His Stolen Bride BN (33 page)

Nodding as the women left, Averyl turned her attention to the letter in her hand.
Her father’s missives of late had brought many blessings. The people of Abbotsford
now had food aplenty, as well as clothes and supplies to last through the winter,
due to Guilford, bless his kind soul. Such eased her mind greatly, that the people
of Abbotsford would not starve.

The parchment crinkled in her hands as she pried open the seal and unfolded the note.
A single glance, filled with words written by an unfamiliar hand. She frowned.

Lady Averyl,

I keep Drake as prisoner in my dungeon once more. If you do not wish his blood upon
your conscience, return to Dunollie within a fortnight. Wed me, and I will set Drake
free, as well as release him from blame of my father’s death.

If you do not come, with great pain, he dies.

Murdoch MacDougall, Lord Dunollie

For a full minute, Avery stood rooted in place. Then she read the letter once more,
praying she would find her mind had but played a cruel hoax upon her heart. But ’twas
no such game.

She began shaking. Drake was again trapped in Murdoch’s dungeon. Horror slid through
her as she imagined all manner of hell the fiend could force upon her husband. And
her own father had likely told Murdoch where to find her. Had he told Murdoch of her
marriage as well? The note had given no such indication.

Averyl closed her eyes. What was she to do?

Drake might not love her. But she loved him. And he needed her, as their baby would
need its father. She could not leave Drake to die, especially not painfully at Murdoch’s
hands.

She had, in fact, one choice. ’Twas risky but necessary. Once, she would never have
considered such a risk. Today, she could imagine naught else.

With that, she fled her room in search of Aric and Kieran. She found both training
together in the lower bailey.

The
clink
of clashing metal greeted her ears as she found the two in damp tunics and chain
mail engaged in swordplay. Kieran lunged. Aric parried.

“You are becoming far too careless,” warned Aric.

Laughing, Kieran sliced, nearly nicking his friend. “I prefer to think of it as daring.”

“A man deluding himself so young,” teased Aric, switching his sword from left hand
to right, then thrusting and scratching Kieran, “’tis not wise.”

“At least I am not soft and muddled by love.” Kieran nicked Aric’s arm with a
whoosh
of his blade.

Wincing at that comment, Averyl interrupted their play. “Kieran, Aric, I would speak
with you.”

At once, they turned to her, surprise, followed quickly by concern, crossing their
familiar faces. Funny how she had come to know them over the months. Aric thought
much and said little. Kieran said much and thought little. But of her, they had both
become fiercely protective, and for that, she was grateful.

“Are you well?” Kieran asked.

Aric’s gaze echoed his friend’s question.

With an unflinching gaze, she began, “I have not asked since coming here because I
did not wish to know, but now I must. Has Drake sent you any word recently?”

The pair exchanged concerned glances that Averyl little liked.

“Nay,” said Kieran as Aric shook his head. “Not in two months.”

At Kieran’s comment, dread plunged Averyl’s stomach down to her toes. She had hoped
Murdoch’s letter was naught but a ruse. Now she saw Drake’s capture was indeed possible.
Probable even.

Without comment, she held out the letter to the two men in a trembling hand. Kieran
took it, and Aric leaned over his shoulder as they read. The warriors lifted their
heads moments later.

“We will go to Drake,” offered Aric. “Fear not.”

“Aye, we will,” Kieran added. “He will not remain there long, love. We will make certain
Drake does not die.”

“Nay,” she refused. “You cannot save him.”

“Have faith, lass. Aric and I rescued Drake from Dunollie once before.”

Averyl thrust a hand upon her hip. “Do you not think Murdoch will remember such and
take different measures? He is not a fool. Cursed and greedy, aye, but not dimwitted.”

Aric frowned. “If we do not go, what think you must be done?”

“You will go, and I will go with you as—”

“Nay!” protested Kieran.

“Never,” vowed Aric.

“’Tis for neither of you to decide.” Averyl glared at them both. “Drake is my husband.
True, he loves me not, but he is the father of this babe. I will not stand by idly
when I have the power to see him freed.”

“You cannot mean to give in to this threat and wed Murdoch. Such is not even possible
since you are wed to Drake,” Aric reminded.

