Finding My Highlander (19 page)

She nodded her head, “Sir.” Questions formed on her tongue, but she swallowed them down.

“My lady, I’m Colonel Richardson of Her Majesty’s Dragoons.” He wore boots spit-polished to a high shine; surprising since they stood in the middle of a forest, and every other man’s clothing displayed a heavy coating of dust and sweat from traveling. His coat and pants were impeccably clean as though he had just put them on, not a crease or fleck of dirt marred the material. She noticed he kept one side of his face turned slightly away from her.

When he faced her fully, a hawkish stare scoured down her body. She noticed a thick pink scar along the side of an otherwise beautiful face; it ran from his mouth to his ear. “If you behave, and do as you’re told, no further harm will come to you or the young ladies.”

His voice was gruff, threatening. She didn’t believe him for one minute. “Why have you taken us? What do you want?”

“That is none of your business, madam. The more interesting question is why would an English lady be in the company of the likes of the MacLeans? Did this miscreant Cormag plant you as his spy? You don’t resemble any of the Camerons I know.”

It seemed he didn’t trust Cormag. When he spoke, the scar limited the movement of his mouth so that he appeared to grimace. Cormag grumbled something she didn’t understand, his hot breath on the back of her neck as he moved behind her.

“I do not know this man Cormag. I am certainly not related to the vile creature.”

“That was not an answer to my questions, my lady. Perhaps you need a moment to collect yourself and reconsider your situation, hmmm. You
will
answer all of my questions, I assure you.” He kept his eyes on Andra and called to one of his men.

“Harold, take the women to tend their personal needs.” His gaze challenged her to turn away from his face, but she kept her expression blank and latched onto his chilling, gray eyes.

“Do not be foolish enough to attempt escape. The punishment would be severely uncomfortable for you and for them.” He nodded toward the girls where the man called Harold dragged them toward a group of trees beside a creek.

He barked at Cormag. “Come to my tent, we have things to discuss.” The colonel tipped a long, beaked nose down at her as if she was no more than an annoying gnat. With long strides, he stepped away, taking caution to avoid mud patches and animal droppings.

* * *

Cormag dug his nails into her arm, cackling in satisfaction. Finally, all his schemes to best Kendrick MacLean stood right here in front of him. And she was a looker to boot. She had lovely unflawed skin except for the split lip and bruised cheek he had delivered. Her curvaceous body would soon carry more of his personal branding. Using and abusing her for bed sport to satisfy his dark cravings would prove most intoxicating. To do so with Kendrick’s wench excited him beyond measure. He’d hated and despised the man all through their youth.

No matter what he did, Kendrick had always bested him, won all physical contests, found favor with their elders, and always charmed the ladies. Then he had the audacity to marry the woman who should have been his. Kirsten had eyes for no one but Kendrick; she wouldn’t even look at Cormag or dance with him when he attended gatherings. She rebuked his advances because Kendrick had bewitched her. Oh yes, he’d relish his revenge while defiling Kendrick’s wench.

“The colonel will give you to me eventually, me pet. He knows how to reward his men.” Licking his lips, he shoved her toward the man holding the girls.

She glowered back at him. “Ahh, yes, keep that fire stoked wench, I do like ‘em wild. ‘Twill be more enjoyable to break you, and I will break you in every way you can imagine and ways you cannae. And your little maids will provide a bit of fun for me men, after I’ve warmed them up a bit.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Harold, their guard, removed their bindings and followed the women to a place deeper in the trees. When Andra asked him to turn his back, he refused. Each girl took a turn behind a tree while Andra attempted to shield her from the man’s leering eyes.

On their return to the camp, Andra made a quick assessment of their surroundings. A creek about five-feet wide trickled over a rocky bed and wound through deep woods. Tethered near the stream, two-dozen horses grazed, and there were as many or more on the far side of the clearing. A hill a couple hundred-feet high rose behind the spot where they’d staked several tents.

