight to deliver it. That is, of course, if yer father pays and disna contact the army. I should have ye write a note to him along with the ransom demand. Can ye write?”

  “Yes,” I said, the knot in my stomach growing. I was in way over my head. Where was I supposed to address this note?

  “Verra well then. That is settled. Ye shall stay here in yer room until Iskair comes for ye tonight. Iskair will bring notepaper. I believe the lad explained the situation to ye, that it would be best if Angus Macleod didna ken of yer existence.”

  “Because he would want to keep me for the ransom?”

  “Aye, that is the truth. Having seen ye for myself, ye dinna want Angus to ken ye’re in the castle anyway. It wouldna be good for ye. He is...fond of the lasses, ye ken.”

  “I ken,” I said with a racing heart.

  “Aye, there is many a bairn here at the castle with Macleod blood now. Ye would have to be as auld as Mrs. Mackay to be spared such a fate.”

  I thought about poor Igrid.

  Iskair spoke up as if he read my mind.

  “Mrs. Mackay disna allow such liberties wi her lasses.”

  “Nay, most likely no,” Murdo said with a wide grin of damaged teeth. “I mind my manners around the woman. She has a sharp tongue.”

  Iskair chuckled.

  I didn’t smile.

  “It is time for me to join Angus and the lads for supper. A pleasure to meet ye, Mistress Dunnon. I will see ye tomorrow. We will send a lad off with a note after we leave Ardmore Castle.” Murdo turned and left the room.

  Iskair lingered for a moment. “I think Mrs. Mackay will have supper sent up soon,” he said. “Eat and rest. Until tonight.”

  He turned and followed Murdo from the room, locking the door behind him. I relieved myself and washed again, everything taking five times longer than it should.

  Within a half hour, a knock on the door brought Igrid with a tray. She set the tray down on the table before moving over to the fireplace to light two candles on the mantel. She returned to the table to clear away the soiled bowl, spoon and tankard from my lunch.

  “Are you a Macleod, Igrid?”

  The mousy-brown-haired maid paused, holding the silver tray in her hands.

  “A Macleod?” she repeated. Brown eyes slid away from mine, and I suspected she stalled more than failed to understand the question.

  “Yes, what clan do you affiliate with?”

  “Auch, mistress, I dinna think I should say. Do ye need anything else?”

  “I won’t tell anyone.”

  She blew out an air of some sort of emotion and shook her head.

  “Nay, I am no Macleod!”

  “But Mrs. Mackay protects you? From Angus Macleod? I heard he’s...”

  “Aye, he is...” she agreed with a fervent shake of her head. “There are no Macleod women here at the castle. The men didna bring their own womenfolk.”

  “So everyone is a Morrison?”

  She looked toward the door. “Or cousin to the Morrisons, aye. We dinna speak of it though.”

  “Do you have family at Dun Eistean?”

  “No. My family was carried away by the grippe.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Mrs. Mackay is like a mother to me. If there is naethin else?”

  “No, thank you.”

  She left, and I lowered myself gingerly onto the chair to eat. Mrs. Mackay had prepared a delicious stew that I ate with appreciation. Oatcakes, every bit as tasty as Mistress Glick’s, filled my stomach.

  Surprised at my hearty appetite, I cleaned off my plate and pulled myself up to the window ledge to look out over the courtyard. Twilight had descended, and torches had been lit throughout the courtyard, some on walls, some in stands, a bit like tiki torches. The hum of castle life continued, probably given the unusually dry weather of the day.

  Gaggles of people gathered in various groupings, perhaps listening to stories. I couldn’t make out faces or details of their activities, but I imagined that was what I would do on a fairly warm summer night in the absence of TV.

  Men and women entered and exited the tower below me, I suspected going in and out of the great hall.

  I returned to the bed to stretch out and stare at the velvet bed hangings until I drowsed myself into sleep. Having expected Iskair’s return, I awakened instantly when I heard the key in the lock. The candles had burned down apparently, and I whispered in the darkness.

