Marriage By Arrangement (10 page)

Some warmth returned to her hands. She could see nothing of Rafe, either. Apparently the bodyguard remained with Avondale.

Oh, God, please keep Avondale out of trouble.

She had tried to talk Mums out of holding this masquerade, but Mums had her heart set.

Cailin sighed. She’d felt it was too early for Avondale, but absolutely could not give her reason to Mums. Avondale was a private man and wouldn’t want anyone but her and Rafe, and maybe Hennings, to know of his problems.

The band struck up a lively waltz.

Aunty Moira, her auburn hair shining as brightly as her green eyes, glided out onto the dance floor. A limping man, dressed as a Bard, held her hand and swung her into a waltz.

Cailin gulped.

Was it safe for the wounded Highlander to be here? The two must think so. Except for Ian’s pronounced limp, the two looked elegant, serene, and so very happy as they swayed to the rhythm of the waltz.

Cailin smiled as memories flooded in.

Brody had freed the fugitive Highlander from the cave where Ian and a number of other wounded warriors had been hiding from murdering English soldiers. Aunty Moira had nursed, and then fallen in love, then married Ian. Without Avondale’s protection that love would never have blossomed. Ian, as well as the other men, would be dead.

She could see God’s hand working. Her husband had saved so many lives.

But was her family taking too big a risk tonight? She would have advised following a more cautious route and keeping everyone in hiding, perhaps even Fiona. Her family certainly had great confidence in Avondale.

But they didn’t know what she knew. She must keep his secret. With so many people depending upon him, no wonder Avondale felt the pressure.

As her blushing aunt looked over Ian’s stalwart shoulder, she blew Aunty Moira a kiss.

Mums and Papa swung out onto the dance floor and circled Aunty Moira and Ian.

She and Avondale were expected to join the four dancers next.

Then Megan and Brody.

What should she do? Oh, there was Fiona. She hurried over towards the double doors, making her way through a number of eager shepherds clustered around Fiona. With her fan, she tapped the lass’s bare shoulder. “Please take my place on the dance floor. I’m feeling woozy.”

Fiona’s beautiful smile lit her heart-shaped face. “I shall be happy to.” Her carefully spoken words showed not a hint of her Highland brogue. She extended her bare hand to the tall and handsome young Earl of Sussex. The lad blushed and bumbled, then grabbed Fiona’s fingers as if he feared the slender shepherdess would disappear, and led her proudly onto the dance floor.

Cailin moved to speak to Lorna. “Please continue the general dancing. I’m feeling unwell.”

Lorna made a large O with her pretty mouth, smiled, and tapped young Viscount Wickham with her furled fan. They moved to the dance floor.

Amid a flurry of graceful dresses and unusual costumes, other dancers followed.

With that task successfully undertaken and since no one seemed to notice Avondale’s absence, she felt free to track him.

Surely the armed bodyguard knew Avondale’s whereabouts and wouldn’t be far from her husband.

She must find them both.

12

Fiona felt certain she could smile no more. Her lips felt wooden. Speaking proper English and dancing with English gentry curdled her stomach. But not one Lowland Scottish lord caught her fancy. She stole down the stairway, away from the busy, brightly lit ballroom, and hurried through the dimly lit hall to the entry room. Though he was injured, it was such a relief to know Brody was safe. Guilt slid off her shoulders, leaving her footsteps lighter. But had English soldiers followed him?

She peeked out the tall front window.

“I say, comely lady, why are you hiding out here alone?”

She jumped.

Lord Avondale!

She’d been so busy searching the shadowy drive and carriages parked behind their patient horses, that she’d missed his footsteps.

She backed against the window, crumpling the big shepherdess bow at the back of her yellow gown. “I…I’m expecting someone.”

Lord, please forgive my lie.

“You don’t say!” Lord Avondale’s words held all manner of nuances.

She gazed down the empty hall to the ballroom. Not even one servant in sight. Her heart tripped faster.

Then his dazzling gold-clad body moved to block her view. “Did you hear the voices?”

Skin crawled on the back of her neck. “Voices?”

Glinting through the shadows, his brown eyes looked calm, but odd and slightly empty. “Yes, the voices told me you’d be here waiting for me.”

