CHISHOLM GRAHAM WAS stumped. For the life of him, he could not think who would have taken Paisley. As far as he knew, there were no arguments over water, land or livestock; the normal reasons men went to war. Barely aware of where he was, he followed his men into the courtyard in front of his own keep and dismounted. He dared not think what his lovely Paisley was going through and pushed those thoughts completely out of his mind. She was not dead, he was certain of that much; it made no sense at all for anyone to take her just to kill her. No, there was some sort of intrigue afoot, but what?
There was the legend of a golden sword in Scotland, but why would anyone think Justin had it? According to the legend, it belonged to no specific clan, only a woman who could kill with a look. One version claimed a man who dared touch the sword would die and another said the King of Scots had it. Chisholm believed the latter was most likely true.
What then? Chisholm was about to enter his keep when an idea struck him. Perhaps there was a way to find her and he might not even have to leave his home to do it.
THERE WAS NOTHING MORE to discuss with Laird Kennedy and with no thought as to where to go next, Justin and his men went back to the MacGreagor glen.
Already, the Kennedys were spreading gossip about his daughter’s abduction. A shout of, “Have you heard the news?” soon reached the MacDuff, the Swinton, the Haldane, the MacAlister, the Gunn, the Keith and in another day it would reach the ears of the far away clans, and even the King of Scots. All Justin could do now was wait for some word of who had taken her.
Long into the night Justin walked the floor of the great hall trying desperately to understand what happened. He did not blame Sawney; he was still a boy and did the best he could. He was glad Sawney’s cut was not worse than it was, but what of Paisley and why was the protection cast around her not enough?
As soon as it was late enough and he was certain the rest of the clan was asleep, he picked up a holder with a lit candle and went out the door. He cupped his hand around the flame, chose a path leading west and walked down the path until he came to an empty cottage. The door creaked when he opened it and he anxiously glanced around to see if anyone noticed. The guards were far enough away not to recognize him, none of the doors on the opposite side of the path opened and a candle in the dark was not all that uncommon.
Justin eased inside, slowly closed the door and set the candle on the table. He ignored the cobwebs and the dust, knelt down beside the wall and wiggled two stones free. Once he had them on the floor, he felt inside the hiding place until he located a cloth sack. Gently, he pulled it out, untied the strings that held the sack closed and widened the mouth. Then he reached in and withdrew a solid gold chalice with diamonds, rubies and opals imbedded in the sides.
“Thank you, Aunt Jessup,” he whispered. She was not his true aunt and in fact, was English instead of Scottish. Nevertheless, she married three times into the MacGreagor clan before she passed at the age of 63. Always feisty and full of life, Jessup was once wealthy in her own right and a good friend to the King of England, who bestowed upon her many wonderful gifts. This chalice was one of them.
She liked to laugh over the toil it took getting her wealth into Scotland only to find the MacGreagors had little use for such things. Even so, items from her coffers bought several English brides at a time when Scottish brides were scarce. Naturally, Justin, being the son of Laird Neil MacGreagor, was the only one she told about the treasure. Jessup liked to look at them and when Justin came to visit, she never failed to drag everything out and show him.
Now, Jessup was helping him try to save his daughter. He quietly put the sack back inside the wall, replaced the stones and tucked the chalice inside his shirt. He picked up the candle, opened the door and retraced his steps to the great hall.
CHAPTER III
JUSTIN MACGREAGOR WAS not the only one who lost sleep that night. Alone in his second floor bedchamber, Chisholm let the window curtain down to darken the room, undressed and climbed into bed. Every once in a while, a breeze lifted the edge of the curtain to let in the light and he was reminded the room needed decorating.
His bedchamber was pleasant enough with a bed, small table and chairs, and two trunks against the wall that kept his valuables and his extra clothing clean. Yet no color brightened the stonewalls and the dark blue of his plaids did nothing to help.
Chisholm’s idea was to start a rumor and offer a reward higher than any ransom could be, but he suspected he had little that was valuable enough to tempt a man. He had a handful of jewels and the ones in his necklace, which he would gladly give up, but would it be enough?
Other than adornment, he had not been all that fond of his jeweled necklace, but at the MacGreagor feast Paisley seemed to admire it. When she touched his chest to turn the necklace toward her, it greatly surprised him—pleasantly so. There were women in his past, but never had the touch of any other affected him as much as hers and he could not seem to get it out of his mind.
Several times, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the image of her face and what might be happening to her haunted him. Again, he tried to guess what the MacGreagors had that another laird wanted that badly. At last, sleep overcame him and he rested both body and mind for a few hours.
PAISLEY WOKE UP IN a bed not her own with a headache the likes of which she had never known. At first, she believed her jaw was broken, but slowly moving it up and down proved her wrong. Nevertheless, the pain was excruciating and it was all she could do to make herself sit up. At least she was alone, still had her clothes on and didn’t hurt anywhere else.
At length, she examined the contents of the room. Nothing looked familiar, although the bedchamber was lavishly furnished just as she imagined a king’s castle to be. Perhaps being the daughter of a laird spoiled her, but she did not care much for fancy furnishings.
