Highlander's Wicked Gamel (Wicked Highlanders Book 1) Page 3

  “I will no’ leave ye here in the dark alone. We will go together or no’ at all,” Marra argued, refusing to obey.

  Diana let out an exasperated sigh and allowed Marra to help her up. Her hand had been cut on a rock and was covered in blood. “Och, ye are bleedin’!”

  “’Tis no’ but a scratch. Dinnae fash.”

  The pair of them ran to the back of the castle and snuck in through the kitchen and up the back stairs. They slipped into Marra’s room without catching anyone’s notice. She washed Diana’s wounds and wrapped her hand with a clean cloth. They removed their wet clothing that smelled of sweat and the sea, bathed, donned their nightdresses, and Marra crawled beneath the blankets of her bed, while Diana laid down upon her pallet on the floor. They prayed that the laird would not have noticed their absence if they pretended to have retired early for the night.

  “Ye should no’ have been dancin’ with that laddie for so long,” Diana whispered in accusation from her pallet in the darkness.

  “I am tae meet him at the glen upon the morrow,” Marra admitted in equal parts excitement and fear.

  “Haud yer wheesht, lass! Ye cannae!”

  “But I will,” Marra promised stubbornly.

  “Ye will be the death o’ me when yer faither finds out,” Diana’s voice trembled anxiously.

  “Faither will no’ kill ye. Beat ye mayhap, but he would no’ murder ye.” Marra felt a twinge of guilt for placing her maid in such a difficult situation, but she could not deny the hold the highlander had on her heart and mind.

  The sound of horses’ hooves in the courtyard below heralded the return of the hunting party. “Thanks be tae all the saints in heaven,” Diana breathed.

  They had made it. Apparently her father had chosen to remain out longer than usual. Marra’s body relaxed in relief. A little time later the laird’s footsteps sounded in the hall, and he opened the door a crack to peek inside. The women pretended to be asleep to avoid conversation. Light from a candle fell across her face, but Marra remained perfectly still. Her father’s whiskery chin brushed her forehead as he kissed the top of her head then retreated from the room in silence. His unexpected show of affection caught her by surprise as it was completely out of character for him to do so. Marra was so relieved she nearly burst out in a fit of giggles.

  “Either God or the Devil has blessed ye with good fortune, lass. I am just no’ sure which one yer soul belongs tae,” Diana grumbled. Unable to hold it in any longer, Marra’s resolve melted away into laughter.

  Come morning, Marra set out into the darkness once more, having slept nary a moment in anticipation. She left Diana sleeping upon her pallet in the corner undisturbed. She knew the maid would be angry with her upon waking, but Marra could not escape the feeling that she must meet the blue eyed highlander no matter the cost. Pushing the boat out into the water, she climbed aboard and began rowing.

  It took quite a bit longer to row across the water with only one person to do the rowing. She was forced to take frequent breaks as her muscles were quite fatigued from the day before. When she reached the opposite shore and beached her boat, she sat down on a rock to catch her breath. Dawn had broken across the sky as birds came to life in the trees, greeting the morning with song. After she rested for a moment, Marra arose and walked the short distance to the glen. Not finding anyone present, she walked over and sat down beneath a tree. Leaning back against the trunk, she closed her eyes.

  Dozing, she was startled awake by the snap of a twig behind her. She turned expecting to find her handsome highlander, but instead found the butt of a pistol flying down towards her head. Unable to move out of the way fast enough, she cried out in pain as the sharp blow came down upon her skull. “Why?” she whispered as the world turned black.

  * * *

  Duncan finished dressing, gathered what he needed for the journey, and returned to the great hall. He and his father walked out of the castle and found the MacDonald laird waiting for him with his men in the courtyard. “Ye will take two o’ my best warriors with ye,” he demanded, the warriors in question flanking either side of him.

  The MacGregor snorted. “Yer best warriors are nae match for my worst. My son would do far better if he were tae go alone than tae have yer wee bairns in tow a cryin’ for their maithers.”

