MIDNIGHT CAPTIVE: Book 2 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles (17 page)

Richard’s wife tugged at his arm. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “Aye, bring her in.” Though his reply was gruff and guarded, a touch of compassion softened the man’s eyes as James and Maggie stepped through the door and into the light. The couple appeared to be in their fifties, worn by hard labor and years.

“Thank you.” James helped Margeret to a chair at the table. He offered his hand in greeting to Richard. “James Knightly. This here is Margeret.”

“Richard Drummond. My wife Bess and my mother-in-law, Mary.”

Everyone nodded their salutations.

“Mum,” the woman said with a beckoning hand. “Bring the kettle.”

“Aye, Bess.” Mary hunched to the fire and did as her daughter asked before she joined Maggie at the table. Patting Maggie’s hand, she said, “Are ye hungry, child? We have some hot mutton stew in the pot.”

Margeret smiled and raised the old woman’s hand to her lips for a grateful kiss on her wrinkled knuckles. Mary cackled softly and patted Maggie’s hand again.

Bess doused a folded cloth with hot water and pressed it to Maggie’s head then grabbed a bowl and headed toward the hearth. Richard stood in the corner, axe still in hand, his eyes following every nuance. Again, James could hardly blame him.

Stepping outside, James trotted to the horse and dug in his saddlebags for some coin. When he returned, he placed a small pile of the currency on the table. “For your troubles. I hope it will cover your needs.”

Richard’s jaw dropped and he gawked at James in disbelief. “That be a lot o’ coin, lad.”

“We’re greatly imposing on you and your family. Are you heading into Edinburgh anytime soon?”

“With that much money, I can certainly make a trip for ye.”

James sagged with relief. “Maggie here needs to get back there to let my bride’s family know what’s happened. Can you leave on the morrow?”

Richard nodded.

“I can guarantee the MacDougal’s will be generous with more coin once you see me safely home,” Margeret interjected.

“MacDougal?” Richard’s gaze darted back to James. “Knightly. Is that the same MacDougal & Knightly Shipping Company?”

“Aye, sir, that it is.” James allowed a smile.

“Ye help me keep food on the table, James. I take my wool to MacDougal & Knightly for export.” Richard put the axe down and leaned it against the wall next to him. He slapped James on the back. “It would be my honor to take Maggie home.”

“Saints be praised!” Margeret exclaimed and the room filled with laughter and voices.

“I cannot thank you enough for helping us,” James said. “Maggie, I have to make haste.”

“Aye lad.” She grabbed his hand before he stepped away. “Be careful, laddie.”

“Where are ye headed?” Richard asked.

“Maggie tells me they took Cailin toward Lochs Etive and Awe. I look for a place called Glen Morin.”

The room fell silent and Richard’s family all exchanged horrified glances. “Glen Morin?” Bess gasped.

James shivered and fear crept into his gut. “What—”

“Hush now, Bess.” Richard rubbed his wife’s back. Diverting his attention back to James, he said, “Glen Morin is a castle owned by Clan Campbell for generations. Though far from here—ye have a trek ahead of ye, lad—the tales of the place are far reaching.”

“Why?”

“It be haunted,” Mary said.

“About fifty years ago, the elder son of Fraser Campbell went mad,” Richard explained. “Killed his father, his younger brother and the entire household.”

“I lived in the Highlands as of ten years ago,” Margeret said. “I never once heard about no tales of a haunted castle called Glen Morin. How is it you know about it this far east?”

“Near around five years ago,” Richard answered, “stories drifted through the merchant routes about torches lighting the old ruins.”

“Some people says they seen someone walking on the grounds,” Bess whispered.

“On the merchant routes?” James turned the Margeret. “Have you heard the MacDougals speak of such stories?”

She shrugged.

“Sounds like the place has been taken up again,” James offered.

Richard shook his head. “They said it be Angus Campbell wandering the grounds. The son of Fraser Campbell. Being the murders happened over fifty years ago and the place abandoned…well, it either be Angus’s ghost or a mad man.”

