The Highlander's Secret Maiden: A Scottish Historical Romance Novel

by Lydia Kendall

  “Will-you-hold-still,” he commanded, trying to still her attempts to break free. “You’re not making this any easier on yourself.” He was panting at the effort of keeping a hold of her, and she finally jerked her head to the right angle to be able to sink her teeth into his hand to free her mouth.

  “HELP, Marcas, Fiona, anyone, HELP!” she shouted out.

  “Oh, you little bitch,” he swore at the same time, angry at her biting him.

  “HEL-” he cut her off midway through her cry for help and then before she knew what was happening she felt a thud on the side of her head and everything went black.

  Georgina began to come to, feeling groggy and confused. She felt a throbbing pain on the left side of her head and she became dizzy as she tried to sit up.

  Where on earth am I? It was dark wherever it was.

  She heard voices somewhere nearby and strained to listen to what they were saying.

  “Did you see the reward he’s offering? If we can deliver her then we’ll be out of his debt, and we’ll have a healthy sum to keep us going,” a vaguely familiar man spoke.

  “How can you be so sure? As soon as we hand her over to one of Bolton’s men, they’ll take all the credit for themselves and leave us in the dust. I say, we hold our own ransom, for double the amount he’s offering as a reward. Split it fifty-fifty.”

  Hand her over to one of Bolton’s men? So, whoever they were, they hadn’t been sent by Morgan.

  “And how do you propose we do that? Besides, think of the consequences. We’ve already got a bad name with the Bolton family, how are we ever going to get our reputation out of the mud if we go ahead with your idiotic plan?” The first man spoke again, and she finally placed his voice as the man that had captured her.

  Oh, my gosh, I’ve been kidnapped. All that joking about me being the McGowans’ prisoner and now it has come true. Oh, Marcas, please help me.

  She held as still as she could, listening to the two men bicker, her fate entirely in their hands. Eventually, the second voice grudgingly agreed to follow the original plan of her captor which seemed to be to deliver her to Morgan Bolton’s men in exchange for a cash reward.

  “Well, better check that the lady’s still alive then, she’ll be no use to us dead,” the man grumbled as agreed.

  A ripple of fear shot through her as the sound of a gate clanked open and heavy footsteps moved toward her.

  “Oh, you awake in there?” her captor’s voice was filled with menace, and she scrambled to her feet before he could hurt her.

  “Where am I?” she demanded.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he growled in response.

  “What is this place?” she asked, trying hard to keep her voice from shaking.

  “Prisoners don’t get to ask questions. Just shut your mouth and do as your told, young lady.” The second man advanced on her, grasping her arm so hard that it hurt.

  “Get your hands off me!” she shouted, wanting to scream at him. He did nothing but laugh and sneer at her, however, grabbing her all the harder and seeming amused at her struggle.

  “Oh, leave the girl alone, Malcolm,” the more reasonable of the two sighed.

  He released his hold on her grudgingly, “Well, it’s not like she can go anywhere is it?” he resigned. The other man shoved some water and bread in her direction before the pair of them backed off and closed the gate behind them.

  “Wait!” she called out, “please!” but they were either long gone or uninterested in listening to her anguished cries.

  She felt hot tears cascade down her cheeks as she came to terms with her situation. How could things have gone from so perfect to so wrong?

  The blissful moment with Marcas felt like a lifetime ago already. Now here she was, locked up in some dark smelly cellar with these strange men set on using her for a cash reward.

  Chapter 11

  As the cockerel crowed to announce it was a new day, Marcas awoke with a start. Sitting up, he rubbed his eyes and tried to get his wits about him. Something doesn’t feel right.

  He looked around the room, unable to see anything out of the ordinary. His body was tense and ready to leap into action, thanks to all his training on the battlefield, and he swiftly got to his feet and crept towards the door, pausing only to pull on a kilt so his naked body wouldn’t be exposed to anything that was waiting outside for him.

  As he made his way out of his bedchambers, scanning the hallway left and right, again everything was just as he’d left it last night. Indeed, a thorough check of the insides of the castle turned up nothing to worry about. Am I going mad?

  He padded back upstairs to have a wash and get dressed properly for the day. A tingling feeling of excitement set upon him as he looked forward to seeing Georgina again after their kiss. Och, I could just slip into her bedchambers and take her into my arms right noo. I can hardly wait.

  Something still niggled at the back of his mind as he set off outdoors to check on the horses and muck out the stables. They were short of a stable hand, but the McGowans weren’t against helping out where it was needed. We aren’t some fancy pants English lords with sticks up our arses, after all.

  Marcas felt his muscles stretch and awaken while his arms flexed as he shoveled the waste and soiled straw into the wheelbarrow. He enjoyed putting his body to work with the physical labor.

  As he did so, his mind mulled over the dream he had been awoken from so suddenly.