  The MacDonald laird’s chest puffed out in anger, his face turning red. “I did no’ wish tae fight beside ye Campbell at Dunkeld, and I dinnae wish tae do so now. I would just as soon run ye through with my blade than look at ye, and I will if ye dinnae bring me back my daughter.”

  “I will move faster alone, but as we dinnae ken who has taken her or how many o’ them there are, I will agree tae take yer men if ye swear tae me on yer daughter’s life that they will no’ put a knife in my back or slit my throat while I sleep.” Duncan met each man’s eyes in turn to gauge any possible threats.

  “I would no’ trust the word o’ Angus MacDonald, my son. He could swear on Christ’s holy cross, and I would no’ trust him. The man sups with Satan on Sundays.” Were the situation not so dire, Duncan would have laughed.

  “And what o’ ye, Fergus Campbell? A man who fights against his own clan. At least if ye had fought with the other Campbells at Dunkeld, I could have killed ye then, but instead ye fight for the Jacobite cause, and ye ken all tae well that we need every man we can gain, or I would have killed ye long ago.”

  “And I ye.”

  “Arguing is no’ goin’ tae save Marra,” Duncan interrupted the lairds’ bickering. “We need tae go afore the trail is gone and it is tae late.” He nodded in respect to his father then went to the stable to saddle his highland pony and release his best hunting hound. He seldom used them as they scared away prey, but there was no need to worry about that in this case. When he exited the stables, he mounted and headed for the glen, not waiting to see if the MacDonald warriors followed him.

  He urged his steed onward, anger and fear for Marra driving him forward. If anythin’ were tae happen tae her because o’ me, I would ne’er forgive myself. Her emerald green eyes flashed through his mind, causing his heart to constrict within his chest. When he reached the boat he dismounted and searched the ground for evidence of what might have happened. He hoped the hound would be able to get her scent from the boat, but there were too many other smells. He followed her tracks up to the glen and searched the area. It was difficult to separate out the disruptions of the gathering from those of Marra, but he managed to track her away from the melee over to the edge of the forest.

  “Our laird found her arisaid over here under a tree.” The MacDonald warriors had caught up with him. The larger of the two pulled an arisaid of MacDonald tartan from his horse’s back and tossed it to Duncan. “The hound should be able tae aid in findin’ her usin’ that.”

  Duncan moved over to the tree and studied the ground. He found drag marks in the dirt from what he assumed were Marra’s heels, then they disappeared. It appeared they had loaded her onto the back of a horse. She is no’ movin’ about o’ her own accord that means she is either wounded or dead. He clenched his fists in anger at the thought. If they have harmed her, I will kill them.

  He searched the ground for signs of where the horse might have taken her. Carrying two people would have made the horse’s hooves sink deeper in the ground as it walked. Thunder rolled in the near distance. Duncan’s head snapped up as he eyed the sky. Dark grey clouds were rolling in over the highlands. It was only a matter of time before the rain would wash away all evidence of her capture. He would have to work fast if he was going to find her in time.

  Chapter Five

  Marra awoke with a searing pain in her head. She opened her eyes, but could not see anything for the blur. Her skull felt as if it had been bashed in. She reached up to inspect the wound with her fingers, and they came away covered in blood. The smell of copper mingled with smoke filled the air. A chill ran across her skin. Peering through the blur she could make out the orange glow of a fire and attempted to move to
ward its warmth.

  “Dinnae move,” a rough masculine voice commanded from somewhere behind her.

  She attempted to open her mouth to speak, but could manage little more than a croaking sound. She felt a cup pressed to her lips. “Drink,” the voice instructed.

  She thirstily gulped down the contents of the cup. It had the taste of a bitter tea, but she was too desperate to care. She laid back gasping for breath. “More?” she croaked out, and another cup was pressed to her lips. She downed it as well. “Who are ye? Where am I? Why have ye done this tae me?”

  “That is no’ yer concern.”

  “How is it no’ my concern? ‘Tis my person ye have offended with yer actions.” A voice inside her head warned her not to antagonize her captor, but she was frightened and angry. She felt the need to lash out, anything to find some means of defending herself.