“What?” She tried to catch her breath. “I don’t know what yer speaking of.” She’d forgotten her schooled English, her burr very evident.

“Oh, yes, my dear. My voices never lie. They said you were waiting for me.” He reached for her hands.

She slipped away, her back pressed against the wall.

He closed the distance between them and grabbed her wrists. “You need not be afraid of me. I’ll keep your little secret.” He smiled.

His eyes appeared so empty she thought she could see to his soul. And it looked tortured.

“I have no secret. Leave me alone.” She pulled against his tight grip. His scent had a male tang, strong and fearful. “I must return to the party. They’re waiting for me. The dance—”

“No, no, little miss. You shall accompany me. I must keep Bloody Billy away from you. He’s after me—but he’ll gladly take you instead. A beautiful, pure maiden, a Highland lass who knows the location of many a warrior with a fat price on his head. Oh, yes…Bloody Billy will indeed snatch you. It is my duty to keep you safe.”

She opened her mouth, but he jerked her against his satin-clad chest and clamped his free hand over her mouth. “You must stay quiet or he will hear you. He’s very close by.”

She bit his hand. Though she tasted metallic blood, he seemed impervious to pain. She hadn’t even felt him wince. Amazed at his iron grip pinning her chest and arms, mashing her mouth, her knees buckled. Though her stomach shook, she kicked Lord Avondale’s ankles and stepped on his feet, but he never noticed.

“The Butcher is waiting. He’s impatient. I must take you to a safe place where he can never find and hurt you. If he gets his hands on you, he plans to humiliate me and show his power.”

Just as the orchestra struck up a loud dance tune, Avondale lifted his hand, and forced open the front door.

She screamed.

He clamped his hand back over her mouth.

Her heart fluttered like a trapped butterfly. Her scream had been lost in the blaring music. Cool air whistled through her dress and scattered goose bumps over her skin. She lost a slipper, and as Lord Avondale dragged her down the carriage path cobblestones tore at her foot. Then he half-carried her between the hedges. Under the deeper shadows of the rowan trees, her feet squashed some of the red pomes dotting the ground.

She writhed and fought his iron hand, but she might as well have been a fairy in the clutches of a giant gargoyle. She’d never have imagined he had such strength. He dragged her deeper into the night, away from the lighted castle, away from the stable, away from the road that led to the village.

Where was he taking her? Who was Bloody Billy? This man only looked like Avondale. Surely he was an imposter. Did he have a twin? Was he mad?

The tight clench of his hand bruised her mouth. She could scarcely draw a breath. As he dragged her over a hedgerow sty, her dress tore on brambles. He was headed for the total darkness of the forest and the river.

And there was absolutely nothing she could do. Chills spidered her entire body until she shook all over. Why had she not worn her dagger?

She lost her other shoe. Dew wet her shredded hose, and brambles tore her arms and dress. Behind her, the music and lights diminished until they were only a memory of safety. Ice all but paralyzed her breathing. She had no doubt Avondale would accomplish whatever he had in mind.

Oh God, protect me!

She needed help. Desperately.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Lord Avondale called out as if in answer to someone. “I will save her.”

Her heart beat harder. She gasped for breath as he half-carried, half-dragged her over the rough ground. Sobs choked inside her chest, held down by his iron grip.

Clouds shrouded what moonlight was left. Ahead lay the dark stillness of the forest. The rushing of the river over rocks sent shudders over her body.

He dragged her beneath the trees, deep into the forest until the moonlight twinkled out, leaving them in intense darkness. The rocky, cold ground tore her bare feet. Bushes reached out and scratched her, grabbing pieces of her gown. If Avondale didn’t slow, she’d soon be indecently clad. The roar of the river grew louder.

“Bloody Billy wants this pure, little lass. He wants the information she carries inside her head. He will hurt her to get it.” Lord Avondale stumbled on a rock, dragging her down with him. In the tarry darkness, he rolled on top of her, crushing the breath from her lungs.

13

Fiona’s chest hurt. As Lord Avondale sprawled on top of her, the hard muscle encased inside the cold satin sleeve slipped inches below her chest, and his hand loosened its death grip on her mouth. But she couldn’t draw a breath.