  Marcas had been standing in the night air with Georgina in his arms. He was wrapped up in their kiss, slow and intimate, but as he opened his eyes, she was gone. She’d vanished in the blink of an eye. He roamed the castle grounds trying to find her, but they were empty — just him and the darkness under the light of the stars.

  But somewhere in the distance he could hear her crying out his name. It was a scream, a moment of panic. She was in danger and Marcas tried to run but his legs wouldn’t move. He had stepped into quicksand and was sinking further and further…

  Georgina.

  Unable to shake the bad feeling, he quickly shoveled the remainder of the waste from the stable and chucked some straw down haphazardly. Wiping the dirt off his hands, he marched straight back indoors towards the castle, needing to see with his own eyes that she was safe and sound as usual.

  Fiona was up and about as he entered, frowning at the sight of his disheveled appearance.

  “Where’s Georgina?” he asked.

  “She’s no up yet. Thought I’d best let her have a lie in,” Fiona answered.

  Marcas headed straight for the stairs without answering. “Marcas?” Fiona called after him, “Whit’s the matter?” He heard her footsteps scurry after him as he took the stairs two at a time, not wanting to voice the worry inside his head just yet. Please be fine lass, let it just be the drink fae last night messing wi’ me head.

  “Marcas?” Fiona demanded, grabbing on to his arm as she hurried down the hallway after him, stopping outside Georgina’s door.

  “Get off me, hen,” he said irritably, twisting away from her grip, pausing to take a deep breath before knocking loudly on her door.

  “Lass, are ye in there?” he called out after the knock returned —nothing but silence.

  “Marcas, what are ye doing?” Fiona hissed as he turned the doorknob and gently pushed the door open.

  “Hello? Georgina are ye here?” he called out softly.

  Still not hearing any signs of life, he stepped into the room, banging the door against the wall and was confronted with the sight of an empty room.

  “Shite,” he swore under his breath. She’s gone. Someone must have taken her.

  His eyes circled the room in a practiced fashion, checking for any signs of forced entry or struggle. Window’s tight. Nothing knocked over. No torn clothing or stray shoes. Just an unmade bed.

  His sister kept bleating his name as he barreled in and out of the room again. “Stick with me and be quiet, will ye, until I figure oot what’s happened,” he snapped. Can hardl
y think straight with her blethering. Just let me get on.

  “Check all the rooms up here, make sure she’s not in any o’ them,” he ordered. Maybe she was a sleepwalker. Some folk do daft things in the night, especially sleeping in an unfamiliar place.

  Running down the stairs, he called out for the maid who was busy cleaning up the dining room. “Miss Camran, I need ye to check all the rooms in the castle for any sign of Miss Andrews. Report back to me immediately if ye notice anything out of the ordinary,” he ordered.

  “Yes sir, Marcas,” she agreed, with a slight curtsey and scuttled off immediately to do as he asked.

  “Mrs. Loganach,” he announced as he entered the kitchen, “Did ye notice anything unusual this morning?” The round, middle-aged woman was busy kneading dough on the table top, flour up to her elbows.

  “Aye, aye, Marcas. What’s this noo?” she asked.

  “When ye arrived this morning, was there anything out of place? Anything at all? Think carefully,” he repeated.

  She continued her kneading of the bread dough, her expression contemplative as she considered his question.

  “Well, noo that ye mention it, the side door wisnae locked when I arrived. I hid me keys oot like usual, went to unlock the kitchen entrance like every morning, only to find that the door was slightly ajar.” The cook explained.

  “Thank ye, Mrs. Loganach, I’ll no take up any more o’ yer time,” Marcas thanked her as he took a good look at the kitchen entrance. Granted, it was only really used by the staff but as he inspected the door it bore no signs of anyone having caused damage to it or broken into the castle.

  Did she just get up and walk out? He wanted to make absolutely sure that no intruders had entered the castle for that would signify a battle was upon them.

  Of course, he’d been expecting this ever since the moment they’d rode off with Georgina but not a cowardly sneaking about in the night situation. Whoever’s doing this, they did not want to make themselves known.

  Marcas walked carefully out of the kitchen and out into the castle grounds. The compost heap and basket of firewood was sat out as usual and as he walked further, he had yet to find anything to indicate the presence of an unwelcome visitor.

  Last night’s dream came back to haunt his thoughts. What if that was trying to tell me something? Could someone have indeed taken her, and she’d cried out me name for help? And like a fool I’d not noticed anything, it had just permeated me subconscious while I’d been asleep.

  Why hadn’t I woken up and done something? Och, I could kick myself.

  He was filled with rage and frustration as he mulled over this possibility in his mind. And here I was, the protector of Carnarvan and everyone inside it, and look what happens. God, I hardly have a right tae think I could be capable of being in charge.