  “Iskair?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I called out again, this time my voice a little louder.

  “Iskair?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Iskair?” I whispered again, pushing myself upright and hoping adrenaline would propel me through what might happen next.

  “Hush, aye, it is me. Dinna awaken the castle, lass!”

  The door closed behind him.

  “Well, you didn’t answer, and I thought...Angus...”

  “As well ye might,” he said. I felt him touch my arm on the bed. There seemed to be no moon to lighten the room.

  “I have brought paper and pen. Murdo wants his note.”

  Iskair laid something dark down on the bed and helped me sit up. He left me there then, crossing the room to light one of the candles on the mantel. He returned to help me rise from the bed. I was still fully dressed, my shoes on my feet.

  “Come sit at the table and write yer note.”

  Iskair helped me over to the table and fished a piece of paper, ink and a feather pen out from his vest. He set them down in front of me.

  With a shaking hand, I opened the top of the inkwell and stuck the feather inside. The candle, across the room, barely lit the page.

  “Can you bring the candle here?”

  Iskair fetched it and set it on the table.

  With a big blob of spilled ink, I wrote as Iskair looked over my shoulder.

  Dear Father,

  I have been taken hostage...

  “What should I say?”

  “Ye do fine. It disna matter. Say what ye must.”

  ...by the Macaulays of the Isle of Lewis. Please send...

  “How much?”

  “I dinna ken. I am no actually in the business of kidnapping for ransom. What do ye think is a fair sum?”

  “Oh, Iskair! I don’t know!”

  “I dinna ken either. One hundred pounds?”

  “Sure.”

  ...one hundred pounds to Murdo Macaulay at Broder Castle on the Isle of Lewis.

  I pushed the letter away.

  “Do ye no wish to sign the letter? To assure yer father of yer good health? If it had been my father, he would have wished to ken how I fared.”

  I pulled the letter back to me.

  I am in good health. Miss you.

  Love, Cynthia

  “Cynthia,” Iskair murmured. “A fine name.”

  “Is that it?”

  “Aye, I expect so.” He took the paper, folded it and stuck it inside his vest. He then returned to the bed to collect a dark garment.

  “I have brought ye a cloak. It is too warm for such, but I must disguise ye.”

  “Well, it will just look like you’re wandering around with a woman,” I said, allowing him to lift me to a standing position as he slipped the cloak around me. He blew out the candle, leaving the room in darkness again.

  “Auch, nay, lass. There is nane to believe such. I dinna take up with the lassies hereabouts. That isna my way. I will wait until I meet my wife.”

  “Oh!” My heart skipped a be
at at the sweetness in his voice.

  “Come. I ken I will carry ye. I have seen ye stand, but it isna a bonny sight. Ye still look to be in pain.”

  “I am. I’m sorry.”

  “Dinna apologize,” he said, picking me up.

  I had seen a few Highlanders who were small and slight, but they were few and far between, and I’d had the great pleasure of being hauled around by two of the brawniest.

  “Can you see?” I whispered as he opened the door, somewhat miraculously given that he carried me.

  “Aye.”

  He walked surefooted down the hall and down the staircase. The castle seemed largely silent, as if everyone slept. I had no idea what time it was, and I suspected neither did the castle residents. They probably conducted their lives by the positioning of the sun.

  We reached the great hall. Several men dozed with their heads on the tables. Embers burned low in the fireplace.

  Iskair carried me past the sleeping men and opened the door leading to the courtyard. Once outside, I looked up to see a half-moon, though somewhat obscured by clouds. The faint light filtering down revealed even more Highlanders sleeping in huddles outside in the courtyard.

  Iskair carried me toward what indeed proved to be the stables. He maneuvered me into a stall and lifted me sidesaddle onto the back of his horse. I gritted my teeth. He led the horse out of the stable, and once clear of the building, climbed up beside me, taking me in his arms, as he had the night before.