Clumps of men sat in front of another cluster of tents nearby drinking and playing dice or cards. Several small fires and one larger one crackled near two supply wagons several yards from the men’s tents. One group of men sat opposite and further away from the English soldiers. They wore brown-plaid kilts or were dressed in dirty trews with sweat-stained shirts. It seemed the English and the Scots aiding them in terrorizing the locals stayed separate in camp. In fact, all the men, English as well as Scots wore dirty, stained clothing, except for the colonel.

Their guard escorted them to a tent pressed against a steep hill mounded with large boulders and scrubby growth. The colonel’s baritone voice emanated from a tent several feet from theirs and positioned farther away from the hill behind.

As they walked past the men made lewd comments and gestures toward them. The guard roughly pushed them through the tent flap and called to the Colonial, “Do you want me to bind them again?”

“Give them food and refreshment first,” was his brief, nonchalant response.

Andra pulled the girls away from the entrance. The tent measured about seven-by-seven feet. Someone had thrown a few blankets on the ground. A small table with one candle and no chairs sat to the side of the center pole. She walked to the sides and back, listening for movement. Kneeling in the dirt, she slipped a finger under an edge at the back and discovered no guard posted there. Only a large boulder pressed close to the rear canvas. She could hear Colonel Richardson arguing with Cormag about whether they should keep or kill the girls.

Kneeling next to the girls on the blankets, she took their trembling hands and whispered, “We will make an escape plan as soon as they settle for the night. Isabel, I don’t think they know your identity. Give them a false name if they ask you. Do not claim to be related to Kendrick.”

“I did not tell them our names, and I don’t think they ken who we are, so why did they take us?” Isabel whispered, clutching tightly to Andra’s hand.

Andra cupped her cheek, “I don’t know why exactly. It seems the colonel only wanted me. Perhaps they took you to gain my cooperation.”

Isabel nodded and put on a brave face. “My brothers will come for us, I ken they will, and they’ll kill them all.” She reached her other hand to clasp onto Senga.

Andra squeezed their hands. “Do not fash yourselves. We will survive this,” she assured them. But her gut twisted with uncertainty.

A young soldier, perhaps a few years older than Isabel, wearing an English uniform brought their meager rations of bread, cheese, and watered wine. Stealing repeated glances at Isabel, he noticed her holding her blistered wrists where the rope had rubbed them raw.

“When I return I’ll bring you salve and bandages to wrap them,” he nodded toward her hands.

Not missing the chance to gain an ally, Isabel dipped her chin and batted her eyes, “Thank you kindly, sir, that would be greatly appreciated. I dinnae catch your name.”

“Lucas, my name is Lucas Temple.” The guard outside yelled for him, and he quickly left.

Lucas returned later with ointment and strips of linen. Andra drew the girls closer to her and reached for the supplies. He might be helpful, or he might get it into his head that he could claim Isabel for himself. “I’ll do that. It would not be proper for you to handle the ladies, but we do sincerely appreciate your kindness.”

“When you are finished, I must bind you again, m’lady.” He spoke to Andra, but his eyes never left Isabel, who kept her head demurely turned from his gaze, watching him from under her dark lashes.

After tending to Isabel, Andra dropped the clothing off her shoulder to apply ointment to the bite there.

Lucas hissed, “Who bit you?”

“Who do you think? Could you bring hot water for me to clean this first?” If he complied, she thought he might possibly become their only ally in the camp.

“I don’t think that is possible. The ointment will help. Use the watered wine to wash it first. Stay away from that bastard if you value your life.” He obviously didn’t care for Cormag Cameron either.

“We wish we’d never made his acquaintance in the first place. Unfortunately, we were not given that option.” She watched him carefully. Would he help them? “Do you know why we have been taken?”

He stared at her for several seconds as though carefully weighing his next comment. Before he answered, another guard yelled for him to leave the lasses unless he planned to loosen them up for the rest of the men.