“Drake and I are but handfast. By law, if Drake agrees to release me from the union
and I say I wish freedom, we are wed no more.”

“You would actually wed Murdoch?” Kieran asked as if she’d scattered her wits about
Hartwich Hall.

“If I must to free Drake, aye.”

“But what of the babe?” Aric asked. “Murdoch will not want him if he takes you to
wife.”

“I know as much, but I will protect him. You worry about freeing Drake,” she ordered,
mouth set in an inflexible line. “Now, when I gain entrance to Dunollie, I can distract
Murdoch and sneak you two inside so you might rescue Drake. Once he is free, I will
leave Murdoch and return to Abbotsford.”

“Much too dangerous,” Aric said.

“I agree,” Kieran added. “’Tis more than daring, love. It is foolhardy, and the journey
would be difficult besides. Best if you stay here and let us—”

“Perhaps you did not hear me,” she broke in, determined. “I will go to Scotland and
find a way to free Drake. If you leave without me, I will follow. If you think to
deny me, I will travel alone.”

Averyl feared she might have to carry out her threat. She remembered her brief moments
of freedom just before her handfast, how dangerous and violent men could be to a woman
traveling alone. But she would do what she must to see Drake freed. Maybe then, she
could set him from her heart and move on with her future.

Aric gripped her shoulder. “Averyl, please consider again what you plan. In your condition,
you tire easily.”

“I will fight it.”

“Such is not good for you or the child. He may come too early if you do not rest well.”

“Death is not good for his father, either,” she argued. “I must do what I am able
and pray to God to watch over my bairn.”

Kieran took her hand. “Aric and I are trained to fight this manner of battle. I pray
you, let us do this.”

Averyl felt tears, all too common these days, burn her eyes. “Nay. I go, with or without
you. And I leave come morn.”

Nearly a fortnight later, Averyl, with her gown billowing about her legs, took in
the formidable fortress that was Dunollie. Gloom fell over its towers and walls, drawn
gray against the bleak morning sky. ’Twas as if the sun never fell upon its grounds,
light and hope never dwelt within its walls.

“Are you certain you want to do this, love?” said Kieran, real concern visible beneath
his rogue’s charm.

“Aye. My bairn needs his father.”
Even if his father needs me not.
Frowning, she rubbed a hand over her rounded belly.

“Let us do this,” said Aric quietly.

But the reluctant respect in his eyes, and that she had seen in Guilford’s before
leaving Hartwich, spurred her on.

“Do you recall the plan?” she asked instead, needlessly. Aric would see to the details,
while Kieran would risk all to see this rescue complete.

“Aye,” assured Kieran.

Aric nodded, squeezed her shoulder, and released her.

Averyl took a deep breath to quell her quivering innards, then marched toward Dunollie.
Determination beat soundly inside her as she prayed to God Almighty that her mission
would be successful. Somehow, someway, this danger would pass. That, she must believe
or be doomed.

Still, what must Drake feel, locked up in a dank, dark corner of Dunollie’s dungeon
for weeks now? Did he await death? Fight it? Or simply expect it?

Pushing grim thoughts aside, Averyl gathered a flowing cloak about her she hoped would
hide her advancing pregnancy for a bit and approached Dunollie’s gates with squared
shoulders.

From outside, the castle looked devoid of activity, almost ghostly against the morn’s
fog. Averyl pushed aside her breath-stealing anxiety and, head bowed, trod toward
the drawbridge.

“Who comes?” questioned a disheveled guard.

She swallowed, knowing she could not turn back now. “Averyl Campbell. I’ve returned
to wed your lord.”

Wide-eyed in obvious shock, the man nodded and escorted her into the gatehouse.

As they passed through the stirrings of the lower bailey, then through the second
gatehouse and the middle bailey, Averyl held her breath. A thousand things could go
wrong with this scheme that had once seemed so logical. Today, with her stomach hopping
and her heart pounding, naught of this seemed rational.

The snores of some lean gray hounds and the scuffle of a black cat chasing a plump
rat broke the silence. Averyl shivered as the guard took her into the keep, up the
stairs, into the great hall to await Murdoch’s audience.

“Sit, my lady.” He sent another guard after their lord, then began stroking a dirty
hand over his straggling beard.