  “The castle gate is guarded, lass, so follow my lead. Ye will think me a great liar, but it is naught but an act. Close yer eyes and pretend to sleep.”

  I didn’t know what Iskair was talking about, but I closed my eyes. The horse stepped forward, and within a few moments, Iskair called out in a hushed voice. I stiffened and peered through one half-closed eye when I heard responses. Two groggy Highlanders pulled open the gate, rubbing their eyes.

  Iskair urged the horse through the gate.

  “Auch, laddies, were ye sleeping? The Macleod wouldna be pleased.”

  “Ye dinna need to report such, Iskair. Who have ye there?” asked one of them, a tall husky fellow, looking up at me.

  I watched the scene tensely from under my lashes.

  “Who I have here is nane of yer business,” Iskair said. “Like ye, she sleeps. I am taking her to her croft.”

  “Och aye!” the husky man crowed. “Well then, be on yer way, laddie! I dinna ken if ye fair wore her out or are about to, but good on ye!”

  The other Highlander, also tall but more slender, laughed.

  “Ye speak nonsense,” Iskair said. “Sleep well.”

  The horse ambled away from the gate, and Iskair looked down at me.

  “That was no so bad as I thought. The lads were too tired or drunk to do their duty. They were Macleods, of course. The Macaulays ken me well. I wouldna be dragging a lass about the countryside in the dead of night.”

  “So I gather,” I said with a half smile. I could almost believe that Iskair was rescuing me, but that wasn’t really the truth. He was only taking me from the castle so that he could turn me over to Murdo. I didn’t want to think what Murdo Macaulay would do when he figured out that I had no wealthy viscount father.

  “How far is it to Broder Castle?” I asked.

  “A day’s journey. If Murdo and lads join us just after dawn, we could reach Broder a wee bit after nightfall.”

  “Iskair, please let me go,” I begged. “Please put me down somewhere, maybe near the beach, and let me fend for myself.” He began to protest, and I hurried. “You can tell Murdo that I got away, maybe that I hit you over the head and got away.”

  “Auch, lass, I wish that I could. Murdo kens ye are injured. He saw for himself that ye can barely stand. How would you get away? Ye are no taking my horse!”

  “Iskair, I don’t know you well, but you seem like a decent man. What kind of man kidnaps a woman and holds her for ransom?”

  Iskair stiffened. I could feel his withdrawal from the stiffening in his arms.

  “Ye dinna ken me, mistress. Ye could die out here with nane to feed ye, give ye drink or protect ye from beasties. I didna take ye, but ye are taken, and I am doing what I can to save yer life.”

  I bit my lip. It wouldn’t do any good to offend the one guy who was keeping me safe. He was right, but it was so hard not to beg for freedom. I thought of even playing on his cousinship with Torq, but decided against it. There was an odd disconnect about Iskair that made no sense. He was half Morrison, cousin to Torq, and involved with a pair of clans that wanted nothing better than to terrorize and kill the Morrisons.

  As I had told him before, he was an enigma, and I wasn’t going to change his mind about letting me go.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “There is an abandoned croft a mile distant. We will await Murdo and the rest of the lads when they ride out in the morning.”

  That meant Iskair would probably sleep. If I’d been in shape—

  “I dinna think ye will run, lass.”

  “Can you read minds or something?”

  Iskair laughed. “Nay, your thoughts are mirrored on yer face.”

  I fell silent, and we rode on until we reached a croft similar to those at Dun Eistean. I had no idea if we headed north, south, or east. I was pretty sure the coast was to the east, and we didn’t run into the sea, so not east.

  Iskair pulled me off the horse and carried me into a cottage smaller than Ann’s. This one had a wood floor, but the walls consisted of stacked stone, the ceiling a combination of hay and turf. The interior, a single room, was devoid of furniture.

  “It will no be comfortable, but it will have to do. I will fetch a blanket from the horse.”

