Highlander's Lurking Threat: A Scottish Medieval Historical Romance

by Ava McArthur

  A Mystery Solved

  “Where are we going?” Elspeth demanded as the healer led her into the storerooms, where the fresh food was kept. A cart stood ready there, a horse already harnessed to it, and Elspeth stared at it in puzzlement. “Why have you brought me here?”

  “We are goin’ for a wee ride,” Maggie replied. “Get up on the cart and lie down!” she snapped. “Dinnae make a sound. Remember Catriona.” She produced a length of rope and quickly bound Elspeth’s hands behind her back, gagged her with a length of rough linen, and tied her feet together.

  The prickly fibers of the rope chafed and bit into the skin of her wrists and ankles, but Elspeth hardly noticed. What had this evil woman done with her faithful friend? And where was her husband? Had she somehow managed to harm Niall too? The thought was unbearable; she loved him, and if she could not see him again, she did not want to live; as well as that, Catriona did not deserve to die just because of her association with her employer.

  Elspeth began to rack her brain to try to think of a way to escape her situation, but suddenly, a great weight fell on her, winding her for a moment. She felt around her as best she could and realized that she was sharing the cart with a sack of what felt like turnips. More came tumbling onto the bed of the cart, some of which landed beside her and some on top of her. It did not take long before she was bruised, winded, and utterly terrified. She did not know whether she was going to be disposed of or held hostage, but neither sounded like a particularly attractive option.

  Eventually, she remained still as the rain of vegetable sacks ceased and the wagon began to move. If Elspeth had thought she was uncomfortable before, she was doubly so now as she was tossed up and down and side to side by the motion of the cart over the rocky, rutted, and uneven mud tracks. The sacks shifted and bumped painfully against her, and her head occasionally hit the backboard of the vehicle.

  The journey to her destination was a long one. By the time the cart stopped, she was thoroughly bruised, grazed, and had splinters all over her from the rough pinewood of the vehicle’s walls. There was the sound of Maggie disembarking and walking away; her footsteps grew fainter, and Elspeth heard a door slamming.

  Elspeth tried to strain her ears for any other sound, but for a long while she could pick up nothing but the sighing of the wind and the calls of birds. She was completely blind, and her feet were beginning to go numb from the constriction of the tight ropes.

  Suddenly, she heard the door open again and the low sound of voices, a man and a woman, coming towards her. They were talking very quickly, and for a while, she could not make out what they were saying. However, they seemed to be arguing, and as they drew closer, she realized that they were arguing about her.

  “I dinnae think killin’ her is the answer,” Maggie said, her voice gruff and angry. “She is too useful.”

  “We will have to,” the man replied. He had a deep, cultured voice that was quite at odds with Maggie’s rough Scots brogue. “Neither of them can live. They know too much, and she has seen you.”

  Elspeth heard Maggie give a disapproving growl before rough hands were laid on her, and she was dragged out of the cart and placed on her feet. She wobbled unsteadily for a moment. Her gag was rudely ripped off, and she blinked in the blinding glare of a lantern that was shining straight into her face. When she could focus, she looked into a pair of eyes that were exactly the same golden color as Niall’s. They belonged to a tall, wiry man who bore such a strong resemblance to her husband that they had to be closely related.

  “Well, milady,” he smiled, a wolfish grin that made her erupt in gooseflesh. He was not an unpleasant-looking man, but there was something about him that made her flesh creep. “We meet at last. I have heard much about you.” He bowed low before her, but it was a mockery of the courteous greeting. “Drew McLaren at your service.”

  She said nothing, merely stared back at him angrily, not sure what was expected of her. He slowly walked around her, inspecting her like a piece of merchandise he was thinking of buying. She cursed the fact that she could not lash out at his insolent face.

  Her ankles were untied, and Maggie dragged her up a muddy path into a rough farm cottage. It was a dwelling in name only because the roof had a great hole in its thatch, and the back door was hanging on by one hinge. The stench of rotten straw filled the air, making Elspeth feel nauseous.

