MacDougall 01 - Laiden's Daughter (39 page)

Aishlinn stood, out of breath and overwhelmed with anger.
 
As she was about to give them another tongue lashing, Harry came racing towards them shouting Duncan’s name.
  
He fell to his knees in front of Duncan, fighting for breath.
 

“What is it, lad?” Wee William’s voice boomed from behind Aishlinn. It startled her nearly witless and it seemed even the birds had decided it was now best to remain quiet.
 
Now he decides to use his voice?
 

“Tall Thomas sends for ye, Duncan!” The boy said, gulping for air.
 
“He says for ya to come straight away!”
 
The lad sounded serious and fearful.

“Did he say why?” Duncan asked and jumped to his feet before helping the boy up to his own.

Harry shook his head.
 
“He said to fetch ya, to tell ya ‘twas important and to not say anything in front of-” he stopped and cast a look at Aishlinn.
 

“In front of who?”
 
Duncan’s face had turned hard and sober.

The boy pulled on Duncan’s tunic to whisper in his ear. Duncan bent down and listened.
 
The color drained from his face before he straightened himself. He turned and stared deep into Aishlinn’s eyes. She was certain she saw black clouds of worry and rage flash over them.

“What is it?” She asked uncertain she truly wanted to know the answer.

His worked his jaw back and forth as he walked towards her.
  
He could see the fear rise in her eyes as she figured it out.

******

“What is it?” Aishlinn asked as Duncan took her by the arm and led her towards the castle.
 
Panic turned in her stomach when he would not answer. Wee William and Black Richard followed close behind, their faces belying the fact that they were just as concerned as Duncan as to what was taking place. The two men had managed to glean from Harry what Tall Thomas’ message had been.
 

Duncan led her through the kitchen door.
 
“I need ya to go to yer room, Aishlinn and stay there. I’ll come for ya soon, I promise,” he said as they walked through the gathering room.
 
Richard, Tall Gowan, Manghus and Findley stood huddled near a table.
 
Rowan and Angus were racing down the stairs.

Without stopping, Angus boomed, “Aishlinn, go to yer room and wait. Do no’ come out until we send for ye.”

It did not take long for her father to start acting fatherly.
 
She nearly shook out of her slippers when he boomed his order.
 
Under different circumstance she would have protested vociferously.
 
But with feeling as though the wind had just been knocked from her sails she did not have the strength or the courage to test him.

Duncan tugged at her arm.
 
“It’s the English isn’t it?” She asked, the fear in her voice quite evident.

No one had to say a word for the looks upon each of their faces was enough to confirm her fears.
 
Duncan led her up the stairs and to her room.
 
“Lass, twill be all right.
 
Do no’ worry.
 
Just stay here and I’ll send Bree to ya.”
 
He left quickly without uttering another word.
 
She promptly went to her private privy and retched.

******

Duncan could tell from the serious expressions upon his men’s faces that nothing they were about to say would be good news.
 
Rowan was waiting for him in the gathering room.
 

“What in the name of God is going on?” Duncan demanded as he barreled through the halls towards the private meeting room.
 

“I dunna ken, Duncan.
 
All Richard and Findley would say was that they had word on the English and Aishlinn.”
 

Duncan flung the door open to the war room and saw his men huddled near the end of the large table.
 
The McDunnah sat at one end of the table to Angus’ left. Several of the McDunnah’s men stood behind him, arms crossed, curious expressions upon their faces.

“What’s happened?” Duncan asked.
 
He was not afraid of the English, he was afraid for Aishlinn.

Richard came to stand beside him.
 
“I’ve word on the English,” he said.
 
“And Aishlinn.”

“Tell me!”
 
Duncan shouted.

“Duncan!” Angus boomed.
 
“Calm yerself lad or I’ll have ya removed.”

Duncan took a deep breath and nodded his head, first to Angus then to Richard.
 
He did not doubt for a moment that Angus wouldn’t make good on his promise.

“Findley and I went to Dunblane for supplies,” Richard began.
 
“We were in a tavern having an ale when some English soldiers came in. Findley and I got close enough to listen.”
 
He paused for a moment knowing that what he was about to tell Duncan was not good news. “They be looking for Aishlinn.”

Duncan’s heart went cold.
 
“Yer certain?” He asked calmly.

“Aye,” Findley said.
 
“Green-eyed beauty with blonde hair cut short.”

“How many men?” Angus asked as his face paled.

“There were only a few in the tavern.
 
We left immediately. Did not even bother to get the supplies.
 
As we traveled back, we caught sight of several campfires.” Richard recounted the event while he watched Duncan closely.
 

“We got as close as we could.
 
There looked to be at least a hundred.”

Duncan’s jaw clenched as his hands balled into fists.
 
A hundred English soldiers sent to look for one young woman? It made no sense they would send that many.
 