It was an odd shaped room, long and narrow, rather than wide. The head of the bed was against the wall in the middle of the room, leaving just enough space at the foot to walk around it. A table with two chairs had been placed at each end of the room with matching trunks between them and the bed. Works of art, the sort she heard the English preferred, hung on the walls and they were not nearly as wonderful as the tapestries that adorned her father’s keep.
There was a door at one end, but when she spotted a window at the other end, she got up and walked to it. Perhaps she could tell where she was by looking out the window, but her eyes were not focusing well and she had to grab hold of the back of a chair to steady herself.
She abruptly remembered what happened, including the face of the man who hit her and worst of all, the knife being held to her brother’s throat. Paisley bowed her head and said a silent prayer for Sawney’s survival. She crossed herself in the Catholic tradition and decided she could see well enough after all.
As soon as she made it to the window, she drew in a sharp breath. She was much higher up than she imagined. Timidly, Paisley inched closer to the window, stuck her head out just enough and peeked down. Three identical windows were in a row below her. “Four floors?”
“Aye,” said a voice behind her.
Paisley turned around, nearly lost her balance and was grateful when the man reached out to take her arm and steady her. He was not the man who hit her and she found that disappointing. One moment with her long fingernails stuck in his eye would make her feel much better.
“Who are you?”
“I am Laird MacAlister.”
“Why have I been taken?” she demanded. He looked truly concerned but he did not speak. Instead, he used his other hand to pull the scarf off her head and admired her loosely braided white hair.
“I have heard of your beauty and the rumors are all true.”
“You are too late, I am married.”
He smiled and let go of her. “It matters not.”
She reached for her dagger, found it missing and glared at him instead. “It will matter when my husband finds you.”
He went to the nea
rest table, picked up a pitcher and poured liquid into a goblet. “I am sorry my lad hit you, but it was the only way to keep you from screaming.” He offered her the goblet and when she refused, he shrugged and set it on the table. “Tis only wine for your headache. You may scream all you want here; no one will hear you. Are you hungry?” It didn’t surprise him when she shook her head. “Perhaps later, then.”
“Why did you take me?”
“Do not concern yourself, you are here and here you will stay until I say otherwise.” He started for the door.
“Where is here?”
He paused at the door and turned to politely answer her question. “You are yet in Scotland, but your father will never find you here. You will be well treated and no further harm will come to you, of that I give my pledge.”
As soon as he closed the door behind him, she heard a slight screeching noise and then heard a heavy lock bar fall into its holder. She stared after him for a moment, decided he probably didn’t put poison in the wine and grabbed the goblet off the table. Opening her mouth wide enough hurt, but she managed to drink it down. It took but a few seconds to begin to warm her stomach and work its magic on her headache, but it was bitter and the taste lingered.
Paisley poured herself another goblet full, pulled a high-backed chair away from the table and sat down. At length, she put her elbows on the table, her head in her hands and let the tears flow.
Not but a few moments later, the bar lifted on the lock and the door opened once more. Paisley wiped her tears, turned and was surprised to see a woman bringing her a bowl of food. Until then, she had not realized how hungry she was and she’d forgotten all about the venison left behind.
“I am Rona, Mistress.”
For the life of her, Paisley did not understand why she called her mistress, but she let it slide. “Where am I?”
“Home, Mistress.”
Suspicious, Paisley eyed the much shorter woman with red hair and brown eyes. “Home where precisely?”
“Where you are to be married.” Rona spotted the bruise under Paisley’s chin and winced. You took a bad fall, Mistress. Perhaps you will remember when you have rested.
“I did not fall; I was hit and snatched away.”
“I see.” Rona walked to the bed and began to straighten the blankets. “Eat, Mistress, you need to keep up your strength. ‘Tis beef broth and bread, easy to chew with an injury such as yours. Laird MacAlister thought to ask for beef since you do not prefer mutton.”
Perplexed, she wrinkled her brow. “How does he know I do not like mutton?”
Rona was finding the conversation unsettling, finished making the bed and walked to the door. “He said you would not remember.” She opened the door, walked out and replaced the lock in its holder.
Laird MacAlister stood waiting for Rona in the hallway and after she curtsied, she lowered her voice. “‘Tis just as you said, she claims to be snatched away.”
He looked disappointed and whispered back, “She thinks she is already married, too.”
Rona shook her head in sorrow and disappeared down the hallway. At least going down three flights of stairs would be easier than climbing up with a bowl in her hands.
Behind the closed door, Paisley stared at the globs of bread soaked in the broth. She would have preferred a more fitting meal for morning, but she had little choice. She touched the liquid with her finger, tasted it, found it sufficiently salted and sat down to eat.
SHAW WAS QUIET WHEN he entered the great hall and found Justin with his head on the table sound asleep. Justin’s hand was wrapped securely around the stem of the most beautiful chalice Shaw had ever seen. Years ago Shaw married Justin’s sister, knew every inch of the village and could not imagine where Justin had that hidden. He quietly sat down and just stared at the jewels and the pure gold chalice.
