Playing the Buffoon
Shona’s ride to Creag was nothing like riding with Mungo.
Wrapped in the cocoon of Ewan’s strong embrace, she found solace in his presence, strength in his firm thighs. She was covered in cuts and bruises, her clothing ruined. People she loved were in serious jeopardy. Ruadh was clinging to life in Walter Gilbertson’s arms. Doubts about her father’s untimely death churned in her belly. It was difficult to understand how she could place such implicit trust in a man she barely knew. He belonged to an enemy clan; she should resent him but instead was content to lean against his solid body and rely on his strength. His heat chased away the chill of fear.
It was hard to believe she was the same lass who never relied on any man, a woman who thought men were good for nothing but warfare, hunting and bravado.
Ewan barely spoke as they rode, unlike Mungo, but she savored every reassuring word he uttered, her inner turmoil soothed by his husky voice.
She sensed turmoil within him, too, but he seemed able to channel his nervous energy to the horse. The magnificent steed responded to commands Shona couldn’t even discern. “What’s his name?” she asked.
“Liath,” Ewan replied.
She resisted the urge to retort that it was typical a man would name his horse after its coloring. “He is very grey,” she conceded.
“Nay,” Ewan replied. “He’s The Grey.”
She had to agree when the surefooted gelding carried them through the darkness to within sight of Creag’s lights, but she bristled that Ewan called a halt short of the open gates and stood in the stirrups. “Why have we stopped? We must enter,” she insisted.
“If Mungo has taken over command, it might be a trap,” Walter explained, shifting Ruadh on his lap.
Shona leaned over to stroke the dog’s head, encouraged when he opened his eyes and whimpered. “Brave soul,” she said.
“He’s made it this far,” Walter replied. “Perhaps the worst is over.”
Regretting her outburst, she turned to look at Ewan as he sat back in the saddle. It was important to remember he was the son of a Mackinloch laird. That clan hadn’t risen to dominance through impetuous acts. “What’s yer plan?” she asked.
He smiled wryly. “I mean to wed Lady Shona MacCarron at the earliest opportunity and make her my wife in every way.”
She appreciated his attempt to ease her apprehension, but his words nevertheless caused wanton feelings to spiral into her womb. She rose to the bait. “Would that be the Lady Shona with the lazy eye?” she teased.
“Saucy wench,” he growled, intensifying her excitement.
It was clear life with Ewan Mackinloch would never be dull. He’d even managed to turn the dire situation they faced into a game. But he sobered quickly, his stern features letting her know he’d made a decision. “I dinna see any sign there’s aught amiss in the bailey.”
While she’d been posturing like a peahen, he’d been assessing the lay of the land.
“First off, we’ll make our way slowly to the stables.”
Walter nodded. “Any lads we find there can tend to Ruadh while we deal with Mungo.”
Shona didn’t like the idea of leaving her dog but acknowledged it had to be done. “Aye,” she agreed. “They’ll be able to tell us where the Morleys might be before we enter the keep.”
Ewan shook his head. “Ye’ll remain in the stables with Ruadh, my lady. I’ll not…”
“This is my home,” she retorted, swiveling to face him, “it’s my family Mungo threatens. It was me Mungo dragged to hell and back, me he forced into a sham marriage. I refuse to sit fretting in the stables.”
*
Ewan was painfully sure Shona had no notion the effect her indignant squirming was having on his manhood. Despite the uncertainty of what they might face in Creag Castle, he’d been unsuccessful in bringing his rampant cock under control during the short ride from Inverlochy.
He’d wanted a feisty lass, and that’s exactly what he had in Shona MacCarron. Arguing with her would be a waste of precious time. The Morleys might at this very moment be threatening Kendric’s life. “Very weel,” he replied, easing her forward on his lap in a futile effort to end the pleasurable torture.
Apparently mollified, she sank back against him as they rode slowly through the gates, but he felt the rigid tension in her body. It increased his resolve to thwart Ailig Morley’s scheme.
