Twenty
The dark rage sweeping through Lachlan matched the blackness of the night that surrounded him and his men. Around them, thirty men with no plaids to identify their allegiance lay dead. They had clearly been sent as decoys, but decoys to what? He looked through the moonlight to the seagate stairs, which were still well guarded. The castle had not been breached from the water, and—
God’s bones, he knew what had happened.
Fear coiled in his gut and had him turning and hurrying past Graham and Cameron, who gaped at him in unison.
“Lachlan!” Graham called from behind, but he did not stop. That coiled fear unleashed in a rush of heated poison that raced through his body. He had to ensure Bridgette was still safe.
He shouted orders as he ran. “Graham, check the Fairy Flag. Cameron, check the prisoners.” He took the seagate stairs three at a time and heard the pounding of many footsteps behind him at the same frantic pace.
He rounded the corner toward the courtyard and entered the castle, where he could hear the hum of women’s voices coming from behind the closed door of the great hall.
“Lachlan,” Rory Mac said, coming beside him. “What is it?”
“I dunnae ken for certain yet,” Lachlan answered, banging on the door. “Barclay, ’tis Lachlan.”
The thud of the door being unbarred made him feel better, but when the door opened and Alanna was the one to greet him, the moment of relief vanished. “Where’s Barclay?” he demanded as he stepped into the great hall to the exclamations of happiness and questions regarding loved ones’ safety. He held up a hand for silence, scanning the worried faces but not seeing Bridgette’s, Marion’s, or Barclay’s. He rounded on Alanna, who now stood beside Rory Mac with Moira on her hip.
“Where are Bridgette, Marion, and Barclay?” he demanded, his apprehension making his tone clipped.
“Barclay took them to the kitchens to retrieve Bridgette’s bow, but they never came back.”
The fear in Lachlan’s chest spread through his body, freezing every part of him until he felt as if his heart had stopped. The pulse of anger replaced its beat as he met Rory Mac’s concerned gaze.
“Treachery,” Rory Mac whispered, and Lachlan jerked his head in a nod, struggling to control the rage and terror clawing at him.
“Come,” he growled to Rory Mac.
“Stay here,” Rory Mac commanded of Alanna, who gave a quick nod.
Lachlan stalked through the corridor toward the kitchen, and as he went, men fell into step behind him and Rory Mac. He turned toward the stairs that led to the kitchen, and his breath seized in his lungs at the sight of the bodies on the ground. He raced forward, flipped over the man, and cursed at the sight of Barclay. He had a dagger in his head and was cold to the touch.
“Barclay the Betrayer,” Rory Mac snarled from where he stood above Lachlan.
“We dunnae ken that yet,” Lachlan automatically replied as he reached for Helena. He turned her over with care, expecting to find her dead, but was shocked to see the slightest rise and fall of her chest. He gasped. “Helena.” He gently shook her. Her eyes fluttered open, and she slowly focused on him as she took a breath that hissed with the wet sound of impending death.
“Where is Bridgette?” he asked.
“I love ye,” she murmured.
“Helena, where is she?” he demanded, fearful the woman would die before being able to tell him.
“Taken,” she replied. “Colin’s bride. Yer uncle has joined with my father. Together they plan to take—” She gasped not able to finish her sentence as pink spittle seeped out of her mouth.
Lachlan’s heart beat like a drum inside him as anger and fear battled to consume him. “Taken where?”
Helena’s eyes fluttered closed, and reason fled Lachlan. He shook her, and when she did not respond, he began to shake her more violently until Rory Mac gripped his arms.
“She’s dead, Lachlan. She kinnae tell ye more.”
Lachlan shook as he lowered her to the rushes and stood. He turned to face Rory Mac, and Cameron and Graham pushed their way through the men surrounding Lachlan. Graham came to stand in front of him and gave him a sympathetic look. No words of forgiveness had been uttered, but fighting together had demanded a temporary truce that seemed to still be in place. If only Graham would allow it to remain so.
“The Fairy Flag is gone,” Graham said, his tone grave.
A collective murmur of alarm rose up around Lachlan.
“Colin Campbell is gone, as well,” Cameron added.
The noise of distress rose to a loud buzz.
Lachlan nodded, growing numb with a resolute need to get Bridgette back. “The strike from the water was a decoy,” he said, matter-of-fact, no longer feeling anything but hatred and deep, unwavering resolve. “Call the council together in the great hall, Graham. I fear we have more than one traitor amongst us.”
Graham nodded and quickly departed to do Lachlan’s bidding. “We will rescue them,” Cameron said quietly, setting his hand on Lachlan’s shoulder.