  She was shoved into a rough wooden chair, her hands still tied behind her back. It was only now that she felt pain from the splinters and cuts. Tears threatened, but Elspeth blinked them away and kept her facial muscles as rigid as a stone mask. She had no wish for these creatures to see that she was distressed in any way.

  Drew sat on a roughly-hewn chair and looked her up and down from head to foot and back again. “Well,” he said at last, “what are we going to do with you?”

  His eyes continued to rove over her, and he liked what he saw. Elspeth McLaren was not only a beautiful woman, but she had the light of intelligence and defiance in her eyes. As well as that, she came from nobility, already a lady in her own right before she was married to Niall, and if he had had any idea she was so lovely, he would never have tried to kill her. Maggie had told him she was a hag. She would be more of an asset to him when he was laird than Maggie, who was a rough-spoken commoner. Maggie had been useful, a means to an end, but she had always been disposable...it would be easy enough to give her a taste of her own medicine once he was Laird of Tweedsmuir.

  He was quite sure that Lady Elspeth would give him plenty of healthy sons, and warm his bed in a very satisfactory manner. Why, she would not even have to change her surname! The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea. Lady Elspeth was going to be his, willingly or not.

  “Damn!” Niall cursed as he was forced to dismount from Rex. He followed the mild expletive with a few more robust ones before he lifted Rex’s front leg up to look at his hoof, where a stone was firmly wedged. It resisted all efforts to be removed by hand, so Niall had to waste time that he could have been spending with Elspeth carefully prying it out with a hoof knife.

  Stuart leaned over him; not for any practical reason, merely to lend moral support. It had been a disappointing day since Niall had been outbidden by another buyer for the beautiful gray mare he had wanted to acquire for his wife. He needed this latest stroke of bad fortune about as much as he needed a broken nose!

  The rest of the company had bid them a noisy farewell a mile back to go to the brothel in the village of Tweedsmuir. Therefore, the two exhausted and mildly intoxicated friends would be forced to endure another mile’s walk back to the castle since Rex could not be ridden and Stuart would not allow Niall to go home alone.

  At last, the job was done. Stuart climbed up onto the back of his own mount. He had offered to share his horse with his friend, but Niall had refused.

  “Thank you, Stuart,” he said wearily, shaking his head, “but there is something very unmasculine about two men riding on a horse together.”

  “Well, you will have the aching legs in the morning!” Stuart laughed, shaking his head. “That is not very manly, either.”

  Niall grinned at him ruefully. “But I will have my pride,” he pointed out.

  By the time they got back to Tweedsmuir Castle, it was very late; after midnight, by Niall’s reckoning. However, as soon as they got within a hundred yards of the imposing structure, he realized that something was very wrong.

  “Why are all the lights blazing?” he asked Stuart, his brow furrowing in bafflement. His stomach lurched as he saw the guards running about everywhere, seemingly in a panic.

  “There must have been an attack,” he said grimly. “Stuart, it looks as if I will have to ride with you after all.” He scrambled up onto the back of Stuart’s warhorse and galloped away towards Tweedsmuir Castle, leaving Rex to follow on behind them.

  “What is happening?” Niall roared as he dropped out of the saddle onto the floor of the courtyard.

  “Milady has disappeared, M’La
ird,” Malcolm McPherson, Captain of the Guard, rushed up to him. “We have been searching the castle for hours, but there is nae sign o’ her.”

  Niall’s heart skipped a beat as terror filled him. Whoever had poisoned two members of his family had struck again, but this time they had gone too far. This time they had put an arrow in his heart, but he was determined that it would not kill him. This time he would be the one doing the killing. Whoever had taken or harmed the love of his life would suffer a slow and painful death—he would make sure of it.

  “Have you spoken to her maid?” Niall asked the captain urgently.

  “We have only just found her, M’Laird,” the man replied grimly. “She had been given a sleeping draught an’ locked in a cupboard. She is no’ makin’ much sense.”

  “Take me to her,” Niall demanded. He was terrified and angry in equal measure, but as usual, it brought out in him a grim determination to solve the problem confronting him. He did not waste time raging or worrying; it was time to act.