  “Haud yer wheesht. Dinnae fash, lass, ye will no’ be here verra long. This will all be o’er soon enough.”

  “What do ye mean?” She was not sure she truly wished to know the answer. Does he plan tae kill me where I lay? Am I tae be ransomed? The only people who kenned I was tae be in the glen were Duncan and Diana. She was not sure whether her capture was born of planning or opportunity, but she hoped she was to be ransomed over murdered. Her thoughts grew foggy, and she had a hard time concentrating. She was not sure if it was from the head wound, or if the tea had been drugged, but she knew she needed to escape. Her wrists were bound in front of her, but she was still able to move her fingers. She felt around on the floor to see if she could find something to defend herself.

  “Ye dinnae need tae ken my reasonin’.”

  “My faither will no’ pay ye anythin’. He will find ye and kill ye where ye stand.”

  “I dinnae wish tae ransom ye, lass. My aims are much higher than mere money. When I am laird I will have all I need.” The tone of his voice was unbearably boastful.

  If Marra could have seen his face she would have spat in it. “My faither will ne’er turn o’er the lairdship tae another, e’en if ye were to kill his only daughter. My faither will always choose his clan o’er his daughter.”

  “I ne’er said that it was yer faither’s lairdship I was after.”

  “Then who? There is nae other laird who my capture would cause harm.” Marra attempted to keep him talking to distract him from her search. She rolled a bit to further her reach and felt a hard object against her leg. My sgian dubh! In her fear and panic she had not remembered slipping it into the hanging pocket beneath her skirts. She could not reach it without lifting her skirts, and there was no way that she could do so without alerting the man to what she was doing. With each moment that passed she felt drowsier.

  “Oh, I intend the Clan MacDonald harm, but that is no’ o’ yer concern.”

  “Ye are mad.”

  The man grabbed a fist full of her hair. “I’m no’ mad.”

  Marra reached up and scratched his hand with her fingernails. He yelled and kicked her in the side. She curled up into a ball, gasping for air. When she finally managed to breathe, she used the opportunity to reach up under her skirts and untie the hanging pocket. She pulled the knife from its sheath. “I will kill ye,” she promised through gritted teeth. Every breath shot pain akin to fire through her side.

  He jerked her head back by her hair again as if to prove that he could do whatever he wished to her no matter what she attempted to do to him and laughed in her face. Marra used the opportunity to lash out at him with her knife. Her movements were sluggish, but she felt the knife make contact. Her captor cried out and dropped her head causing it to bounce off of the floor with a hollow thud. Pain shot through her skull as blackness began to take over once more. The last thing she heard before she lost consciousness was a door slamming shut. Duncan, Faither, anyone, please come find me!

  * * *

  Duncan knelt down and held Marra’s arisaid under the hound’s nose, allowing it to catch her scent. When he stood up, it began sniffing the ground, then took off into the forest. Duncan leapt on to the back of his mount and followed. He eyed the building storm as they climbed farther into the highlands. He prayed that it would hold off long enough to allow him the time he needed to find her. He scoured the ground, searching for any signs of her having passed through the area. Drops of blood dotted the trail. His heart thudded in his ears like a drum’s call to war as he imagined the worst possible scenarios. Her red hair in the sunlight flashed through his mind, and he clenched his fists in an attempt to calm his inner storm.

  I will kill every last one o’ them for harmin’ her.

  He rode on, his pace matching the hound stride for stride. Could he have sprouted wings and flown, he would have done so in an instant. The MacDonald warriors followed fast on his heels. The higher they climbed, the rougher the terrain became, slowing them down. They reached a mountain stream. The hound paced back and forth and up and down the bank, trying to catch a scent. Duncan commanded the animal to cross the stream, but the trail was gone. Duncan searched the area, but found no further signs. The MacDonald warriors joined him at the stream. “They took her upstream. We need tae search the banks for any sign o’ where they might have come up out o’ the water.”