“I’m binding their hands,” he yelled back. “The colonel has ordered all men stay away from this tent.” Taking the ropes, he tied their hands in front of them and then lashed them together preventing them from moving independently and latched the rope to the pole supporting the tent. Andra noticed he did not tie the binds too tightly across Isabel’s wrists. When finished, he tipped his chin to her, “I’ll be on late-night duty outside this tent,” and then he left.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Vera returned to the castle, angry that Cormag had not taken her with him. He had promised to take her to his keep if she helped him take his revenge against Kendrick. In the beginning, Cormag’s plots and schemes amused her. Eventually, she decided she wanted Kendrick for herself, and over a year ago, she’d managed to bed him on a few occasions. Now that he’d spurned her for an annoying English chit, she knew how to exact her revenge. She needed to keep everyone from discovering her involvement until she could gather some useful tidbit of information and escape.

She didn’t really want to consort with Cormag but he had rewarded her well enough over the past few years. His lust for her knew no bounds. She convinced herself that she could tolerate him if it meant she’d become lady of his keep or at least his mistress. Providing him with a son would cement her position and she’d never need to do menial work again.

After a short while, Vera found Kyle looking for his sister. “Lady Isabel and Senga have retired to Isabel’s rooms and dinnae want to be disturbed,” she informed him.

When he started to whine in protest, she knew just how to stop him. “A lad who is a babe in need of his sister’s coddling probably can’t be trusted to help with the puppies born in the stables a few days ago.”

He squealed and grew very serious, “Oh no, I am a verra grown-up lad. I’m verra good with puppies.” His face darkened a moment. “I use to have one of me own.”

“Ah, I see. Mayhap the stable master will allow a grown-up lad such as you to tend the pups. If you’re verra good, mayhap he’ll allow you to keep one.” The boy’s eyes gleamed hopefully and he did as she bid without further discussion.

Next, she encountered Beatrice. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady,” she dipped a perfect curtsey, “Isabel asked to be excused from the evening’s meal.”

“Is she unwell?” Beatrice asked, concerned.

“Oh no, m’lady, she is well. Senga has finally spoken, and she thought it would be best for them to have quiet time to encourage her further.”

“When did this happen? What did she say?”

A smooth liar, Vera didn’t blink. Her life depended on convincing Lady Beatrice. “We went to the village earlier with Andra. She asked I join them to gather wild flowers and herbs for her soaps. On the way home, we stopped to check on old widow MacAllis. The widow was feeling poorly, so Andra decided to stay to help put her croft in order and prepare an evening meal. I’ll fetch her back in the morning, m’lady.” She bobbed prettily. “When we returned to the keep, Senga whispered something to Isabel. I nearly fainted from the shock as I dinnae think the girl could speak. Isabel asked me to bring them food and see they not be disturbed this evening.”

“Of course, I understand. It gladdens my heart that the girl is finally speaking. Thank you for alerting me.”

“Aye, m’lady, ‘tis me pleasure to be of service. I’ll check on them later if you wish.”

“No, I think Isabel is right to request an evening for them. You go on about your duties.”

Watching Beatrice enter the great hall, Vera breathed a sigh of relief for the few hours’ time that exchange brought her. She needed to get away from the keep soon, but also needed information that would provide a good reason to go to Cormag.

Unable to sleep, Vera roamed through the shadowed corridors of the castle in the pre-dawn hours looking for things of value to steal; things she could easily hawk for coin. As she neared the old laird’s rooms, a sudden commotion had her dipping into a sheltered alcove.

Lady Beatrice rushed to her personal guard, “Bring Lorne to me immediately.” She looked stricken and disheveled.

“Och, finally, something of interest.” she said to herself. She waited several minutes before the guard returned with Lorne. They entered the old laird’s rooms together. It seemed an eternity before the guard exited alone. She sidled up to him coyly.