Rage breached the numbness that had set in. “Aye,” Lachlan replied, anger making his voice hoarse. “The Campbells think to make an alliance with Alex by marrying Colin and Bridgette. They dunnae ken Alex well enough.”
“Nay, they dunnae,” Cameron agreed, “but that dunnae make a difference for Bridgette now.”
“Nay,” Lachlan agreed, his chest tightening. He fought to gain control of the anger once again swirling like a violent storm within him. “Away to the great hall,” he commanded the men.
They all departed with haste, save Cameron who stood his ground, a concerned look creasing his normally smooth forehead with lines.
“Leave me,” Lachlan ordered as his throat burned with the need to bellow his rage. It would not be contained. Turning, he slammed his fist into the stone wall once. Twice. Three times. A red haze descended as he pummeled the stone, imagining Colin’s face, his uncle’s face.
From behind, Cameron grabbed his arm. He swung around, fist raised, and struck out. Cameron dodged to the left, then threw up his hands. “Enough, ye clot-heid. Ye need that fist to fight with.”
Lachlan looked down at his bloodied knuckles. He felt no pain. He curled his fingers into his hand. “I will fight,” he assured his brother, who responded with a quick nod. “I will rip out Colin Campbell’s heart and shove it down his throat,” he swore, vowing his vengeance as he strode toward the great hall.
Everyone on the council was assembled there except Iain—he was still with David—and Atholl. Lachlan frowned and looked to Graham. “Where is Atholl?”
Graham’s face turned a mottled shade of red. “Gone.”
“Ye’re sure?”
Graham nodded. “His horse is gone from the stables. I checked.”
Stunned to learn that Atholl had also betrayed them, it took a moment for Lachlan to collect his thoughts. “Graham, ye must ride to Iain and Alex at the MacDonalds and tell them what has occurred. Alex will want to call forth his army, and Marion’s uncle will join us, I feel certain.”
“Nay,” Graham rebuked. “I am the best tracker here, and ye ken it. I will find which way they went and help ye save Marion and Bridgette.”
Lachlan nodded. Graham was a renowned tracker, and his skill could likely be the thing that helped them find Bridgette and Marion. “So be it. We will leave shortly. Cameron, ye will ride to the MacDonalds.”
Cameron nodded.
Lachlan met the eyes of each council member gathered there. “The Campbells have joined forces with Jamie to take Dunvegan, and I fear others may be involved. Rory Mac, I leave ye to serve as laird in the absence of myself and my brothers.”
Rory Mac nodded, his face grave. Lachlan swallowed the emotion threatening to choke off his words. “I dunnae ken if they will strike soon. If they were ready, they would have done so today.”
“Aye,” came a chorus of agreement.
“Nevertheless, I’ll take only ten men with me and leave the rest with ye to defend Dunvegan,” he said to Rory Mac. “I dunnae have to tell ye that if they breach Dunvegan and take the castle—”
“They will nae,” Rory Mac responded in an ominous tone. “I vow this to ye, Lachlan.”
Lachlan responded with a nod as his throat closed off and he could not speak for a moment. He forced the emotion down and glanced at Graham. “Gather our ten fastest and best fighters and meet me in the courtyard.”
Graham nodded, and Lachlan departed the great hall to plan. He went to where he had last lain with Bridgette under the stars and stared up into the sky. He would get her back, and then he would pour down his vengeance upon his uncle, Colin, and all who helped them.
“She will be fine,” he said aloud, willing his words to be true, though his gut clenched as if a dagger had been plunged into it.
He squeezed his hands into fists, then pressed them against his head. He’d told Bridgette they were one and that no matter the distance that may separate them, he would find her. And that’s what he intended to do. She was his. She would always be his. No matter what might occur. No matter the seer’s prediction.
A single thought filled his mind: Stay alive, Bridgette. Stay alive.
He repeated the thought until his blood roared in his ears, and his muscles tensed with the need to make haste now.
I am coming for you.
Had there truly been a time when Bridgette had foolishly thought she could escape her captors? Groggily, she tried to sift through her memories, but it was like slogging along a steep, narrow footpath after a week of rain. Her thoughts kept slipping from her, much like her feet would often slip on the muddy terrain of the hills that led to the waterfalls near her home.
She could not say how long they’d been riding this second day or how far they were from Arthorn Castle because she had not slept, and the need to sleep now was screaming at her. But she feared shutting her eyes. It seemed to her that if she dared to submit to the need, something terrible would happen. Not that she was in any position to do anything else with her hands still tied.
Marion eyed her sympathetically. “Close your eyes.”
