Abduction
Darroch sat on the pebbled beach below the cliffs, arms stretched around his bent knees. He’d spent an hour teaching Kyla how to skim stones into the waves and was content to watch her practice in the determined way she tackled any challenge.
Before that, they’d explored every nook and cranny of the castle, particularly disappointed when the Faerie Flag was nowhere to be found in the so-called Faerie Tower. He was at a loss to explain to his daughter why the eighth chief had built and named it thus if he didn’t intend to keep the flag there.
Then she’d suggested they scour the smaller caves along the beach and he’d agreed.
He had to admit to a degree of fatigue, whereas Kyla fairly brimmed with energy. He put his tiredness down to the emotional upheaval of at last conversing with the bairn he loved. She’d made his head spin with all her questions and comments about the castle. Itching to ask why she’d refused to speak to him for so many years, he decided against doing so, afraid to spoil the progress he’d made.
He was relieved they’d found no trace of Ghalla and her son anywhere in the castle. In his haste to spend time with his lass, he’d gone off with her alone, which might have turned out to be a grave mistake.
He looked up and down the deserted beach, then squinted into the clear blue sky where only raucous seagulls soared. Yawning, he lay back and meshed his fingers behind his head, listening to the pleasant tinkle of his daughter’s laughter and the sound of surf caressing rock further down the beach.
He may have drifted off, until the crunch of a booted foot on the pebbles startled him awake. He sat up, but a blow to the back of his head sent him spinning into blackness.
*
As the late afternoon shadows lengthened, Isabel became concerned. Coira made enquiries among the servants and reported that Darroch and Kyla had been seen entering the Faerie Tower earlier, but had left there after an hour or two. A stable boy had saddled a horse and thought he overheard Darroch mention going down the path to the beach.
Boyd sent out search parties, but all returned with no news, until the men who’d gone out to the cliffs came back with Darroch’s horse. Blue had been unable to pick up a scent.
When darkness fell, Isabel frantically paced her chamber, her heart in knots. “My husband and stepdaughter have met with foul play,” she told her uncle.
“And there is only one person who could be responsible for such a dire circumstance,” he replied, his jaw clenched as he opened the door.
“’Tis past time for my father to face the truth,” she told Boyd as they made their way to the sickroom. “We should have told him before.”
He nodded his agreement.
Fanny came to her feet as soon as they entered the chamber. “Any news?”
If Isabel paused in her mission, she would collapse into her cousin’s arms and weep. Instead she kept her gaze on her father, relieved he was awake and sitting up in bed. She prayed she would be able to hold on to her courage and not shake him until he saw the truth.
“News of what?” Rory asked.
His confusion indicated Fanny had said nothing, for which she was glad. This was her responsibility. “My husband is missing,” she said sternly.
He shrugged. “Men come and go as they please, lassie, husbands included.”
She fisted her hands, glad of the pain as fingernails dug into the flesh of her palm. “He has been abducted,” she asserted.
“In my castle? Nonsense. Who would do such a thing?”
She paused to make sure he was paying attention. “Ghalla.”
He snorted. “My wife? Ye’re mad. She’s missing as weel.”
“She left the castle when it became obvious her plans for ye were doomed to failure.”
He snarled. “Plans for me? She has been nothing but a kind and loving companion.”
“She insisted on being the only one to tend yer wound because she wanted ye dead.”
“I’ll nay listen to these accusations,” he shouted, swiveling his legs over the side of the bed with surprising speed, and holding out his hand to Boyd. “Help me,” he commanded.
“Nay,” his brother-by-marriage replied. “Isabel speaks the truth. Ye’re missing an arm thanks to the tainted salve she applied to yer arm.”
Rory glowered at those gathered around him, one after the other. “Why would she want me dead?”
“So Tremaine will become chief,” Fanny replied. “She drugged ye to the point ye even agreed to the twit succeeding ye.”
For the first time, Rory seemed to falter as a frown wrinkled his brow. “I did?”