Lord Avondale’s patterned red satin jacket spun before her gaze as her head whirled in dizzy circles. Had she been able to breathe, she would have screamed.

But no one could have heard. They were quite alone in the dark forest.

Lord Avondale stirred, but his bruising weight didn’t lift. Beneath her, sharp edges of stones pricked her arms and legs. Would she die here squashed flatter than a bedbug?

A long minute passed.

Then she found her lungs working again. She gasped in a deep painful breath, and the pungent odor of wet grass assailed her. She pulled in another breath in preparation for a scream.

Lord Avondale’s hand tightened over her mouth.

She could only moan. But she who had killed an English soldier while freeing wounded Highlanders had more spunk than to give up. If only she could work her arm free to pick up a rock. She brought both elbows up hard against his chest and fought, wiggling and kicking, to free herself.

“Mmumph.” He shifted his weight, keeping her pinned.

Her nose, buried in the palm of his hand, felt smashed. She moaned again.

He released her mouth. As she gasped in another breath of life-giving air, he grabbed her wrists, and pulled her to a sitting position on his lap. He hugged her so tight she thought he’d crush her ribs. Her wrists burned from his rough treatment.

A moment passed, but Lord Avondale didn’t stir.

She wriggled around, craning her neck until she could glimpse his expression. What was his plan?

An errant shaft of moonlight floated across his face, granting her enough light to see lifted brows, and that a quizzical expression had replaced his frowning determination.

Surprise? No longer hard-chiseled obstinacy? All but mesmerized, she watched his countenance melt into consternation.

Lord Avondale’s raised brows and open mouth were not hidden by even a grain of self-restraint. He seemed amazed at seeing her. “Fiona! I say, what the blooming night are you doing sitting atop my lap?” He released her wrists and scooted back on the rock, leaving enough space between them that the cool wind made her shiver in her shredded dress.

“What am I…?” She almost blurted out the situation before common sense stampeded to her rescue.

Everyone inside the castle knew Lord Avondale on occasion behaved in a strange manner. But this was beyond the pale. Did the man not know what he had done? Dare she remind him? No. Perhaps he’d free her if she pretended nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

“Why, Lord Avondale, don’t you recall? We decided to take a short walk. In the darkness, we stumbled on this rock.”

His handsome face continued to look blank, and then crumpled into confusion. “But Fiona, your pretty gown is torn.” He reached to reattach the ruined sleeve of her dress onto her bare shoulder. “Surely you should not be out in this strong wind with no cloak.”

He stumbled to his feet, looking unsteady, totally unsure of the situation, and his part in it. A deep line creased his forehead. He shook his head and rocked back and forth.

She drew a long breath. Avondale appeared to be as sane as a man could look. Yet, at the same time, the big man seemed as lost as a child.

Despite her earlier fear, her heart compressed with pity.

Moving like a person awakened from a dream, he helped her to her feet, unbuttoned his fitted coat, and slid the smooth satin around her shoulders.

“Oh, I must have torn my dress when we fell. Think nothing of it, Lord Avondale. But, yes, I am cold. I shall return to the castle with all haste.”

He stood exposed in that shaft of icy moonlight, with his forehead furrowed, and his expression woebegone.

New pain slashed her heart.

His shoulders slumped. “I…I didn’t…you’re not injured, are you?”

So, this wasn’t the first time Cailin’s husband found himself wakening to an unreal situation. Would he remain in his right mind until she could escape?

“No. Thank ye, I’m fine. But I must leave. We’ve been gone overlong. I must return to the party. Ye see, Lady MacMurry counts on me.” She stepped backwards.

He reached out and grasped her shoulder.

Her feet rooted in the wet bracken. A long branch scratched her back.

“But your shoes. You’re barefoot.” His hand tightened. “I shall carry you back. It’s far too cold for you to walk about without slippers.”

She shrank back. “Nay. I’m fine.”

He released her arm.

“I love the feel of moss on my feet. Ye must try it sometime.” She wanted to turn and run, but he might slip back into his spell, and continue with whatever plan he’d been about to carry out.

And shades of haggis, who was Bloody Billy? Why was Avondale so fearful the man would hurt her? The duke had the solid protection of the king. Few men dared touch him or his. Who could possibly frighten him? If there was danger, why didn’t he tell the authorities?