The Highlander's Triumph (18 page)

Brandon held his breath and waited. Would Wallace give him permission to rescue Mariana? And if he didn’t, would he go after her anyway
, deal with the consequences after? He’d pledged his loyalty to this man, would he betray him for the likes of one woman? A woman he couldn’t truly trust? ’Haps Wallace was right. He was compromised. Mariana was not the mission. Ross was. But, he could get Ross
and
Mariana out alive. He was certain.

“If ye happen to come across her, or ye happen to get Ross out, and there is still time, I give ye my blessing to find your woman.”

The words he’d been waiting for. Brandon’s chest tightened.
“Gratitude, sir.”

“Och, dinna talk to me like I’m so much the better of
ye.”

“But ye are.”

“Ye are a laird, of higher position within your clan.”

Brandon shook his head. “But ye are Guardian of Scotland.” This time he clapped his hand on Wallace’s shoulder. “Let us not get bogged down with names. What is troubling
ye?” It had become obvious there was much more going on in Wallace’s mind than the task of finding Ross.

Wallace gave
a half-smile, a short laugh. “Naught that ye want to hear.”

“Try me.”

Wallace glanced up at the castle, a crack of thunder rolling overhead. “I’ve been here afore now.”

A shot of lightning streaked through the sky, landing somewhere not too far away. The horses shifted uncomfortably, a few
whinnying their disproval.

“Now is the best time for us to go.” Wallace frowned. “The watchmen will be huddling under cover, their guard down.”

As much as Brandon wanted to refuse so he could hear what Wallace was going to say, he knew the man spoke the truth. Getting inside Ion Dubh was going to prove a feat he’d be lucky to live through.

After the sun had set last eve, he and Wallace had gone to the cliff by the water. There was indeed a port, and a pulley system that would bring a man right to the top. It was loud, and squeaked. With the thunderstorm, the sound of their approach would be dulled.

“Let’s go.” Wallace rounded up the men.

A half dozen could fit on the platform at a time, with another four yanking on the ropes that lifted the platform into the air.

A cursory look around the quay showed no guardsmen. Brandon gave the sign that it was all clear, and they sneaked closer to the lift.

“Ye go up with the first round,” Wallace instructed.

A dozen of them were going to breach the walls, another dozen remaining behind to pull them down when they were done. If the lift was consumed by guards, they would make it out the front, and pray not to get shot in the arse by an arrow.

Rain pelted them in droves. Brandon tore a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around his forehead, stopping some of the rain from falling into his eyes. His men did likewise.

The wood boards of the lift creaked as he stepped onto it. His men followed, a tight fit for six overlarge warriors covered in weapons. He grabbed hold of the wooden railing and nodded to Wallace. The men in charge of the pulley gave their first yank. The screeching sound of the metal contraptions was in fact dulled by a roll of thunder and the crashing of the waves below. Thank the gods.

Salt water sprayed up onto his face, mixing with the rain water. He was soaked through.
The cold temperature not quite freezing his clothes in place, but making it uncomfortable nonetheless.

Agonizing minutes later, they were near the top. The men below stopped pulling as they’d been instructed so Brandon could make sure the area was clear.

Damn. One guard, but he was huddled beneath a plaid on the damp stone platform. It appeared this part of the castle as like a man-made cave. Ahead, stone stairs were lit. That would be how they got into the castle.

With a glance down, he drew in a deep breath.
’Twas steep. Deadly. No rail or rope to hold anyone back. How many men had fallen to their deaths here? Brandon held up one finger to the men below, who kept their hold steady. Just one guard they had to get rid of.

“We need to take him out before he sounds the alarm,” Brandon said.

The warrior directly in front of him, John, nodded. “I’ll do it.” He pulled out a long dagger from his sleeve, pulled his arm just to his shoulder and then let the weapon fly.

The guard didn’t make a sound, just slumped over.

Brandon signaled the men below who cranked the pulley enough for them to disembark.

“We’re in,” he said under his breath. The next few minutes were going to be crucial. “Let’s get that
whoreson.”

Chapter Eighteen

T
hey swept like shadows through the halls of the castle, taking out guards as they passed. Servants seemed to have caught a sixth sense and disappeared. Many of the corridors were dark, but the men seemed fueled by a sense of vengeance that gave them vision through the dimly lit spaces.

When they’d reached the center of the castle, just
outside the great hall, they stopped.

Loud voices and boisterous laughter sounded through the door.
A feast. They were having a feast when his woman was somewhere within these walls. Bastards.