A moment later, Ginnion entered and was just as astonished. “I thought he lied,” he whispered to Shaw, taking a chair opposite him.
Trying not to wake his laird, Shaw only nodded. A few minutes later, the room was filled with men being as quiet as mice and staring at the chalice as the rising sun filtered in through the high windows and made the gold shimmer.
At last, Justin woke up, held his hurting neck and lifted his head. He looked at Shaw first, “Have they found her?”
Shaw swallowed hard and shook his head. “We have had no word but it is early. What would you have us do this day?”
Taking pity on his laird, Ginnion got up, walked behind Justin and began to massage his neck and shoulders. “The lads want to search for her. They suggest they split up, spy on the other clans and perhaps they might see something. Perhaps they might even see Paisley.”
The massage was just what he needed and Justin closed his eyes. “It is sound thinking, far more sound than my thinking at the moment. Did Laird Graham leave?”
“Aye, right after you,” Shaw answered. “He was not a happy lad.”
“Send a messenger to say I did not mean to slight him.”
“That was not what upset him.”
Shaw suddenly had Justin’s full, alert attention. “What then?”
“He came to ask for Paisley.”
“Did he say as much?”
“Nay, it was his second in command who told me.”
“Do second in commands often gossip about their lairds?”
It was the first smile anyone had seen since Paisley was taken. “I know I do,” admitted Shaw.
Justin couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You are a good lad, Shaw MacGreagor.” He lifted the chalice and handed it to him. “Take it outside and show it to everyone. When they are asked if I have such a thing, they can say they saw it for themselves.”
Shaw nodded, took the chalice and went out the door.
Abruptly, Ginnion grabbed hold of Justin’s chin, sharply jerked his face to the side and popped his neck. Then he came around to face his laird to see if he was about to be killed.
“I was not expecting that, but I thank you, Ginnion.”
All at once, three boys scurried down the stairs and rushed to their father. “Is Paisley back?” the youngest wanted to know. When Justin admitted she was not, the eight-year-old hung his head and went into his father’s arms for comfort.
Justin looked up at Hew, his second eldest son. “How is Sawney?”
“He wants to get up and vows to kill me if I do not let him. I said I would ask you, which made him lie back down. That laddie is a horse’s behind, Father.”
The other men snickered and Justin frowned. “Do you not mean a mule’s behind? A mule is far more stubborn.”
“Aye, a mule’s behind.”
“Go tell the servers we are hungry.” He turned the boy in his arms around and nudged him toward the kitchen door.
“Very well, father, but next time make Hew go tell them, it is his turn.”
Justin rolled his eyes. “I forgot.”
Hew waited until his little brother was out the door before he asked, “Can I go look for Paisley? I know all her hiding places.”
“Son, if she got away, she would have come home, but I suppose it will not hurt to look.”
Forgetting his morning meal, Hew ran out the door and closed it too hard behind him. An instant later, he stuck his head back inside. “Sorry, Father.” Then he was gone again.
Justin glanced at the men watching him. “She might have gotten free. If only we knew which way he took her.”
Ginnion was also married to Justin’s eldest sister, Ceanna. “The lads need to help, let them search the forest again. Perhaps she has gotten lost trying to get back.” He was pleased when Justin nodded.
With the other men following, he led the way out the door to give the men their assignments. If anyone knew the forest, he did and the thought of his niece out there lost and alone bothered him greatly. Men were not the only danger for a woman in Scotland.
As soon as they were gone, Justin went upstairs to check on his son. He quietly opened the door, peeked
in and found his son wide awake, but still lying down.
Sawney nearly had tears in his eyes when he spoke, “I have shamed myself, Father, I did not protect her.”
Justin pulled up a chair and sat beside the bed. First, he wanted to look at the wound and satisfy himself. The blood on the outside of the cloth was dry, and when he lifted the loose bandage, he decided the two-inch cut was healing. “I shamed myself by not protecting a woman once.”
Sawney put his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “Truly?”
“Aye, she was your mother. I did not forgive myself for many months after.”
“Did someone hurt her?”
“Aye, but ‘tis a long story best saved for later. I vowed it would never happen again, but as you see, I did not keep my daughter safe.”
“But Father, you were not even there when Paisley was taken.”
“True, but I should have had a lad watch over her, not a laddie. The fault is mine.”
Sawney lowered his eyes. “I did not think anyone brave enough to get so close to the glen. We were watching Laird Graham; I did not hear anyone and I did not think to look behind us.”
“My father told of a child who once snuck up behind the warriors and pinched them. It made the men more aware and instead of punishing the child, the laird encouraged it. Perhaps we should let your brothers do the same.”
Finally, Sawney smiled, “My brothers would like nothing better.”
Justin tenderly mussed his son’s hair and stood up. “Stay in bed until the evening meal, then you may come down.”
“Thank you, Father.”
JUSTIN CLIMBED THE second flight of stairs to his bedchamber. It didn’t help to remember what happened to Deora so long ago, so he pushed it out of his mind. He did not enjoy being in his bedchamber without her either so he looked for clean clothing, gathered them and went back down to the great hall.
Abducted, Book 8 Page 3
