CHAPTER EIGHT
Fury scoured him.
He doubted he’d ever been so enraged. But then, he’d never felt so betrayed.
Odd that. Living in the highlands, surrounded by clans who stole his cattle and raided his crofts, beset with neighbors who would not think twice about kidnapping a wayward lass or lying straight to a rival’s face…he’d never felt so betrayed.
Probably because he’d trusted her. Against his better judgement, he’d trusted an outsider.
He would never make that mistake again.
Without a word he led her to his tent. When she slowed, dragging her feet, he took her arm in a firm grip and hustled her along. He didn’t have much time before his wrath worked free, before his rage erupted, and he didn’t want his men to see him like that. Didn’t want them to see him flay her.
It would only incite them. They were all furious with her as well. No telling what they might do or say if he did not remove her from their presence.
A man’s horse was inviolate. It was an unwritten rule they would never be touched or harmed or stolen.
Anyone who dared to break such a convention knew his peril.
Horse thieves were hanged.
The thought of her pretty neck snapping beneath the weight of her crimes horrified him. It did not, however, supplant his anger.
He pushed her into the tent, with perhaps too much force. She skidded backwards and landed on the pallet. She stared up at him with wounded eyes, but he refused to feel a hint of remorse. She’d landed on the soft furs, after all. The furs where, but a few hours earlier, they had tangled.
He had to look away. His glance fell on the whiskey.
With harsh movements, he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a stiff draught. It burned on the way down.
“Dominic—”
“Silence!” She dared speak? Did she not know what menace she taunted?
She lurched back as though he’d slapped her; a sliver of guilt skewered him. He brushed it away. Weakness was foolish. He should have known.
“What are you going to do with me?” This she asked in a tiny voice, one that made him shudder.
He stared at his drink, refused to look at her. “That depends on whether or not we find the horses.”
“If you don’t?”
“You’ll hang.”
She made a noise, something strangled and wounded. “Hang?”
She would never hang. He wouldn’t allow it. But she had to understand the weight of what she’d done. Not only had she delayed a very important journey, she’d committed the most heinous crime of all. “’Tis what we do with horse thieves.” He dared a glance at her. “Is this not so in Seattle?”
“We don’t have many horses in Seattle.”
He wanted to ask how they got around in this mythical place, but he didn’t. He did not want to engage in a conversation with her. He did not want to diffuse his ferocity. He could not allow himself to be fooled again.
“We hang horse thieves here.”
“I didn’t steal them.”
“Did you no’?”
“I just hid them. You’ll find them.” Her lashes flickered. “Eventually.”
“And did it occur to you that we may no’ find them?”
“You will. I’ll take you to them tomorrow.”
His muscles locked. Irritation at her nonchalance prickled his nape. He glared at her. “Tomorrow?”
She nodded. “Tomorrow.”
He whirled and paced, raking his hair with shaking fingers. “And what is the point of all this?”
Her answer was soft, tremulous, but he heard it. “To keep you safe, of course.”
He whirled around. “Goddamn it Maggie! I am perfectly safe. My men have been warned. They’ve been trained. They are prepared to meet any foe.”
“If you go there, you die.”
“I should turn you over my knee.” Oh, he wanted to. So badly. But he’d never struck a woman and he feared his anger would overcome his restraint. In so many ways. He could not allow himself near enough to touch her or disaster might prevail.
That she shot him a minxish grin didn’t help.
Damn her. She was too alluring by far.
He pushed out of the tent and bellowed at Ewan, though he was near enough that bellowing was not necessary. “Tie her up,” he said. “And make damn sure she doesna get away, or I’ll have your guts for garters.”
And then he stormed off, in the wake of his men, who were heading to the south to find their damn horses.
On foot.
* * *
It was dusk by the time they found the beasts. It took all day because apparently, Maggie was even more duplicitous than he’d imagined. She hadn’t taken them to the south. She’d taken them to the north.
After a long, tiring, frustrating morning, marching through the summer heat, they’d returned to the camp and done what they should have done earlier. Examined the tracks more carefully.
Yes. They did lead off to the south, but then they veered off into a burn and didn’t appear again. When they followed the little stream to the north, they eventually found another trail curving toward the west, and into the woods. And there by a small pond, surrounded with a lea of fresh grass, they found their horses, safe and hale.
At least she’d had the heart to make sure they had water and food.
But that was small consolation.
As they mounted up and led the string of horses back to camp, Dominic realized she’d gotten what she wanted. He would not make it to Urquhart in time for the meeting. Damn it all.
They would leave at first light, and ride hard, though. Perhaps they would not be too late to salvage something.
If indeed it was a true meeting of the minds…and not an ambush.
