The Highlander's Captured Bride (Steamy Scottish Historical Romance)

by Eloise Madigan

  “And we’ve sent out scouts to look for the both of them,” Uncle Callum said sagely, “They went off to Ackwell, where we ken is a day and a half ride. Someone could have attacked them and taken them hostage.”

  Ethan forced his attention back to his uncle, who, unnervingly enough, was sitting behind his father’s desk and looking too calm for Ethan’s state of mind.

  “And—” he breathed out slowly, “—what dae ye want from me? To join the search?”

  “Nay,” his Uncle rebutted, “that would be the worst thing for all of us now. Ye are the only heir to this lairdship, and if ye are taken as well, this territory will flounder. Ye need to be here to take control as I willnae be here much. Ye need to be safe until we find our next move.”

  Looking around, and seeing the tangible proof of his father’s presence, the steel in his spine gave out and he slumped over to cage his face in his hands. “I cannae…” he rubbed his eyes. “I cannea believe this is happening.

  He heard the chair behind the desk scratch the floor but did not look up as his uncle came around the table. A hand rested on his shoulder and he pried his head away to look up.

  His uncle’s eyes were loaded with sympathy and sorrow, “Dinnae ye worry, Ethan, I’ll be here to help ye as much as ye need me to. I love me brother and I used me strengths to help him as much I could. I will honor his legacy by helping ye as well.”

  His legacy…? Dae ye ken he’s already dead, Uncle?

  Shaking his head, he sighed and sat back. “Thank ye, Uncle, I dae appreciate it.”

  The hand retreated, but his uncle did not move from the edge of the table. Ethan did not even have the strength to flinch at the probing look his uncle was giving him. “So, how was it with Miss O’Cain in the cabin? I’d imagine there was nae much to dae.”

  “We made it work,” Ethan replied while rubbing his eyes. “Spent most of our days talking about our childhood and her experiences working with her father for the past few years.”

  “Is that all?” His uncle asked.

  Tamping down on the heat that threatened to stain his face from the innocuous question, Ethan kept his eyes closed. “We spent some time at the riverside, she asked me to teach her how to swim.”

  “And how did that go?”

  A curl of mystification about why his uncle was asking these questions, slightly probing as they were, went through his mind. He did not feel attacked but he thought his uncle had no business knowing the finite details of what happened between him and Violet.

  “As well as could be,” he stood and gave a tight smile, “I ken we need to eat something and rest.”

  “We?” a teasing smile tugged at his uncle’s mouth and Ethan groaned. It felt as if he was having the same question with his father all over again when it came to his and Violet’s relationship.

  “Uncle, please,” he cringed.

  “Nay, nay,” the man said. “I won’t pry anymore. Happy to have ye back safe and sound, though. Bring Miss O’Cain to the great hall, we can all eat together.”

  “I ken its best if ye get someone to send the meals up to me room. Violet and I need to talk about what is happening and I ken it’s best for us to stay out of being seen for a while. Thank ye,” he said with a nod, and then he was out the door.

  Heading directly to Violet’s door, he nodded to the guard and knocked briefly. When she called out to enter, he did and found her curled into a corner where her bed met the wall. She looked tiny, vulnerable and when her dimmed brown eyes looked up with worry—for her father, no doubt—heavy in them, the protective instinct he had for her flared up.

  Joining her on the bed, he pulled her into his side and kissed right on her temple, “Dinnae ye fash yerself, love, I’m sure they will be found alive.”

  With her face buried in his chest, he did not hear her say anything but felt her soft snuffles and felt guilt. He should have never left her alone knowing that she was feeling the same fear he was muddling through. He couldn’t leave her there alone anymore.

  “Come with me,” he said. “Ye’re staying with me until all this is sorted out.”

  She shifted, “I want to but—”

  “I dinnae care what anyone will say,” he cut in. “Our faithers are out there missing. Anyone with a seed of compassion and empathy will realize we need each other to lean on.”

  Hesitantly, Violet pulled away only to reach for the unpacked sack of clothes at the side of her bed. She was not objecting and her quiet compliance encouraged him. Stepping off the bed, he took her with him through the door. The guard did not look surprised nor was he objecting when he saw Violet fitted under Ethan’s arm.

  “She will be staying with me, Mister MacTyre,” Ethan said calmly.

  “Aye, Master MacFerson,” the guard bowed, “I wish ye all be best.”

  Violet mustered a thin smile, and Ethan used his free hand to shake the guard’s, and then, they were off to his room. One or two people passed by them on their way but, though their curiosity was shown on their faces, no one asked. Ushering Violet in had the tight knot of trepidation in his stomach unraveling somewhat.

  While he was expecting her to take a seat, Violet toed her shoes off, dropped her sack at the side of his bed and went to lay on it, curling slightly into herself. Seeing her so lost and helpless, Ethan felt pain ricocheting from his middle to the ends of his body and back again. He took his shoes off, as well, and joined her on the bed, wrapping an arm around her middle and pulling her to rest on his chest.