  Catriona had been taken to one of the guest bedrooms just beside Elspeth’s. When Niall came in, his mother was sitting beside her bed, holding her hand and humming a gentle melody to her.

  As soon as Lorna saw Niall, she jumped up and hugged her son tightly. “Niall! Thank God!”

  “Mother, has she said anything?” he asked desperately. “Anything at all?”

  “Nothing,” Lorna shook her head sadly. “She has been unconscious since they found her. She has begun to wake a little, but only in the last few moments.”

  Niall took two strides to the bed and sat down beside Catriona. Her skin was dry and ashen, her eyelashes fluttering, head thrashing on the pillow. She was not feverish, although she looked as though she was, and the only sound she made was a long, continuous moan.

  Niall was tempted to shake her, but he held himself back with a heroic effort of will, and instead slipped his arm underneath Catriona’s neck and raised her shoulders. Her eyes opened and looked straight into his for one lucid moment.

  “Maggie,” she said hoarsely, before slipping into unconsciousness again.

  For a moment, Niall sat, paralyzed with shock, then let Catriona’s head flop onto the pillow again before jumping to his feet.

  “Who found Catriona?” he demanded.

  “One of the kitchen maids,” Lorna answered at once. “Molly Millar. What are you thinking, Niall?”

  “I want to know if Catriona said anything to her,” Niall replied grimly. “I will find Elspeth if I die in the attempt!”

  “No!” Lorna screamed. “Do not even think that way, Niall!”

  Niall suddenly realized what he had said and pulled his mother into a tight embrace. “I am sorry, Mother,” he said softly. “I did not mean it that way.” He gave her a gentle kiss on the cheek and made his way down to the kitchen.

  The huge figure of the laird appearing in the kitchen almost caused a panic amongst the staff. He was suddenly the focus of a dozen pairs of startled eyes as the kitchen maids jumped to their feet...except for one.

  16

  Answers

  Molly Millar was sitting at the end of the long table that ran down the center of the kitchen. Her eyes were red and puffy from weeping, but when she saw Niall, she immediately gave a whimper of terror and buried her face in her apron, thinking he had come to chastise her.

  Niall sat down beside her and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. The rest of the staff gave a collective gasp of amazement. No one had ever seen the laird do such a thing before.

  “Hello, Molly,” he said gently. “I am sorry that you’re feeling so bad. Are you able to talk to me now?”

  Molly sniffed and raised her tearstained face to his. “Aye, M’Laird,” she replied with a tremulous smile.

  Niall gave her shoulders an encouraging squeeze. “Where did you find Catriona?” he asked.

  “In a big cupboard next tae the stores, M’Laird. She was moanin’ somethin’ awful, so I opened the door an’ she fell out.” She paused for a moment to compose herself. “She was dead white an’ she had been sick. It was awful, M’Laird—just terrible!” She looked as though she was about to burst into tears again but stopped herself, squaring her shoulders.

  “Did you see milady leaving the castle?” he asked. “Or anyone else?”

  Molly thought for a moment, then shrugged. “I only saw a load o’ vegetables on a cart,” she answered. “I thought it was a funny time for carryin’ stuff out.”

  “Who was driving it?” Niall asked, hopefully. “Did you see their face?”

  Molly shook her head. “Naw, M’Laird. They were wrapped in a big dark cloak.”

  “Did you see where they went?” Niall persisted.

  “It was too dark. I am sorry I couldnae be mair help, M’Laird.”

  Niall smiled at her, and she almost melted. “You have been a great help, Molly,” he said warmly, pressing a shilling into her hand.

  He looked up and announced, “If anyone else knows anything, please go to Lady Lorna.”

  There was a chorus of “Aye, M’Laird,” then he strode across the kitchen and left.

  The kitchen staff did not recover for weeks.

  Niall sprinted upstairs again to find that Catriona was still in the same state that he had left her. They had sent for Father Bernard Sinclair from the next village of Kiltyre to come and attend to her, since he was not only a man of God, but a gifted healer, and Lorna reasoned that “if you cannot trust a priest, you cannot trust anyone.”