“Padrick, a commotion woke me, and I saw you and Lorne rush up the stairs. Can I be of service?” He swiped his hand through his hair not saying anything at first.

She suspected it was the old laird, as he’d been ill for years. In a subdued voice she asked, “Has something happened to Monroe MacLean? Should I fetch the healer?”

He shook his head dropping his gaze to the floor. “Nae, ‘tis too late. Old Laird MacLean has gone to his maker, God rest his soul. Mayhap you should wake cook and have her prepare a meal for the family to break their fast. Send me one of the lower guards for instructions as well.”

She dipped her knee in a mock curtsey, “Aye sir, you can count on me to handle things.”

Within half an hour, Lorne had dispatched men to locate Kendrick and his warriors. He also sent messengers to alert allied lairds. All the commotion provided a perfect cover for Vera to slip out of the castle. She stole some provisions from the kitchen, a small dagger, and several pewter mugs, which she rolled into her plaid. Despite her meager cache, she had no time to delay. At the stables, she waited for the first messengers to depart, then went to the stable-hand.

“Lorne has instructed me to take old Bessie and retrieve Lady Andra from the widow’s croft.” She smiled sweetly. “She’s been such a comfort to Lady Beatrice since she arrived, she will be want’n her here as quickly as possible.”

The lad looked at her curiously, but did not ask questions as he saddled the old horse. Vera wanted to ask for one of the better mounts, but knew that would raise too many questions, and the lad might seek authorization from the stable master. No sense inviting trouble. She rode out behind several other messengers. As soon as she entered the trees and the messengers turned in another direction, she pushed the old mare to a hard gallop. About a mile past the village, she reached the old, deserted hut where Cormag’s man supposedly waited for word from her. Smoke trickled from the chimney rising over the thatch. Someone was inside. Pulling behind the building, she saw a horse tethered nearby.

“Hello, are you awake?” she called. She slid off the horse and approached the door hanging lopsided on old leather hinges. “Hello, ‘tis me, Vera, are you awake.”

A gruff looking man came out scrubbing his face with large, callused hands. She recognized him. He had been with Cormag during one of their previous meetings. “Say what you have to report?”

She would not let him leave her here. “You must take me to Cormag immediately. ‘Tis urgent business I have with him.”

“Nae, you report to me, and I deliver the information.” His black, bushy eyebrows drew into a straight line across his scowling forehead.

Vera drew herself up to her full height and fisted her hands on her hips. “What I have tae tell The Cameron is nae to be disclosed. He told me himself that he would kill me if I told certain information to anyone other than him.”

“‘Tis not what he told me.” The man folded his arms over his burly chest, clearly not intimidated by her.

“If you ride over yon hill, you will see men rushing in all directions from the MacLean’s castle. Much is afoot and I cannae trust the information with anyone but Cormag. If you must blindfold me first, then do so, but hurry up about it and take me to him directly if you value your sorry, worthless life.” Brash intimidation was her only hope.

He scrubbed his bristly chin with a fist then turned into the hut. She waited impatiently tapping her foot and watching for riders who might have followed her. Shortly, the man came out dressed and hauling his bedroll and saddle.

“If Cormag is displeased with me taking you to him, you’ll suffer sorely for your deceit.” He pulled out a strip of linen from his saddle pack and ordered her to turn so he could bind her sight.

“You should ha’ taken a better mount, this old nag won’t make it to our destination.”

“Let’s take her as far as possible. When she collapses, we’ll continue on your horse.” Vera was anxious to get moving.

“Nae, you’ll have to ride with me; we can’t have someone find a MacLean nag along our trail. ‘Twould be too easy for them to figure our direction. I’ll nae tolerate any scheming from you, or I’ll rip out your lovely locks.” He twisted her braid in his fist and pulled hard. “Dae we understand each other?”

Vera wanted to spit in his face, but curbed her response. It would have to wait until later, but she would exact her revenge; she always did. “Aye, let’s hurry before someone comes this way.”