Brandon pointed at his eyes and then at the door
, signaling to his men he wanted to look inside the great hall. The men nodded, each standing still with a sword drawn. Most of the castles in Scotland had secret spaces for viewing inside rooms. He just had to figure out where it was. He felt along the wall for a door, a cabinet, anything, but his finger fell into a hole, that was what he was looking for.

Brandon peered through the crack. The great hall was well-lit. Men sat around two long trestle tables, eating and drinking. Servants lined the walls. So that was where they’d all gone. The only women he spied were servants. No Mariana.

No Longshanks.

No Ross.

“Damn,” he said under his breath. Brandon walked back to his men. “Ross and Longshanks are not within.”

“We’ll find them,” John said, his voice filled with confidence.

“I think we should split up.” Brandon nodded at the men. “Four groups of three.”

The men all paired up, agreeing.

“If ye find Ross, tie him and gag him and take him to the pulley. Lower him. We dinna want to take a chance of losing him. If none of the rest of ye find him within the next quarter hour, ye need to leave all the same. Someone is bound to find their men we’ve left behind and sound the alarm. We dinna want to be trapped here.”

John and Big William—teased for his not so tall stature—followed Brandon up a flight of stairs. They listened at doors for voices, having foun
d none at each they listened to, they still opened the doors to make sure.

One of the doors was locked.

Brandon pulled out his
sgian dubh
and picked the lock. The door creaked open to reveal a study. A banked fire gave off some light, and a fully lit candelabra held candles melted to just an inch tall.

The shutters were tightly closed.
A long trestle table took up the middle, surrounded by carved wooden chairs, one at the head with embroidered velvet cushions. Obviously, the king’s. Maps and rolled scrolls were everywhere. On the table, covering the various wooden shelves against the wall. Hence the lock. They’d stumbled upon King Edward’s war office. And shame on the man for not putting a guard here to make sure no miscreants picked the lock.

Brandon smiled.
“A quick look men, for Wallace and the Bruce.”

But a quick look ended up being no more than three seconds.
Bloody hell
! A map sprawled out on the table with tiny ships all over it showed a force converging on Eilean Donan Castle.

“
Mo creach
.” Brandon grabbed the map, rolled it and stuffed it in his sporran. The Bruce had tarried too long at Eilean Donan. “We need to find Ross and be done with it.”
And Mariana too.

“What of this, my laird?” Big William held up a pouch filled with jangling coins.

“Take it. We’ll give it to the villagers we meet along the road. The Sassenach bastard’s payment for forcing himself on our people.”

Just as they were preparing to leave the room, a light shining through a crack in the wall caught Brandon’s attention.

He walked over to the wall and ran his finger along the line. Candlelight definitely flickered through. He was afraid to open the door and see what was on the other side. There was one reason in particular a man would dismiss his guards in favor of a locked door—because he was with a woman.

Brandon’s mouth was dry, his throat tight.

Longshanks could be right behind the door—worse still, so could Mariana.

But he had to open it.
Was compelled to do so.

He gripped the handle, prepared to lift the latch when John touched his arm. Brandon glanced at the
man, saw the subtle shake of his head. He narrowed his eyes.

John pointed to Big William who’d disappeared into a cubbyhole. Brandon walked over, saw Big William crouched low as he peered through a hole made in the wall for guards to keep an eye on the master of the room.

“What do ye see?” Brandon whispered.

In the shadows of that faint light, when Big William looked at him, Brandon felt his stomach turn. The man looked positively frightened. Brandon had to muster all his willpower not to lift Big William and toss him out of the way. He jerked his thumb, and Big William moved back into the study.

When he bent low to gaze through the crack, he wished he hadn’t. Wished he’d felt Wallace’s fear in the woods and nixed the entire plan.

His heart literally felt like it was being torn from his chest. His cock ripped off. His body
felt shredded by a cat-o-nine tails. Was this what heartbreak felt like?

Through the looking hole he had a perfect view of the room. A monumental view of the woman he loved on her knees before Longshanks. The bastard’s head was thrown back in passion. His long, gnarled fingers curling through her hair as he pressed her down then yanked her up. Even the sound of her mouth working his pike echoed in the stone cubbyhole.

Her glorious hair was wrapped around the king’s wrist. Though he couldn’t see her face, her hair gave her away. The heart-shape of her naked arse. Her slender back.

Big William must have recognized her too. Mariana’s glorious midnight locks were her signature. He’d never seen another woman with hair like that.
Shiny, dark, like sparkling black diamonds.