  Father Sinclair was a short, rotund man with the brightest green eyes anyone had ever seen. Unlike many healers, he had a forceful, almost aggressive personality, and many people had said that he did not so much cure sickness as frighten it away. He was one of a small band of priests who had studied the teachings of St Columba McCarthy—a healer, priest, and mystic who had ministered in Inverness in the 12th century.

  He arrived at Tweedsmuir Castle and immediately stamped upstairs to the invalid’s bedroom. He felt her neck, lifted her eyelids, and put his hand on her forehead to determine if she had a fever. Lastly, he smelled her breath, then stood up and frowned grimly before looking keenly at Niall.

  “I think she has been poisoned with arsenic,” he said in his gruff voice. “I think she had a fairly large dose, but not enough to kill her. If she were going to die, she would be dead by now. She will recover, but you may not get any sense out of her for a few days.”

  Niall nodded slowly.

  “You are looking for your wife, I believe?” Father Sinclair asked.

  “Yes. We believe she was kidnapped by the local healer, Maggie McGraw.”

  Father Sinclair looked shocked. “Maggie?” he asked in disbelief. “But she is a woman of peace. She delivers babies, lays out the dead, and feeds the poor with what little she has. I cannot believe this. Are you sure?”

  “Believe it, Father.” Niall’s voice was grim. “She is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. She also poisoned my brother and my cousin, although that dose was meant for me. She is a truly evil woman.”

  “We can never fathom the depths to which Satan will sink to achieve his ends,” the priest sighed, looking sad. “I will pray for her redemption.” He shook his head sorrowfully as he said goodbye.

  Niall went to fetch himself a glass of whiskey and thought for a short while. The castle had been searched, but the grounds had not, so he sent out a party of guards and servants to explore as much of it as they could in the dark while he wrote to Colm and the elders.

  Presently, however, one of his soldiers came to him, holding a folded sheet of parchment, which Niall opened with trembling hands. As he had expected, it was a ransom note.

  Dear Laird McLaren,

  I hope this missive finds you well. At present, I am enjoying the company of your sweet wife, Elspeth. May I congratulate you on marrying such a lovely young woman? In case you are becoming alarmed, I assure you that no harm will come to her providing my very reasonable demands are met. All I ask for is your lai
rdship. If the keys of Tweedsmuir Castle are not brought to me tomorrow, I will slit the throat of your wife and send you a flask of her blood. Meet me in the ruins of St Matthew’s church tomorrow at dawn with the keys to the castle and you may have her back unharmed. Do not think of bringing anyone else with you. Come alone or I will kill her in front of your eyes.

  The note was unsigned, but Niall knew who had sent it. His cousin, Drew McLaren, was a useless ne’er-do-well who had never done a stroke of productive work in his life. He had inherited a small but valuable house and its spacious grounds from his father in Inverness, but it had burned down one night due to Drew’s neglect of a candle when he was drunk and incapable. Two people had been burned to death, but due to his father’s influence, he had never been punished. Niall loathed him with a passion, but now Elspeth’s fate was in his hands.

  A burning, impotent fury rose within him; Elspeth was the love of his life, and he would do anything to get her back. But he should never have let things come to this pass. A choice between his wife and his estate was no choice at all; he could not sacrifice her life for a pile of bricks and mortar even if it was his family’s heritage. If somehow he could keep them both, so much the better—but as things stood, his wife came first, and the first words he would say to her would be: “I love you.”

  As he was torturing himself with images of what might be happening to Elspeth as he waited for dawn to come, he heard the rumble of a mass of hoofbeats galloping over the drawbridge. He rushed down to the courtyard to see Colm McClaren and half a dozen of his clansmen dismounting from their horses.

  Colm’s face was a mask of anxiety as he strode over to Niall. “Is she back?” he asked, gripping his arms so tightly that it was painful.

  “No. We have searched the castle, and my men are searching the grounds, but I am going to call them all back. I received this.” He handed the letter to Colm; after reading it, he growled with fury.