He thrust that thought aside and focused on his annoyance at her ploy.
He was glad he’d decided not to take her with him. He was glad he was sending her back to Dar, to languish in the dungeon until he returned. He hoped it taught her a lesson. He hoped it taught her that no one betrayed Dominic Dundragon without paying the price.
Although what he would do with her when he returned…?
Hell.
He had no idea.
* * *
She heard the horses coming and blew out a breath.
She knew Dominic was angry, but she could also tell, from the falling shadows, that evening was upon them. It was too late for them to leave. They would not be in Urquhart in the morning.
They would miss the massacre.
That was worth any price.
She hoped when he came in, settled down for the night, he would be calmer. He would be willing to listen to her once more.
But he never came back.
Night fell and silence settled over the camp and he never came to her.
He left her there, tied to the pole in his tent. All alone.
It was the longest night of her life.
But morning was worse.
She could hear the men rising, packing up, chattering. She could smell breakfast cooking. But no one came to untie her.
Her wrists were sore, her arms, having been in the same position all night, ached. Her bladder was full.
When Ewan came through the tent flap, she nearly collapsed in relief, but even though she called out to him, he ignored her, merely collecting Dominic’s things and carting them outside.
He came in several times, until everything was gone except the pallet and furs on which she rested.
Her belly went hard. Her blood went cold. Were they going to leave her here? The thought palled. When the sounds outside rose, calls of farewell, the thunder of hooves, she nearly broke into tears.
She knew he’d left her.
Felt it in the hollow core of her being. A coil of dread rose to take the place of hope.
Yes, he was a grown man. He could take care of himself. But she couldn’t help thinking, he needed her. Needed her to keep him safe.
It didn’t occur to her that she needed him for the same reason. Not until Ewan and Harry stepped into the tent. Their expressions were blank, but not blank enough that she did not sense their anger, their distrust of her.
“Have they gone?” she asked, though she knew the answer. It hardly mattered that they didn’t answer. Her gaze fixated on the knife Ewan held. Trepidation skittered through her.
Oh lord. How angry was Dominic? Or was it not anger? Was it mercy to send his man in to slit her throat? To save her from hanging?
Fear clutched at her. She struggled to catch a breath. Sweat prickled on her brow. She was tied. Helpless. She couldn’t even fight—
But Ewan strode past her to the tent pole and cut her tether. It wasn’t lost on her that he did not untie her hands. He jerked her to her feet and led her from the tent, while Harry collected the bedding and broke down the structure.
To her shock—once her eyes adjusted to the glare of the sun—the camp was empty. Utterly deserted. Even the fire had been doused. All that remained was the cart filled with salted deer carcasses. Ewan towed her in that direction.
She stopped short and braced herself for his tug when he noticed she was not obediently following him. He frowned at her.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she said.
He shot a look at Harry and then changed directions toward the woods. He didn’t take her deep in, but paused beside the first bush. When she opened her mouth to protest, his frown darkened. “Hurry up.”
She blew out a sigh and tried to move quickly, but it was difficult with her hands tied before her. She knew better than to ask him to release her. His expression made clear he’d been commanded to keep her on a short leash.
Literally.
By the time she was finished, Harry had stowed the tent. Ewan led her to the cart and lifted her into the back. She could hardly complain—the seat in the front was barely big enough for the two burly Scotsmen—but seriously? Did they expect her to travel all the way to Castle Dar on top of dead meat? The smell alone was revolting.
“I think I’m gunna barf.”
“Be silent, woman,” Harry snapped.
“Seriously. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“I told you we should have listened to Declan and gagged her,” Harry muttered.
“The laird said to be gentle with her.”
“I doona think he meant it. He was glowering at the time.”
“He’s glowered a lot…since she came along.” Ewan shot her a dark look over his shoulder. He slapped the reins and the cart lurched forward.
Maggie’s stomach lurched too. She groaned. “Can you at least give me something to eat?” Maybe that would settle the bile churning in her belly.
Harry blew out a sigh and pulled an oatcake from his sporran, handing it to her without a word. She took it and nibbled at it and tried to be grateful. Honestly. It could be worse. Couldn’t it?
She tried to look on the bright side. She had managed to delay Dominic’s departure, possibly saved him from MacPherson’s perfidy. She hadn’t been hanged. That was always a positive. And it was a lovely day for a cart ride through Scotland. Folks at home would have paid big bucks for something like this. Probably.
“Where are we going?” she asked. She hoped they were following the men to Urquhart, but she doubted it.
Ewan confirmed her suspicions. “We’re going back to Castle Dar.”