Isabel sat beside her father, hoping he’d recovered enough of his wits to understand what she was about to tell him. “’Twas Ghalla caused the misunderstanding about the wedding. The documents she sent to Dun Scaith were not the same ones ye signed. Darroch MacKeegan was waiting for me in Sleat.”
Rory absently stroked the bandages of his amputated arm. “Drugged, ye said?”
“Opium,” Fanny replied. “Probably from the first day she arrived and fussed o’er ye.”
He stared at her. “I thought she cared.”
“She took advantage of our grief, Dadaidh,” Isabel said, wanting to ease the desolation in her father’s gaze.
“I actually agreed Tremaine would become chief?” he asked.
“Aye, but that right belongs to yer flesh and blood,” Isabel replied, barely able to hear her own voice over the thudding of her heart, and deeming it wiser not to mention Ian at this point. “’Tis why they’ve taken Darroch and Kyla.”
Rory raised his eyebrows. “They’ve kidnapped the bonnie lass who asked about the Faerie Flag?”
Isabel’s sobs refused to be held back any longer.
“So ye must ken where they might have taken them,” Fanny snarled.
Rory sank back against the bolster. “There’s a grotto.”
An urge to scream seized Isabel. “Our secret grotto? The one only ye and Mamaidh and me knew about?”
Tears welled in her father’s eyes as he reached for her hand. “Forgive me, Daughter,” he rasped. “I’m a foolish auld mon.”
*
Darroch awoke in a cave. Of that he was certain. Other things seemed less clear, possibly due to the headache boring into his temples, the vile taste in his mouth and the heavy weight on his chest.
He was obviously in some difficulty, yet wanted to laugh hysterically. The rocky walls spun around him, as if he’d drunk too much whisky. But opening his eyes didn’t solve the problem. “That ush…usu…usly does the trick,” he muttered, feeling like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. And why was the person crawling on him patting his face?
“Dadaidh,” a voice whispered close to his ear.
Kyla? Nay, canna be. She doesna speak to me.
“Dadaidh.”
Louder, more insistent.
He opened one eye. Red curls. He laughed. Kyla had spoken his name. He reached to tussle her hair, but his hands seemed to be tied together and fastened to the wall.
What the fyke?
“Ye mustna swear, Dadaidh,” Kyla said.
He was in heaven. His daughter had spoken to him. “Sleep,” he mumbled, frustrated he couldn’t hug her with his wrists bound.
He feared his eyeballs might fall out when she grasped hold of his shirt and shook him. “Nay. Ye slept all night. Maine will come back soon with more of the poison that made ye sleep.”
Something about the name seemed familiar. It settled in his confused brain he’d been drugged. “Poison?”
She wrinkled her nose and made a choking sound. “Black.”
Fear stopped his heart. “Did he make ye drink any?”
“Nay.”
The uncontrollable urge to laugh suddenly turned to an overwhelming need to cry. He inhaled deeply, struggling to keep a grip on his befuddled wits. The dizziness worsened when he tried to rise but got only as far as steadying himself on all fours, staring at the rocky ground. “Do ye ken where we are?” he asked.
“After whacking ye, Maine lifted ye onto his horse like a sack o’ grain. He kept cursing that ye were too heavy and the horse wouldna obey. I kicked at his shins. Till he slapped me.”
In a flash of blinding clarity, Darroch now knew who Maine was. “Tremaine Nellis will die for striking my brave little lass,” he managed, holding onto the damp wall as he got to his feet. Another vague memory tickled. “He’s afraid of horses,” he rasped.
“Dogs too,” she replied. “Boo hates him.”
Being tied across the back of a horse would explain his sore ribs. “Then he brought us here?”
“Aye. A hill behind the castle. He cursed and swore so much about how steep the trail was, I think he forgot about me. ’Twas hard, but I followed.”
Pride swelled. Given the opportunity to flee, she’d stayed by his side through what must have been a long and terrifying night for her.
He had to clear his head, devise a means of escape before Tremaine returned, possibly with his evil mother.
The echo of boot heels and a whining voice scolding a horse told him he’d waited too long. Summoning the last of his strength, he opened his mouth to tell his daughter to stay behind him, but she was suddenly nowhere to be seen.