  He set me gently down on the floor and left again. Within minutes, he returned with a length of thick tartan that he laid out on the floor. He helped me scoot onto it, and I lay down on my side, my arm underneath my head.

  “Are ye chilled? Do ye need a fire?”

  I shook my head. “No, not really.”

  “Then, wi yer permission, I will sleep.”

  Faint moonlight coming in through a small window highlighted Iskair as he moved to the opposite side of the room by the door. He fidgeted with something and soon lay down on a length of his kilt. He said nothing more, and I watched him lie still for about twenty minutes. Apparently, Iskair didn’t snore, so I had no idea if and when he had fallen asleep.

  I took a deep breath and pushed myself upright to a sitting position. Iskair didn’t awaken, didn’t ask what I was doing. I seriously doubted that I could get out of the croft without awakening him, but I had to try.

  I rose to my hands and knees and crawled toward the door. My favorite energizer, adrenaline, eased some of the pain as I crawled to the door. I paused just level with Iskair and listened to his faint purring. Some lucky gal would listen to that purring in her ear, but it wasn’t going to be me.

  I rose on my knees and eased open the latch on the door. Grabbing the sill, I pulled myself up to a standing position. With a last look at Iskair, I tottered out the door and braced myself against the exterior wall. I had thought to make my way toward the coast but had lost my bearings. I would know better by dawn where we were, yet couldn’t wait that long.

  The horse, tied to a wooden post, looked at me. I looked at him.

  With no idea that I had planned to ride out on my own and little experience with horses other than supervised pony rides as a child, I sidestepped toward the horse and untied the reins. In a stroke of good luck, Iskair had left the animal saddled, perhaps in the event that we needed to flee the croft.

  Hanging on to the reins with one hand, I grabbed my left leg and placed it in the stirrup before taking a deep breath and hauling the rest of my body over the horse’s back. A fairly calm animal, he didn’t argue.

  Where to go?

  I hoped and prayed the horse wouldn’t return to the castle when I gave him a gentle nudge. He stepped out quietly like a champ, and we
sauntered away from the croft. I looked over my shoulder but didn’t see Iskair running after me.

  A few hundred yards from the croft, I pulled on the reins and surveyed what I could of the landscape. Nothing looked familiar. Like Dun Eistean, the landscape was barren of trees. There was nothing to hide behind on the flat landscape with little more than swells to break the plain.

  I lifted my face to sniff the air. A breeze blew toward me from the left, tinged with salt. No outdoorsy girl, I deduced, perhaps rightly or wrongly, that the sea lay to my left. I had smelled the sea to my right upon nearing Ardmore Castle earlier that day.

  I urged the horse forward, hoping that I traveled in the correct direction. If the castle loomed up before me, I would know that I’d made a terrible mistake...in many ways since I would then fall into the hands of the Macleods.

  “You can do it,” I whispered to the horse. “I wish I knew your name. You seem like an amiable kind of guy.”

  His ears flickered as I spoke. His temperament was remarkably similar to Iskair’s except that Iskair was unwilling to release me, and this guy didn’t mind carrying me wherever I wanted to go.

  I had no idea what time it was or how far Dun Eistean was. All I could do was keep the salt-tinged wind to my left and let the horse feel his way in the night.

  “You’re such a good boy,” I said, patting him on the neck.

  A shout broke the quiet of the night, then another, and the horse startled and reared. I clung to him as shouts seemed to come from nowhere. The stallion took off in a gallop, and I screamed at the jolting pain in my back. I pulled on the reins, but the horse kept going.

  “Stop!” I shrieked at the poor confused animal. I had no idea what was happening behind me or who had shouted. I guessed Iskair must have awakened to find me gone. I suspected that the horse and I had traveled only about a mile when I heard the first shout.

  Hooves thundering behind me broke through my panic, and I didn’t know whether to urge the horse forward or just scream. I didn’t know how to gallop. I was doing my best to hang on. If the Macleods or Macaulays pursued me, I didn’t want to be caught.