His mind raced as he thought of Aishlinn and what Angus would do.
 
It felt as if the earth was giving way under his feet. Slowly he sat down in the nearest chair.

“Duncan,” Findley said.
 
“They be a day and a half away.”
 

He could not speak for his mind was racing with how quickly he could get Aishlinn to safety.
 
There was not a cowardly bone in his body.
 
He was not running from the fight. Once he got Aishlinn to a safe place, he could then concentrate on the fight.
 
If he had to worry over her, he would be no use to anyone.
  

“Duncan,” Richard said.
 
“There be more.”

Angus and Duncan looked to him.
 
“In the tavern, the English were speaking of a troth.”

A deep crease came to Duncan’s forehead.
 
“A troth?” he asked perplexedly.

“The soldiers said the earl had given a troth to her family but she had run away.”
 
He paused to let the words sink in.
 
“The earl be no’ dead Duncan.”

Duncan shot up from his chair.
 
“What do ya mean, the earl be no’ dead?”
 

His chest tightened. Intense white-hot anger burned spots in front of his eyes and his palms began to sweat.
 
Duncan did not doubt that Aishlinn had stabbed the earl as she said she had.
 
But she had been wrong to believe he had died from his wounds.
  

Findley walked to him.
 
“He evidently survived the stabbin’, Duncan.
 
They’re sayin’ the earl has given a troth for her hand.
 
They’re saying he misses her dearly and wants his beloved returned as soon as possible.”
 
He paused for a moment.
 
“He’s offerin’ a reward to anyone who returns the lass to him.”

Duncan’s mind whirled. His first thought was of Aishlinn and how she would respond to the news.
 
Aye, she had become stronger over the past sinnights, blossoming into a fine, strong woman.
 
But that strength had built partly on the premise that the earl was dead and no one had been looking for her to punish her for the crime of killing him.
 
Would learning that the whoreson wasn’t dead and the English were in fact looking for her be enough to destroy the woman she had become?
 

 
The earl was alive and had given a troth for Aishlinn’s hand in marriage?
 
There could be no truth to it.
 
The troth was merely a ruse, a lie told to either convince or entice those who did not know the whole truth to aid in finding her.
 
He would kill the bastard before he would allow Aishlinn to be returned to him.

His thoughts then turned to the three brothers.
 
They had traded her to work at Firth without her knowledge or consent. It was quite feasible that they would have entered into a marriage arrangement without her knowing or consenting to that as well.
 
He would kill the earl first,
then
the three brothers.

A buzzing sensation began to build in his ears.
 
He could not lose her now.

“Well now, this changes things a bit, don’ it?” Caelen McDunnah offered. A curious smile had come to the man’s face and Duncan was not quite sure what to make of it.

“What do ya mean, Caelen?” Angus asked, turning to face him.

The McDunnah tilted his head.
 
“If the Buchannans get wind of this, they’ll be after the lass fer certain.
 
They’ll want to ransom her back to the earl.
 
There probably would be no amount of coin the earl wudna pay to get her back.” He paused for a moment before continuing.
 
“There’ll be no safe place fer the lass to go.”

Every man in the room thought on that for a moment. This did not bode well for any of them.
 
One of the McDunnah’s men, a stocky man with a bald, tattooed head and a full, long red beard spoke up.
 
“Why should we be goin’ up agin the English or the Buchannans for this lass?” He asked bluntly, looking at the MacDougall men who stood across the table from him.

Caelen McDunnah threw his head back and laughed boisterously for a long moment.
 
“God’s bones, man!
 
Have ye
seen
the lass?”
 
He shook his head and whistled.
 

“She be a damned beautiful young thing!
 
Beautiful enough she could make a grown man cry with wantin’ her.
 
Tis probably why the earl wants her so.”
 
He shot a wicked glance towards Duncan who was slowly making his way around the table.
 

The logical thinking part of Duncan’s mind told him it would do no good to start a battle with the McDunnah.
 
But his heart beckoned him to defend Aishlinn’s honor against anyone who would defile it or speak out of turn regarding her, even a supposed ally.

“If the lass weren’t already taken, I wouldn’t mind a go at her meself! A lass as beautiful as that makes a man’s bones ache with want! And it be the quiet ones that fool ye. They be the ones full of hidden passions that can set a man’s teeth on edge!” He was laughing again, apparently enjoying the effect he was having on Duncan.

There was very little time for Duncan to act.
 
He had taken no more than a half a step towards the McDunnah when Angus bolted upright out of his chair, took a firm hold of the man’s throat with his right hand, lifted him off his chair, and pinned him against the wall.

He had moved so quickly that no one had seen him pull his dirk until they saw it firmly pressed against the McDunnah’s throat. It had taken only a moment or two however before every man in the room had pulled a dirk or a sword, one side pointing their weapons at the other.