James and Margeret exchanged glances and the warning in her eyes reflected what he wanted to voice:
Say nothing!
These folks might kick them both out on their arses if they knew who had a hand in capturing Cailin.

“I dinna understand why they would take yer Cailin to Glen Morin,” Richard said. “But you may be in for more than a few surprises.”

“That may be,” James stated firmly, “but I need to get on that path. Do you know the way?”

“That road there will take ye, lad.” Richard advanced to the door, pointed to the road they’d been on and waved north.

James nodded as Richard explained a detailed route that would take him past major milestones and lakes, burning the directions into his memory and repeating the information back to the older man when he was done.

“Just stick to them old roads, lad,” Richard encouraged. “Anyone along the merchant route should keep you on the path.”

“’Tis all well,” Margeret said, waving off Bess’ attentions. She shuffled to the door and urged James outside. James expressed his gratitude to the Drummonds and stepped with Maggie to stand beside his gelding. “Doncha be worrying about a thing, Master James. I don’t intend on breathing a word about Angus.”

“’Tis a wise idea, Maggie.”

“What I do not understand is why them that took Cailin do not seem to know—”

“About how well-known their location is?” he finished and nodded. “Perhaps they were counting on it. Maybe they
are
expecting someone other than Broderick to pursue.” Urgency was nagging at James’s heart. He had to go. “Listen—”

“Get after her, James,” Margeret encouraged. “Guessin’ the whys will not save her.”

“Aye.” After planting a kiss on her cheek, he swung into the saddle, nodded to her and waved to the Drummonds before he kicked his mount forward and set on down the road toward Glen Morin and his sweet Mouse.

* * * * *

“Here.” Jasper shoved a piece of dried meat at Cailin and she raised her bound hands to accept the food. Not entirely filling, but she took what they offered to keep up her strength. Her bottom was sore from riding and her wrists were tender and chaffed by the rope. She could only hope she’d be able to face Angus when the time came. Shifting her seat on the round stone by the fire, she made a futile attempt to get comfortable then leveled her gaze at her future father-in-law.

Alistair sat brooding on the other side the fire, the yellow glow casting severe shadows on his face and creating harsh angles. Cailin shivered. His hands turned over a small, smooth stick in a repetitive, nervous movement. He glared at her, his frown deepening. “Stop lookin’ at me.”

She kept her eyes trained on him. “I do not understand your motives, Alistair.”

“Shut yer mouth.”

“You’ve joined forces with the man who killed your wife,” she persisted.

“Shut. Yer. Mouth.” The stick snapped in two.

Jasper rasped a hearty laugh. “Easy now, Alistair.” He patted James’s father on the back like an old mate. “Yer lettin’ her get to ye.”

Cailin wasn’t certain why, but she wanted to press Alistair more. “Mayhap, I’m hitting too close to the mark.” She kept her voice as level as her gaze. “Do you think dear Fiona would approve of you escorting me to my death?”

The harshness of Alistair’s eyes softened just enough for Cailin to understand that James’s father had indeed not thought his plans through to the end. A certain measure of panic rose in her throat. He was going to get himself killed, and didn’t have the slightest idea the position he’d put himself in
or
the monster Angus truly was.

“’Tis enough out of you, ducks.” Jasper rose and yanked Cailin to her feet. “Time to give that mouth o’ yours something more productive to do.” His calloused hands gripping her elbows wrenched a cry from her and she growled, struggling to keep him from dragging her into the woods. Her bare feet slid uselessly through the mud, scraping on rocks and pebbles, adding to her misery.

“Enough!” Alistair grabbed Jasper by the shoulder and spun him around. “This was not in the arrangements!”