The great hall, indeed the whole castle, seemed to seep a gloom she had not noticed
before her abduction. Forcing herself to sit, Averyl wondered if she felt the keep’s
sense of tragedy now because she knew the history of its grievous inhabitants.

Fear roared inside her, adding an extra thrum to her heart. What if Murdoch wanted
naught of her but her death? What if his letter was no more than a ruse?

What if ’twas not?

Clenching her hands into nervous fists, Averyl watched the wiry sentry retreat upstairs.
Would Murdoch come immediately? She prayed soon to know her fate—and Drake’s.

The air about her thickened as she waited.

Into the firelit great hall entered a man, not Murdoch. His rolling gait and shorter
stature told her that right away. Still, she found something familiar about his uneven
profile and shaggy brown hair. But her concerned thoughts could not stray from Drake
long enough to solve such a mystery.

The man turned to the table and saw her sitting there. Instantly, he gasped, staring
as if he had seen some specter.

“Averyl?”

He knew her name? “Aye,” she called, peering closer, until recognition dawned. “Cousin
Robert! What do you do here at Dunollie?”

Though Robert was the son of her father’s brother, of late he had not been much welcomed
by her father or the rest of the clan. And now she found him upon MacDougall land?

“Your father…he”— Robert shrugged—“well, he wished me to come here and see if Drake
Locke had set you free or you had been yet found. And here you are!”

“Drake is a MacDougall,” she corrected almost without thought, then frowned. “Why
would my father send you? Why not come himself?”

Shrugging, Robert turned away to call for a mug of ale, then sat, head bent. “Too
much to be done at Abbotsford, I am certain. So, you are looking well, even a bit
plump for once. Drake Loc— MacDougall fed you well, I take it?”

Self-consciously, Averyl gathered the cloak about her middle and frowned. “Well enough.
Have the Campbells and MacDougalls refrained from fighting whilst I’ve been away?
Is that why you stay at Dunollie?”

Robert gave her a vigorous nod. “’Tis a good faith gesture, but one that is appreciated,
I am sure.”

Though Averyl was uncertain Robert could be trusted, he was kin. Certainly he was
more an ally than Murdoch. “Have you seen Drake since Murdoch captured him? Where
is he?”

“In my dungeon, as I said in my letter,” called Murdoch from the top of the stairs.

That low voice chilled Averyl. She gritted her teeth against the fear creeping within
her as he descended the stairs.

“Leave us,” he said to Robert without so much as a glance.

To her shock, the ever-unruly Robert rose to do Murdoch’s bidding without a by-your-leave.

“Are you ready to wed me?” asked Murdoch once Robert was gone.

Nay. Never.
“Aye.”

He smiled smugly, victoriously. Averyl itched to slap him.

“A priest will be here on the morrow to perform the task.”

The man she had almost been betrothed to possessed a piercing, crafty gaze. No doubt,
he was clever and ruthlessly prepared to reap the benefits of his treachery. Why had
she noticed none of this before?

Because she had been a child then. Drake had shown her more of life, of her own heart.
He had challenged her to see the good—and bad—in others. For that, she would be forever
changed.

“I must see Drake first.”

Murdoch shook his head. “Why force yourself to see your tormenter once more, my lady?
Do not think about Drake Locke or his ill treatment of you another moment. Think of
our future instead.”

“Drake
MacDougall
is the only reason I have come.”

Dark eyes narrowed, Murdoch tensed.

Before he could say aught, Averyl went on, feeling oddly calm and in control. “I know
you have no interest in wedding me, other than to receive the funds and power left
to you in your father’s will, the father you shared with Drake. I know also that you
duped this entire clan into believing Drake guilty of Lochlan’s murder when, in fact,
the crime was yours.”

Averyl sat stiffly, heart pounding, awaiting Murdoch’s reply. Fury she expected. Denials,
indignation, false assurances—all were the means he could try to disarm her.

Instead, he laughed grimly. “’Tis a surprise, that Drake would tell you of our dirty
family history. I suppose you will ask me next why I swived his bitch of a mother
for a year.”

Averyl tried not to flinch at such crudity. “Nay, that I understand perfectly. So
does he. And naught you have to say on that subject will interest me. I came here
to accept your bargain. Once I speak with Drake and be assured of his good health
and his release, I will be your bride.”