  Right, shake yerself out of it, Marcas. I can still make this right, it’s up to me to take charge and find her. Fiona and everyone else is looking up to me in Conall’s absence. There’s no time for brooding.

  He shook himself, turning to stride back towards the castle, jaw tight and emotion locked away so that his head could think straight and sort this mess out.

  “Right, Fiona, did ye find anything?” his sister was pacing at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for him.

  “No, nothin’. I can’t find any sign of her, Marcas. Oh, I’m so worried!” Fiona wailed.

  “We’ll find out what’s happened, don’t ye worry.” He stated calmly as his sister threw herself at him sobbing.

  “Come on look,” he said, not unkindly, “there’s got to be an explanation. If someone’s taken her, then they’ve got us to answer tae,” he said with venom. If some bastard so much as lays a hand on her…Marcas felt his fists tightening as he thought, pulling away from his sister.

  “Miss Camran, did you find anything out of place?” he called out to ask the maid what she’d found.

  “No nothing Sir, everything’s as it should be,” she responded.

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Camran, ye can get back tae yer work now.” He responded, before turning back to face his sister.

  “Conall’s due back any minute. There’s no time to waste. Tell him what’s happened and that I’m off scanning the perimeters of our land for any signs of intrusion. I’ll call on Alpin to help,” Marcas instructed.

  He didn’t wait for a response before hurrying outside to saddle up his horse and ride away down the hill as fast as he could.

  He’d barely reached the sight of the village before Conall came into view on his own horse, running full pelt in Marcas’ direction.

  “Woah buddy, woah,” he steadied his horse, slowing down to meet his brother in the road, who slowed into a trot as he caught sight of Marcas riding towards him.

  “Georgina’s missing,” Marcas stated, not having time for pleasantries.

  “I ken,” Conall replied, pausing to run his hand through his curly red hair, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. “Some slimy English git approached one o’ me men last night, seems tae think he can demand ransom fae us.”

  “What’s this?” Marcas asked. Ransom?

  “He got a hold of her last night it seems, made a big song and dance aboot us letting prisoners slip oot o’ our sight with little concern. Says he’s holding her ransom and he'll hand her over to either Bolton or me, whoever gets him the cash first.” His voice was hard, dripping with anger.

  Well this is hardly me fault. This is the last thing I wanted to happen, Marcas wanted to say but any argument on his part would make him sound weak and unsure of himself.

  “Right, where is the bastard? Where’s he taken her?” Marcas demanded.

  “That, he’ll only reveal once we show him the money,” Conall responded.

  “So, what are we waitin' fer? Let’s go,” Marcas urged.

  “Let’s think aboot this fer a minute Marcas. These men are going tae be giving the same offer tae Bolton and he’ll no doubt send some o’ his men up to check out the situation. He’ll ken that we no longer have the upper hand an' that puts us in the same standing as his stinkin' arse,” Conall reasoned.

  “We need to get there ahead o’ him, track down where they’re keeping her an' break in and get her oot o’ there ‘fore anyone sees us. That way, Bolton marches up and parts wi’ his money, only to discover that’s he’s paid for shite, that she’s already gone. He’ll ken it was us, even if he can’t prove it,” Conall said, sounding more and more gleeful by the minute.

  “And then that just gives him even more ammunition tae strike an attack on us,” Marcas argued. This feud against Bolton is making Conall near daft.

  “Let him. I’d say he needs tae be a man an’ face me on the battlefield like a real fighter,” Conall spat out.

  “I ken the man’s a piece o’ shite, Conall, but yer letting yer anger get ye carried away,” Marcas said.

  “Like I said, that’s the plan, Marcas. He’s comin’ after us whether we like it or no'. I say, instead o’ sitting twiddling our thumbs we get off our arses and gear up, show these pansy Brits what we are made of. Are ye with me?” Conall asked.

  “Och aye, let’s get the bastard,” Marcas agreed.

  Conall could sure pull a half decent motivational speech out of thin air and the man had a point, there was no use lying in wait for Bolton’s men to descend upon them. The further away from home they were when it happened, the safer their community would be.

  “Aye up,” Conall shook the reins and urged his horse into action, taking off into a canter.

  Marcas followed suit, the conversation over, and he knew there was no point in asking further questions.

  Chapter 12

  The clanging of the gate awoke Georgina with a start.

  Before she could get to her feet and gather her senses, a rough hand grabbed her by the arm and yanked her up, making her stumble over her own feet.

  “Come on, move it,” his equally rough voice had a threatening tone as he whispered in her ear. A fleck of spit escaped from
his mouth as he spoke and Georgina retched as she felt it land on her face.

  “I’m going nowhere until you tell me where you’re taking me,” Georgina hissed, digging her heels in and attempting to yank herself free from his grasp.

  “You’re in no position to bargain love, now move,” he growled.