  “Tell me what’s on yer mind,” he whispered.

  Her hand rested on his, was telltale cold and clammy, “What if he’s…dead, Ethan?”

  The words were said quietly but came with a heaviness that added more to the worry resting on his chest. There were no words he could say to alleviate the same fear they were both feeling. Even if he tried, the words would fall hollow.

  “I feel the same, love,” he replied. “I wish I can tell ye otherwise but I cannae.”

  She shifted to face him and the look in her eyes had him wondering what more was going through her mind, but she voiced it before he asked. “Ethan, I’m really afraid but…” she worried her lip, “I have faith that me faither wouldnae leave yers to die. I ken he took him away to draw out the killer.”

  Her words stirred a line of thoughts to run through his head, but even before he examined them, he felt admiration warm his chest. Even with all the trouble surrounding them, Violet still had the presence of mind to think through this muddle and find some sort of explanation. If what she was saying was right, her father would have taken his to a secure location to hide and as he raked through his mind…he knew where it could be.

  A long time ago, his father had told him and his brother about a hiding-place in the mountains that had been used as a munition hideaway during the Bishop’s War. Then, as time passed, the place was used as a hiding place for the deserters of the civil war that was headed by Alasdair MacDonald, seventy-four years ago.

  There was a high possibility his father and Mister MacFerson had run off there, but he did not dare speak it, in case Violet’s hopes were raised and his suspicions were wrong. The problem was, that cave was at the base of Ben Cruachan Mountains, a full three days ride from the castle. Could he leave Violet alone for that time, and on a weak hunch no less? If he rode hard, he could get there in less than two days, and be back in another two days' time.

  “I can see that as something yer faither would dae,” he admitted while running a soothing hand up and down her back. “T’would draw him away from the castle where, and seeing as he dinnae get me faither, it would lure him away from harming others.”

  She pressed closer to breathily whisper, “I daenae like this.”

  “Neither dae I, but we can only hope for the best,” Ethan replied tucking her under his arm.

  The only thing he wanted to do was to fold her under his arm and shield her from the world, making do on the promise to her father, to protect her. It was moments like this he
realized, under all that armor of strength and wisdom, she was still very frail. Staying there, with her close, he listened as her breath evened out and she fell asleep.

  “I made an oath to yer faither and mine, to stay by yer side, to protect ye,” he murmured in her ear.

  Forgive me when I go, I’m sure ye will be safe here under me uncle’s and the guards’ watch, naything will harm ye here, I’m sure of it.

  22

  Something’s nay right…

  Violet felt the dearth even before she woke up, and when she did swim to consciousness, she realized—Ethan was gone. It was barely sunrise, but the spot on the bed where he had rested was already cool.

  Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes to clear the lingering haze of sleep and looked around the room. Yesterday, when she had done so, all she had wanted to do was rest and distance herself from the worry about her father being dead. Now, when her attention was still somewhat distracted from her worry, she saw her surroundings.

  The bed she lay on was large, at least thrice the size of the simple version she had in her visitor’s room, and a thin carpet was under it. A massive fireplace was at the end of the room with three comfortable, padded chairs facing it. A few wooden trunks were neatly lined up at the other end and thin curtains fluttered over the open windows. Her eyes landed on the large table near it, the basin resting atop it and next to it was her sack.

  Sliding out of the bed, she rested the tips of her toes on the carpet and found it to be soft, like lamb’s wool. Still concerned about where Ethan was, she went to the table and found cool washing water inside it. After rinsing her mouth and face, she put on a simple blue cotton frock and considered where to find Ethan.

  He’s probably at the kitchens or the stables.

  Before she moved off, she braced her hands on the edge of the table and sucked in a breath, “Faither…”

  Her knees felt weak but she had to keep strong. She had faith—dwindling at it was—that her father had taken the Laird away to be safe and that, somehow, they would find this killer.

  Leaving the room, she went to the great hall first. It was beginning to fill in but she did not spot Ethan’s telltale head of flaxen hair. Slipping into the kitchens, she did not find him there either. Positive he was at the stables, she hurried off only to find two stable-boys there, tending to the horses, and again, not a sign of Ethan.

  Clearing her throat, she asked, “Pardon me, have ye seen Master MacFerson, this morning?”

  Both of them shared a look before one said, “Aye, Miss, he rode off early this morning. Never said a word where he was going, though,” he ended with a bewildered slant of his lips.

  “Thank ye,” she nodded and turned away.

  Why wouldnae Ethan tell me or anyone where he was going?

  Slowly, she meandered her way back to the castle and into the great hall. All those who she knew and trusted were gone: her father, the Laird and now, Ethan. Entering when the first meal was in full swing, she went to the high table where Mister MacFerson was sipping from a goblet.

