Highland Destiny (36 page)

"Come my dear, we have guests."

Mackenzie was stunned. They had guests? Who? And why did he want her down there? So far, he'd seemed content to leave her locked away in her room. She looked down at the Campbell's waiting hand, and up into his cold eyes, and suddenly felt grateful for the dagger she'd hidden up her sleeve.

"There's a good girl," he complimented her as she placed her hand in his. He was so condescending; she felt like a dog.

Would he pat her on the head next? The difference between this man and Connor was staggering. There was no heat in his hands, no warmth in his eyes. Connor was all heat. He was cold.

This man had a sick sense of humor. Their "guests" were in the dungeon. They were all of the clan MacRae. They all looked so weak, she thought. Dirty, half-starved, obviously either beaten or tortured, or both. As the Campbell proudly displayed his "guests" and his warm "hospitality," Mackenzie tried not to wrinkle her nose against the smell. At the end of the small, cramped tunnel was a slightly larger cell.

Mackenzie steeled herself for another tortured soul, but gasped as she saw what looked like a small child cringing away from the bars.

"Oh!" She tried to run to the bars, but the Campbell yanked her back.

"Oh no, my dear. We mustn't touch."

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"He was caught in the battle this morning. He was trying to fight off my men," his grin was patronizing.

"What battle?" Mackenzie asked slowly, afraid to hear the answer.

"My men nearly decimated the MacDonald clan today. We caught them quite unawares. There were no prisoners, save this." He indicated the boy.

"But he's just a child," she protested.

A slow, evil grin slowly spread across his face, twisting and contorting it. "Exactly."

"I don't understand." Her eyebrows were knit over her nose and she stared at him, uncomprehendingly.

"When I execute
it
, the MacRae will finally understand how serious I am about eliminating his kind from the Highlands. I shall usher in a new era. One where our progeny rule the Highlands, and these lowly clan 'chieftains' will follow my orders. I will be the most powerful man in Scotland, and soon I will be more powerful than the king himself!"

Mackenzie quietly thought about that. She couldn't think of anything a lady of this time would say, so she settled for something a woman of her time would say.

"It won't work, you know." She tried to keep her tone neutral.

"Pardon, my dear?" So polite.

"You'll never beat him. You can't. He's stronger than you and he's better than you." She instantly regretted the words.

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"You will not speak so disrespectfully."

He slapped her across the face, and Mackenzie staggered back from the blow. She hadn't seen his temper before and she was irritated with herself for not holding her tongue. He grabbed her by the upper arm, making her wince—-it was her sore arm—-and dragged her back to her room. The whole time he ranted and raved about how he would kill Connor, and how he was better than any Scottish dog who probably didn't even know who is mother was. This time, Mackenzie was smart enough to keep silent. When he had thrown her into her room and slammed the door behind him, Mackenzie childishly stuck her tongue out at the door. It made her feel slightly better. She rubbed her arm, and glared at the fireplace.

After what felt like the longest night of her life, Mackenzie just wanted to sleep. Upon returning to her room, she flopped down on the bed and waited for Connor to sneak back in. She knew he wouldn't give up, so she'd assumed he would be waiting to pounce on her as soon as she walked in the door.

He never showed, though. Mackenzie didn't want to admit how disappointed she was, so she tried to think positively.

Maybe he went back home. That was as comforting as it was disappointing since she knew he'd be safe there, but it was still hard to be happy that she'd never see him again.

After she finally passed out from exhaustion, Mackenzie dreamed. The nightmare was becoming more and more real.

Maybe it was because she knew all the players now, or maybe 358

Her dream was the same one over and over and over this night. It never deviated. She was waiting for some brilliant twist or idea to help her, but nothing changed.

She was in a large room, a ballroom, she thought. The man she now knew as John Campbell held her hand tightly, but she kept her face smooth, not showing her discomfort.

Mackenzie was aware she was dreaming this time, and she waited for them to drag Connor in. He was shackled and it looked as if he'd been beaten. How had he been captured?

The Campbell stood and dragged Mackenzie up before the guests.

He addressed the crowd, "We gather today to celebrate my impending marriage," he glanced at Mackenzie, whose eyes were on Connor. "And as a wedding gift to you, my dear, I shall kill your husband. Tomorrow you will be free to marry me."

Even though she knew he'd say it, Mackenzie stifled a horror-stricken gasp.

"Now watch as your husband dies!" he gleefully shouted.

Mackenzie tried desperately to feign indifference, but all to no avail. Her stricken eyes never left Connor's bruised face.

She begged his forgiveness with her eyes as he glared at her with hate and distrust. He thought she'd betrayed him. Her heart broke and shattered into a million tiny pieces at the thought not only of Connor's death, but of him thinking she would ever betray him. How was she supposed to fix this?

There had to be a way. Mackenzie racked her brain for some 359

Mackenzie feigned boredom with the whole procession, and yawned, fanning her mouth, then pretended to scratch an itch on her arm, slowly, so slowly, she slid her hand under her sleeve and in one quick motion, she yanked out the dagger and plunged it into the back of his neck. Her hands were covered in warm, red blood. Mackenzie screamed as she yanked the dagger back out of his neck and he lurched at her, knocking them both down. She was pinned to the ground as she watched him gurgle his last breath.

When she woke, she knew how Connor had been captured.

He'd been here waiting for her. It was her fault. This new bit of information didn't help ease her anxiety level at all. She sat up in bed and ran her hand through her hair. So Connor had probably been discovered in her room, or in the secret passageway. No wonder he hadn't been waiting for her after her little "tour" with the Campbell, he'd been busy getting himself captured!