“What do ye think Angus is going to do to her when he has her?” Jasper protested, his steel grip still on Cailin’s elbow. “No better way to defile a woman and incite the wrath of her father than—”

“Nay!” Alistair pushed Jasper aside and started untying Cailin’s bonds. “I cannot go through with this. This was wrong! This was not—”

Warm liquid spurted across Cailin’s face. Echoes of the past. She squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips closed as the warmth dripped down her cheeks and over her lips. Her breath stayed trapped in her lungs.
I’ve killed him!
When Alistair yanked on her hands, pulling her to her knees, her eyes popped open. He collapsed to the ground.
But he tore my dress, he’d tried to…
Thick red blood oozed onto the dirt. A strange noise assaulted her ears—a raspy, rapid panting that grew faster. She marveled over the realization that it was
her
breathing. She fell back onto her rump and stared at Jasper, standing over her, shaking his head.

“Damn fool,” he growled, pity in his eyes for Alistair. Pity for the man he had just killed as if he had put an animal out of its misery. “Ah, ’tis better to have ended his life now. He surely would have tried to kill me once he discovered I killed his wife.” He diverted his gaze to Cailin and his eyes drooped in a failed attempt at compassion. “Aw, now lassie. Doncha be mournin’ the life of a man who handed ye over to yer enemy.” Seizing her hands, he yanked her to her feet and snaked his arms around her. With a hefty handful of her bottom, he said, “And now ol’ Jasper has ye all to himself.” He winked and escorted her back to the horses. “Not a very romantic settin’, a dead body an’ all.” Cailin allowed him to hoist her back into the saddle. He patted her thigh. “Aye, yer not quite here, are ye, lassie?” He chuckled.

Cailin stared at Jasper as he dragged Alistair’s body into the bordering forest. She heard what he’d said. Yet why did she not respond over learning the truth of Fiona’s death and how far back Angus has inserted his henchman? She saw what he did to her future father-in-law. Her heart was numb. She knew she had the chance to run away, on horseback, while he was busy with his task. She just couldn’t get her body to respond to her mind. If she could keep this immunity to emotion while she faced Angus, she may be able to accomplish her goal. But the fragility of mortal life loomed before her. Alistair never knew what happened. With a flick of his wrist, Jasper had slit Alistair’s throat and his life was over.

Another realization trembled inside her belly. Jasper only threatened to assault her to solicit a response from Alistair. He somehow needed the excuse to kill him. Her life could be over just as easily, especially at the hands of Angus. Jasper was a mortal man who had no regard for life, except mayhap his own. Angus would be worse.

Jasper approached her side and she met his eyes. Handing her a wet kerchief, he cocked his head at an angle and smirked. “Not so tough without yer knives, are ye lassie?”

Her face was a mask of neutrality. Her cheeks, still dripping with Alistair’s blood, would not respond though she wanted to grin. “You, Jasper, will be the first life I snuff out like a candle flame.” Only then did her face gain mobility and the corner of her mouth turned up.

Jasper’s lips parted and he hitched a breath, his eyes growing just a fraction wider. Then he frowned and shuffled away.

Cailin glared at his back as he urged their horses forward, leaving Alistair’s body behind. She placed her hands over the silver-plated dagger still strapped to her thigh and imagined the blade sinking into Jasper’s back. Hands returned to her lap, she nudged the blade at her forearm. She wiped the blood from her face and tossed the kerchief to the ground. After several yards, the indifference melted from her body. She sobbed.

Chapter Seven

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud.
The monotony of the horse’s hooves hitting the dirt as they trotted along at a steady pace grated at James’s patience. He wanted nothing more than to jab his heels into the side of his mount, lean forward in the saddle and ride the horse into exhaustion. However, doing so was a death sentence for Cailin. At a steady trot, a horse could continue for hours. A hard gallop may get him farther in a short period of time, but the resting would be a fatal set-back. The only thing maintaining his sanity was his endless study of tracks in the torchlight. He tossed another prayer of thanks toward the heavens for the rain they’d had and how far-reaching the weather had stretched. The road was still soft and Cailin’s journey was imprinted in the mud. He was also grateful his father and whoever he worked with were such fools. They made no attempt at all to cover their tracks, but this also made James wonder if their lack of effort was intentional. It mattered not. He would rather get to Cailin and deal with a fight than lose the trail and be helpless in coming to her aid.