The woman moaned with pleasure as Longshanks shoved her mouth down harder on his erection. Bile rose in Brandon’s throat. He clenched his hands into fists. Only John’s hand firmly on his shoulder kept him from charging into that room and lopping the king’s head off with one fell swoop.

Lord help him, he wanted to punish her too. The pain of her betrayal was unreal in its intensity. How could he have been such a fool? That he’d allowed himself to fall for her. To love her. To come after her…

A crushing blow.
In all the battles he’d been in, no pain had come close to this. Loving her, no matter how good it had felt, had been the wrong course to take. He’d had his doubts, even fought the feelings that cocooned him, but he’d lost. This was a battle where victory went to his opponent. And dammit, why did the opponent have to be the bloody English bastard king?

“Let’s go,” he said gruffly.

Those two deserved each other.

Maria
na paced the length of her room. She kept trying to wring her hands and then remembered that her arm was broken and squeezing her fingers would only bring her pain.

She’d yet to speak to King Edward.
Had not seen him since he helped her up in the courtyard. What was taking him so long to summon her?

Marching over to the window, she flung back the shutters. Her gaze caught on a group running into the woods in the distance. They looked to be in a hurry.
As though they were running away from something or someone. She rubbed her eyes in attempt to clear any haze and then gazed harder at the group.

Scotsman.

They were most definitely dressed in plaids. Swords strapped to their backs. White strips of something tied to around their foreheads. Brawny Highlanders. Four of the men carried a large sack of something.

Was it possible that Brandon was one of them? Mariana placed her hand on the cold casement and leaned closer to the rain, willing her eyes to see who it was.
The movement of the leader, so at ease with his physique, powerful, confident. There was no other man that moved like that. No other man that drew her attention like he did.

Mariana chewed her lip, stopped the call of his name from leaving her mouth. She reached out into the rain, hoping, praying he would turn back. That he’d come back to the castle to get her. But it didn’t appear that would ever happen.

He was running away. Leaving her here.

Gasping a sob, she couldn’t turn away from the window.
Couldn’t stop watching him.

Just before the men disappeared into the trees, he turned around. She swore he was looking back at her. His hand came up to his forehead, as though he were trying to block the nonexistent sun, maybe the rain that fell into his eyes.

“Brandon.” His name left her lips in a rush of air, and with it, her heart shattered.

When had she fallen so hard? Just that morning she’d realized she loved him. It was as though with that admission, her soul had released and searched for his. Only, he did not return her affections.
For a moment she almost believed he did. But now she knew the truth. If he cared for her, he wouldn’t leave her here to fend for herself.

’Twas obvious when she wasn’t summonsed, and since no one but Mrs. Busby had checked on her, that she’d lost her place within Edward’s court. Should she be disappointed?
Afraid? She felt relief, though being out of favor didn’t bode well for her. Escape was her only option.

The door to her chamber burst open
, causing Mariana to jump away from the window and whirl around. Standing in the open doorway was Mrs. Busby, breathing heavily, her hand to her chest.

“My lady!” she screeched.

“What is it?” Mariana rushed forward, her heart pounding.

“The castle is under attack!”

“Attack?” Mariana caught herself slowly turning back to the window, but forced herself to focus on Mrs. Busby, else the woman ask what she’d seen—or worse, tell King Edward she suspected her of seeing something.

“Aye, my lady.
I must get you dressed.”

“Dressed? Why would y
ou worry over that?” Seemed a trivial thing that she was in her nightgown if the castle was under siege.

“The king has ordered everyone to the great hall.”

“Including me? Can you tell him I am still recovering?” The thought of going down into the great hall, seeing everyone, being subjected to the king, and finding out exactly how little she meant in the court was the last thing she wanted to do. Not when she’d just realized that Brandon no longer wanted her.

Her future hung on some invisible thread. She wasn’t truly sure there even was a future for her anymore…

“My lady, I cannot. You must let me dress you. If you don’t come down to the great hall… The king will be most displeased.”

Mariana sighed deeply. If she didn’t come down, he would most likely take it out on Mrs. Busby. Having already lost her husband, she couldn’t stand to lose her po
sition as a servant to the king and Mariana would never forgive herself if she were the cause. “Very well.”

Mrs. Busby breathed an audible sigh. The woman must have been holding her breath, afraid of Mariana’s answer and what would happen should she refuse.

“’Tis a good thing I have a gown with loose sleeves so your splint will fit without having to cut it.” Mrs. Busby pulled a gown of deep blue from the wardrobe, and along with it, matching slippers.