Now she had to find a way to save not only herself, but Connor too! Mackenzie groaned aloud. What were the fates trying to throw at her now? This was so frustrating. The man she loved was trapped most likely in the dungeon by the man she had feared her whole life, and not only did she have to save Connor, but she also had to kill the Campbell. All before the end of the month which was only in two days! She flopped back onto the pillows and sighed. What was she going to do?

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Upon waking in the morning, she was more discouraged than ever. So much was riding on tonight, and she felt so unprepared. Her nerves were stretched to their limits, and every small noise had her jumping. She waited for her breakfast to be delivered and for once didn't try to make conversation with the servant who helped her get dressed.

After the servant left, Mackenzie tied the dagger to her arm under her sleeve, and mentally prepared herself for the day.

Nothing worked though, so she finally got proactive.

Mackenzie tried to find the lever to release the door to the secret passage. If she did nothing else right, she wanted to sneak some food to the poor child in the dungeon. At the very least, she had to try.

She fumbled around the fireplace, until her fingers were black from the dirt, and she leaned her forehead against the mantle in defeat. And was eye level with a brick that stuck out slightly.
Oh what the hell
, she thought, and pulled.

Success! The door swung open and she wrapped the breakfast she'd been too anxious to eat in a handkerchief before stepping into the dark tunnel. She felt around until she 361

He and his brother had played with their cousins as children in this castle; he knew all of the medieval tunnels and passageways. Connor had known that Mackenzie would be difficult, but when he'd stepped into her room, he hadn't expected her to be so hostile. She had told him to leave. And she had lied about the baby. He knew she was lying; she was a terrible liar. But he knew she thought she could defeat John Campbell alone. It hurt that she didn't want his help. Even with the magician's on her side, he knew it was a lost cause.

She had been hiding something from him for a while, and he had thought it was her plan to leave and run to his enemy.

But after seeing her here, he knew there was more. She wasn't telling him everything. And what had she meant when she'd told him that he could not beat him.
Not here, not now
she had said. When?

At her request, he'd hidden when the Campbell had come.

It went against everything in his nature to hide, but when her eyes had begged him to leave, he'd done as she requested.

He'd known she was lying about not caring any more. She cared enough that she didn't want him to die. But what else was she lying about? His brother had thought she'd betrayed them to the Campbell, but he knew her better than that. Liam was wrong. Mackenzie would never betray them. The fact that the MacDonalds had been attacked this morn was simply a coincidence. Besides, Mackenzie hadn't known any of their plans, so how could she have told the Campbell?

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Connor had to force himself to stay in the tunnels when he heard the voice of his enemy in his wife's bedchamber. The tips of his fingers were raw from holding himself in place by gripping the rocky walls. After they left, he followed through the tunnels, bypassing some to get around common areas. He followed as far as the great hall, when a noise caused him to whirl around.

Connor barely missed a blow to the back of the head in the form of the butt of a sword as he spun towards the noise. He drew his own sword in time to block the next attack, and ran the man through, but there were several men behind their fallen comrade. Connor fought until he was outmaneuvered and even then he still took one man down. But he blacked out after that, and the next thing he knew, he awoke in the dungeon.

Connor groaned and felt the lump on the back of his head.

He quickly took stock of his battered body, but there wasn't anything that wouldn't mend. He'd had worse. Nothing was broken and there were no gashes. Just a headache and sore muscles. He was chained to the wall with about four feet of slack. He looked around for a way to escape. He thought he could get out of the shackles. He hadn't been completely disarmed; there was a hunting knife in his boot. If he could spring the locking mechanism in the shackles, he might be able to free himself. As he reached for it, he saw a slight 364

It was a small child! A very frightened child, at that. He squinted in the dark to make out features, but all he could see was fear. Connor stuffed the knife into his waistband.

"Hello there, and what might your name be?"

No response.

"It's alright, I'll no' hurt ye," Connor spoke as soothingly as he could. "How came you to be here in this place?"

Connor cajoled and pleaded with the boy to speak, but unto no avail. Eventually Connor gave up and went to work picking the lock on his shackles. The small voice that broke through his concentration surprised him.

"I am called Pip, sir."

Connor's surprised gaze met the small boy's. "Pip? Is that your given name?"

"No sir. Me mum calls me Ronald."

"Ronald? Well I've a cousin named Ronald."

"Truly?"

"Aye, lad. And he's almost as handsome as you."

The lad smiled.

"Now can ye tell me how ye happened to come in a place such as this?"

"The bad man came and he killed me da' and me brother Collum. I picked up me da's sword and tried to fight them off." He shook his head, "There were too many. The captain told me that since I showed such courage, I could come with them. But they want me to join them, and I spat at his feet.

So they brought me here."

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"My help?" his eyes goggled.

"Aye, lad." Connor picked the lock on his shackles and went to work on the iron bars that held them prisoner. "I'll be needin' ye to look out for me, and let me know if anyone is a comin'. Can you do that?"

"Aye sir. I can." The little boy scrambled up and ran to the bars, peering out into the dark tunnel.

Connor had just set to working on the lock, when the boy whispered "My Laird, there's someone coming."

Connor stepped back against the wall and put the chains back on his wrists, but he didn't latch them. He tensed and waited. The footsteps got closer. They sounded too light to be that of the jailor. But who else would it be?

A shadowy figure stepped out.