Bridgette shook her head. There had to be something she could do. Anything would be better than going quietly like a lamb to be slaughtered. As a steep cliff rose to her right and the sound of a waterfall up ahead whispered in her ears, an idea came to her. If she could get Colin to stop and all dismount, and she could somehow get him to the ledge, perchance she could push him over and then she and Marion could overcome Atholl.
“Please, will ye nae stop to allow me to relieve myself,” she asked, struggling for a beseeching voice.
Colin grinned at her. “Aye, since ye asked me so nicely.”
Bridgette suppressed a relieved sigh. The way men were often led by their desires instead of their brains was proving to be a good thing this day.
Colin and Atholl stopped the horses and helped Bridgette and Marion down. While dismounting, Bridgette caught Marion’s gaze, widened her eyes, and jerked her head toward the ledge, trying to communicate her plan. Marion frowned in response. Bridgette did it again, and Marion still frowned, but suddenly she screamed and doubled over in pain. Bridgette was unsure whether Marion’s pain was real or not, but as Atholl turned to Marion and Colin stepped around Bridgette toward the edge of the cliff to get to Marion, Bridgette took advantage of the moment and rammed her body as hard as she could into Colin.
Shock swept his features as his arms flailed, and he fell backward over the cliff with a roar. Bridgette’s own foot slipped, and as her heart jumped to her throat, and she waved her arms in terror, Atholl grasped her.
“God’s bones!” he yelled. “What happened?” He yanked her forward and then scooted around her to look down at where Colin had fallen. “Colin!”
Bridgette’s heart jumped. Was Colin not dead, then? She wasted no time but stepped forward with her bound hands in front of her to shove Atholl over, as well, but he surprised a yelp out of her as he rounded toward her and lunged at her, crashing them both to the ground. Her head hit a rock, and specks of bright light danced in her eyes.
“Ye wee devilish lass,” he snarled. “Colin told me that ye’re treacherous.” As he raised his dagger—whether to kill her or knock her out, she did not know—she screamed. Then Marion appeared over him, rock in her hands—which had been unbound earlier that morning after their captors determined she wasn’t a threat—and slammed it into Atholl’s head. Two hits later, the man fell off Bridgette and into a deep forced sleep.
Marion gaped down, her horror quite obvious on her face. “Do you think I killed him?”
Bridgette scrambled to her feet. “I certainly hope so!” She nudged Marion into action. “Untie me!” she cried out, fearful that Colin would reach them before they could escape, if he was already starting back toward them.
The minute Marion released Bridgette from her binds, she said, “Come! We must away. I dunnae ken how close we are to Arthorn and the enemy, nor do I ken if Colin is dead.”
Marion nodded, but instead of mounting the horse Bridgette indicated, she grasped Bridgette and hugged her fiercely. “I was so scared!”
“Aye,” Bridgette agreed. “As was I. Now come!”
They quickly mounted the horses, and once they had carefully turned them back the way they had come, they started down the incline. Toward the bottom, Bridgette’s horse began to dance around as if spooked, and it was then that Bridgette realized her mistake. She’d pushed Colin over the ledge so he was already down here! Chills covered Bridgette’s arms, and a terrible feeling gripped her.
Bridgette grasped the reins tightly, and as she did, Colin appeared from around the corner, blood seeping from a gash on his forehead and rage twisting his face. He threw his dagger before she could react, but it did not hit her as she expected. It flew past the horse’s face, causing the horse to startle and throw her to the ground.
She hit hard, smacking her head against a rock, and by the time she found her feet, Colin was there and grasped her firmly to him. “I did nae give ye enough due,” he snarled in her ear.
“Make haste, Marion!” Bridgette screamed, looking around and slumping in relief when she realized Marion had fled. Yet a moment later, Marion reappeared with her horse, charging straight at Colin. With Bridgette in tow, instead of moving out of Marion’s way, the man raised an arm and yelled a command at the horse. The destrier reared back and Marion flew off, landing on her back.
Bridgette broke free of Colin to scramble to Marion, who lay motionless with her eyes shut. “Marion!” she cried out, but Marion did not answer. Grim faced, Colin silently grabbed Bridgette, snatched her up, and set her hard against the ground as he started to bind her ankles. She struggled against him, yet it was like fighting a furious storm—utterly pointless. When she was trussed, he slung her over the horse, and much to Bridgette’s relief, he took great care with Marion, settling her gently on his horse.
Colin quickly disposed of Atholl’s body in the loch. Bridgette supposed he did not want to leave any traces for Lachlan and whoever else may be pursuing them. When he was finished, Colin tied the reins of the horses together and then lead them away. He whacked Bridgette on her bottom with stinging force. “That was very foolish, Bridgette,” he chided in a voice that caused a ripple of fear to course down her spine. “Ye will learn verra soon that I am now yer lord.”