  Greeting him, she sat and asked for nettle tea. Her mind was still confused and a little dismayed about why Ethan had left without saying a word or not scribbling a note. Quietly, she sipped the drink while feeling Mister MacFerson’s eyes on her and could only wait for him to break it.

  “Ye’ve been inordinately quiet, Miss O’Cain,” he said calmly. “Are ye well?”

  Forcing a pleasant enough smile, she nodded, “All is mostly well. Mister MacFerson left this morning without saying a word to me. I daenae ken what he is doing or where he is. I’m afraid that if he’s out there alone…” she sucked in a breath. “…that someone might have taken him.”

  “Me nephew might look unimposing but he is a fighter,” Mister MacFerson leaned his elbows on the table. “I doubt anyone could apprehend him so easily. Try to rest yer worries, Miss O’Cain, I’m sure he will be back soon.”

  If only it was that easy.

  Not needing to bother him with her lingering doubts, she gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile then focused on eating the boiled eggs and smoked fish. Halfway through, her stomach nearly revolted and she gave up on eating. Slipping the bread-roll into her pocket, she stood and said her goodbyes to the older man. Pretending to not feel his eyes in the middle of her back, Violet went back to Ethan’s room to rest.

  Lying on the bed, though, gave her no comfort to rest and her mind kept imagining troubling situations besetting Ethan. He could have taken a bad fall from his horse in the middle of a forest where no help or where he could be found. He could have been robbed and left for dead in a ravine or…he could have been lured away into a trap. The more she worried, the more her heart ached and soon, tears started trickling down her cheeks.

  A heavy, toxic mix of worry, fear and not-quite grief tugged her down into an uneasy slumber, and she drifted off with one line running through her mind.

  Come back to me alive, Ethan, please.

  * * *

  “Damnation!” Ethan cursed under his breath while swatting away another bug threatening to ram itself into his eye.

  It was dusk and after a full day of riding, including climbing the steep incline that took him from the seaside town of Oban and passing the flooded tributaries of Loch Nell, he was halfway to the Ben Cruachan. But being tired and hungry had tempered his mad dash and now, he was laying against a tree. at a stream’s side, somewhere in the woods of Glen Lonan.

  He felt guilt prick at him as he thought that Violet would be sick with worry already. Though he hated deceiving her, he had not wanted to bring her hopes up, only for him to come back empty-handed. An epistle of apologies was resting at the forefront on his mind, one he fully intended to say to her when he went back home, successful or not.

  Looking hazily at the horse drinking at the stream’s side, he went back to picking at his food, some of what he had bought the day before in Turren. His hunger had nearly carved a hole into his stomach and when he had stopped to eat, he’d eaten through half of what he carried. Folding the sack over, he tucked it into his side and stared listlessly at the darkening air.

  When darkness almost descended, he tethered the horse to a tree and went back to make a fire. Apathetically picking at the blanket he wrapped around his shoulders to bar off of any cold and insects, he closed his eyes, knowing he had to rest as he was off at dawn again.

  ‎This is all for ye, love…forgive me.

  * * *

  Nothing kept Violet’s attention even with her persistent attempt to have something stop her from sinking into worry. It was three days now since Ethan had suddenly left the castle and no message had come from him. The time that passed felt slow as molasses, but no matter how it dragged on, the days still came to an end far too soon.

  She found herself stationed at the window, scanning the horizon’s roads for his coming back. Violet wondered if this what the wives of Lairds felt when their husbands went off to war. A cold wind fluttered against her face, and she dragged herself from her dreary thoughts only to frown.

  The sky was an ugly and forbidding grey and far off she saw the quick flash of lightning jabbing through grey clouds. A storm was rolling in and she smelled rain on the air, and from the sign of the deepening clouds, the storm was not going to be a light one. Soon, darkness blanketed the whole sky and the rumbles of thunder grew louder.

  A knock on the door had her jumping a little, but she quickly shuttered the windows and went to answer the door—it was Mister MacFerson.

  Blinking, she asked, “Mister MacFerson, what are ye doing here?”

  “I came to light that fireplace for ye,” he smiled kindly. “I kent ye’d rather a familiar face inside yer quarters than one ye daenae ken.”

  “Of course,” she said, stepping aside. “Please, come in.”

  Though the windows were closed, the flashing lightning lit up the room and the ear-splitting roar of thunder had her grimacing.

  Ethan.

  She perched on the edge of
the bed, watching Mister MacFerson get the fire into a warm blaze, and she felt relief at the wash of warmth that came from it. When it began to permeate the room, she let her shoulder sag. This would have been the perfect time for her and Ethan to be wrapped up before the fire in soft blankets and just be. But he was not there and the fear of him being dead, in a dozen ghastly ways, tripled in strength. Another flash of lightning rendered the room into a grim collage of grey shadows.

  “I can still see ye worrying, Miss O’Cain,” Mister MacFerson’s gentle voice interrupted her thoughts. “I’m sure me nephew will be fine.”