He dismounted in the bailey and lifted her down from Liath. “Ye’re light as a feather,” he rasped, holding her tempting body against his, then wishing he hadn’t when desire once more heated his groin.
She rested her forehead on his chest. “Ewan,” she whispered, “I thank ye for what ye’re doing, in spite of all that’s happened.”
He clenched his jaw. The details of her ordeal would have to be dealt with, but not now. “Dinna fash,” he replied. “All shall be weel.”
The MacCarron men formed a protective circle around their lady, but no one challenged them in the bailey. Walter handed Ruadh down to Ewan. Shona held the hound’s jaw as they made their way into the stables.
Suddenly, a boy bolted out and threw himself at Walter. “Da,” he cried.
Walter scooped him into his arms. “Robbie! What are ye doing here this late at night? Why aren’t ye home with yer Mamie?”
“She didna return yet from Auntie Margaret’s and I was afraid for ye when I saw Mungo Morley come back.”
Two yawning stable lads with lanterns emerged from the shadows, rubbing their eyes.
Ewan put Ruadh down on a pile of straw, relieved to see the bleeding had slowed when he eased away the makeshift dressing.
Shona knelt beside her hound. “Fetch something to cleanse the cut,” she told the boys. “And find the ostler. He’ll ken what to do.”
“Aye, my lady,” one replied as they hurried away to do her bidding, “though he might be three sheets to the wind.”
She grimaced. “He’ll sober quickly if I have aught to say about it.”
Robbie wriggled out of his father’s embrace and knelt by Shona, hands clasped in his lap as if afraid to touch the stricken animal. “Ruadh,” he said hoarsely, “ye canna die.”
Walter put a hand on his son’s shoulder. “He’s strong. He willna die, but we need to know where Mungo is.”
Robbie swiped a sleeve across his eyes. “He came back with some of his cronies and went straight to the hall, bragging about marrying Lady Shona, but folk mocked him when he couldna explain where she was.”
“He’s a fool,” Shona muttered.
“That’s what they all said,” Robbie replied. “There was a big argument when folk mentioned Moira had accused him of kidnapping her mistress—he swore up and down Lady Shona had gone with him willingly. He got angry and drank all the more.”
“Did ye see Ailig Morley?” Ewan asked.
“Robbie might not remember Ailig,” Walter cautioned. “He was just a wee bairn when the wretch was banished.”
“Aye,” his son confirmed, “but I’ve heard tell often enough of a mon with a terrible scar, and I didna see anybody like that.”
“And ye’re sure Mungo never went to my uncle’s chamber?” Shona asked.
“Not that I saw.”
“Where is he now?”
“He passed out in the hall. Right after he came back from the kitchens.”
*
Ice trickled through Shona’s veins as she scrambled to stand. Her trembling legs caught in tangled skirts and she would have fallen had Ewan not caught her. “The laudanum,” she gasped, dread robbing her of breath.
Ewan held her tightly. “But he didna go to the laird’s chamber.”
She tried to pull away, desperate to make him recognize the danger. “He’s clever in his idiocy. Ailig hid in the kitchens while his brother was playing the buffoon in the hall.”
She saw the light of understanding dawn in his brown eyes. “They plan to lace Kendric’s food with too much of the drug and have it delivered to his chamber.”
She gripped his hand. “By an unsuspecting servant.”
Ewan turned to Walter. “Stay here. Shona and I will take some of the men with us. Keep a sharp eye out for Ailig.”
They hurried out and Ewan quickly organized the MacCarrons in the bailey. Once inside, they paused briefly in the hall, alarmed to find it empty, but left a handful of kinsmen there in case either Morley returned.
The men strode ahead as they entered the passageway to the laird’s chamber. Shona ran to keep up, her heart in knots, but was relieved to see two guards still defending the door.
“Nobody has tried to force their way in?” Ewan asked.
“Nay,” one yawned in reply. “A lass went in a short while ago with the laird’s broth, but…”
Ewan put his shoulder to the door and burst into the chamber.