  The MacDonalds nodded and headed down stream, while Duncan rode upstream. Darkness began to fall making it difficult to see. His horse stumbled on the rocks, and he was forced to turn back, meeting the MacDonalds at the spot where they had lost the trail. “We will spend the night here and begin again in the mornin’.” He hated the idea of stopping, but had little choice. As a hunter he was adept at moving about in the dark, but that would do him little good if he could not see well enough to pick the trail back up. He prayed the storm would hold off long enough for him to pick it back up in the morning. Dismounting, he wrapped himself up in his tartan and leaned his back against a fallen tree trunk. He eyed the MacDonalds warily, not willing to trust them completely, but he had little choice if he wished to get any sleep at all. He closed his eyes and dreamt of Marra.

  * * *

  Marra awoke shivering. Outside the wind howled and rain pattered on the roof. The fire had died down to nearly embers. She looked around the room, but did not see her captor. Her vision was better than it had been the first time she had awakened, but it was not completely clear, as the wound on her head made the world feel as though it were spinning. She felt about her to see if she could find her knife, but came up empty. Her mouth was dry again, her stomach rumbled with hunger, and her body cried out to relieve itself. Tied up as she was there was little she could do about any of those issues. He better no’ have left me here tae die this way. She could just imagine the humiliation of her dead body being found sodden in her own waste. The idea turned her stomach. I dinnae wish tae die.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as the hopelessness of her situation sunk in. She knew her father, and possibly even Duncan, would be out looking for her, but it would be nearly impossible in this storm to ascertain where she had been taken. She moved about attempting to sit up, but the pain in her skull intensified with every movement she made, causing her to cease her attempts. She laid back panting as she swallowed the rising bile in her throat.

  How will they e’er find me? Panic seized her, and she squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to calm herself. She tried to distract herself by thinking of happier times in her life. She thought of her childhood days, playing freely about the island, her mother singing her to sleep, attending the spring gatherings, dancing with Duncan. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost feel his arms around her waist as he swung her about. His eyes laughed above hers in mischievous delight. Those eyes… I ken those eyes. She went through her memories, attempting to ascertain where she had seen him before. Mayhap at another gatherin’?

  Her father’s voice echoed through her mind, ‘Marra, ye are ne’er tae play with a Campbell, ever! Do ye hear me?’

  The lad from the gatherin’ when we were bairns! It was Duncan! She had thought of tha
t boy so many times. When her father had dragged her away, she had cried and cried to return to play. It had been the last gathering she had been allowed to attend. Her mother had died shortly thereafter, and her entire world had changed. He is a Campbell… Faither will be enraged, if he has no’ already killed him. Marra knew that Diana would have told the laird everything by now. She hoped her maid had not been punished for her actions and that her father had not harmed Duncan in any way. She would not be able to live with the guilt of being responsible for a war between their clans.

  The Clan Campbell had already taken everything they could from the Clan MacDonald, and even though Fergus Campbell had not been involved directly, her father blamed all Campbells for the MacDonalds’ fall from prestige. All it would take was the smallest of embers to fan her father’s hatred into an uncontrollable, murderous blaze. A war between the clans could mean the end of her people. The lairds’ common love of the Jacobite cause would not stop them from killing each other if her father murdered Fergus Campbell’s only son. Her heart constricted in her chest at the thought. If her father had killed Duncan, believing him to be responsible for her disappearance, and war had broken out between the clans, then that meant not only were her people in danger, but it would also mean that no one was looking for her, and she would indeed die where she lay.

  Marra sobbed in fear and despair at the thought. I must get free. She leveraged herself with her elbows and rolled her body toward the door. Thunder rumbled overhead shaking the earth. Dust fell down from the ceiling, landing on her face, making her cough. Marra rolled back, covering her face with her hands to protect herself. When the dust cleared, she tried to open her eyes, but could not see through the tears. She swiped at her eyes, scratching her cheek with the ropes that bound her wrists. The door banged open behind her. She turned to peer through the gloom to see if it was the wind or her captor. The sound of a flintlock pistol cocking echoed through the chamber causing her to freeze in her tracks. She closed her eyes and waited for the shot that would end her life. I will be with ye soon, Maither.