Yes. What she’d expected. But when Harry leaned back and shot her a malicious grin and added, “And you, wee lass, are heading for the dungeon,” she was surprised indeed.
All of a sudden, the day was not so very fine after all.
* * *
They rode fast and hard, though Dominic took a care with their horses, making sure to rest and water them regularly. They made good time, but he knew they would miss the meeting. There was no way they could make it. If only there were a ferry across the loch. But there was not, and Loch Ness was large and deep. They had to ride through Glen Mor to the west, then north to Lochend, and then back down to Kilmore on the west bank.
Evening was falling by the time they caught sight of the fluttering banners of the encampment, far in the distance. When there was such a gathering of clans, the influx was often too great for a castle to accommodate, so they made camp in the surrounding fields. These reunions were infrequent, as they all lived far from each other, so most stayed for days. There were usually games of skill, much drinking and excellent food. A fair-like atmosphere prevailed.
Dominic was gratified to see that everyone had not left; perhaps he could still meet with MacPherson.
If nothing else, he was more than ready to rest his bones, have a warm meal and a stiff drink.
But as they came closer, something felt off. He slowed his mount.
“What is it?” Declan asked.
Dominic glanced at the sky, to the wheeling birds. He scanned the camp for movement. There was none.
“Do you see anyone?”
Declan frowned. “Nae.”
No men. No women. No songs or laughter wafted to them on the wind, as they should. Only the caws of those birds.
He glanced at his men, and as one, they drew their swords. They rode closer to the camp, splitting into two to circle at a distance. Ten large tents. No fires. No horses. Nothing.
Dominic shot a glance at the castle, about a league away on the banks of the river. The castle itself was held by John Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, a contender for the Scottish crown, but Comyn was rarely in residence here. The castle, too, seemed eerily deserted.
He lifted a leg and slipped from his saddle. “Shall we investigate?”
His men nodded and followed suit. But not one of them spoke.
They crept into the camp, moving slowly and silently, checking each tent as they passed. Oddly enough, they were all deserted. The first sign they had that something was awry, was a boot.
Declan’s brow darkened as he bent to pick it up. He issued an eep and tossed it away, rearing back in revulsion.
“What is it?” Dominic asked.
His brother, who was normally as staunch as they came, vomited into the grass. “The leg…” A gasp. “Was still in it.”
Holy hell.
Dominic gestured to his men and they fanned out, looking for any more clues as to what had happened here. His gut tightened.
Had Maggie been right about the ambush? Had she been right all along?
“Here!” Liam cried from the large tent in the center of the assemblage. The others rushed to his side. “Here. They’re in here.”
Slowly Dominic pulled back the tent flap. And he gagged himself. Not only because the first soulless eyes he saw were those of his friend Brody Ritchie. Not only because the tent was littered with bodies—and body parts—and bathed in blood. But because with the heat of the summer sun baking the corpses, the stench was horrific. It was surprising he hadn’t smelled this coming in.
They covered their mouths and made their way around the perimeter of the tent and the extent of this atrocity became clear. The men had been gathered here. Drinking, perhaps. Laughing. Tossing dice. Their swords were all sheathed. They’d had no clue this was coming. No clue at all.
They had, indeed, been massacred.
“Who do you see?” he called out, but he knew, in his heart, he knew.
“Laird of MacThomas here,” Declan called.
“McCombies. And aye, Shaw by his side.”
They found Cattanach, with his eyes gouged out and MacPhail and Farquharson as well.
“Any MacPhersons?”
Declan stood. Huffed a sigh. “Nae. No’ a one.”
Bluidy hell. Bluidy fooking hell!
Fury raged within him, but it battled with an undeniable sense of relief. Whatever or whoever she was, Maggie had been telling the truth. She had known the truth. Or seen it. She wasn’t mad. Or a traitor.
But there was no time to reflect on that now. “We need to go,” he clipped. He needed to get home to Dar. No doubt who ever had done this—MacPherson, with Cameron at his back—had noticed he wasn’t here. If their intent was a complete annihilation of the Clan Chattan leadership, they would be assembling an army to attack him where he lived.
He turned to Angus. “I need you to ride to Cattanach. Let them know we were late to the meeting, and what we found. What we suspect our enemies are up to. Have them notify all the clans of this treachery. We will all need to rally together to defeat these bastards.”
“Aye, laird.”
Liam stepped forward. “Let me go with him.”
Dominic clapped him on the shoulder. “Nae, cousin. I canna spare you. When we get home, we will need your expertise.”
Liam’s eyes widened. “Why?”
“Because,” he said. “They will be coming for us. They will hit hard and fast.”
And Maggie was there. Right in the middle of the danger.
And there was no way to warn her.
Worst of all? He’d sent her there.