Abducted, Book 8 Read online

  Justin stopped listening. There was an old fable in his clan, but he had not told that story in years. Still, the boiling of leaves truly can change the color of hair. If the color of her hair had changed, it would be far more difficult for anyone to find her. Justin put his sword away. “Do you know who took her?”

  His opponent was calming down and so was Laird Gunn. “I can think of no one save Laird MacAlister. We heard tell he was searching the land to find the most comely lass in Scotland. If he has her, he will not kill her, he will marry her.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Will you kill him?”

  “Would you care if I did?”

  Realizing he just escaped death, Laird Gunn took another relieved breath. “Not at all. He is a blight on the land, cruel to his women and his animals alike. Do you truly offer a golden chalice?”

  “I do.”

  “I should like to see it someday.”

  Justin was not quite certain why he believed Laird Gunn but he did. “After my daughter is home, I will send word for you to come. You will be welcome on our land.” He nodded once more and mounted his horse.

  IT WAS AFTERNOON WHEN Justin turned his men and rode back out of the Gunn village. From Blanka’s description, finding MacAlister’s castle would not be difficult and Justin intended to keep going, but Shaw convinced him to stop and rest in a meadow just off the path.

  Sacks hung over the backs of the pack horses offered smoked meat, raw vegetables and plenty of bread for hungry warriors. Most preferred to stand in a wide circle instead of sitting while they ate and most tried to ignore their pacing laird.

  Justin finally stopped and looked at his men. “Who here has seen MacAlister’s castle?”

  “Did we not pass it when last we went to see the King?” Andrew asked.

  Justin wrinkled his brow, “Is that the one? As I recall, no one lived there at the time.”

  “Aye, we wanted to see it up close, but you were eager to get home, as I recall.”

  “I wish now that I had stopped,” Justin admitted. “‘Tis an English castle, it is not?”

  “Aye but the English run off years ago.” Andrew walked a little closer to his laird. He was pleased to have something to offer none of the other men had. “My father spoke of seeing it once as a laddie. The plague killed most, the English blamed it on the Scots and those that lived fled back to England.”

  “I pray we never see another plague like that one.” Justin said and noticed a couple of men crossing themselves. The worst of all plagues killed thousands and came before he was born, but his father spoke of it often. It killed with such speed the clan hardly had time to make boxes for the burials. More often than not, children were put in the same box as parents to save time and wood.

  “‘Twas likely the English that gave the plague to the Scots,” another man grumbled and the rest of them heartily agreed.

  Any other time Justin would also have enjoyed the comment. Instead he asked, “How do we attack an English castle?”

  For the better part of an hour they discussed the advantages and the disadvantages, until it was agreed they needed to see it before deciding. An end to the conversation was all it took for Justin to mount up and head through the forest to find the path that would take him to MacAlister’s land.

  THOMAS MACGREAGOR DID not mind walking with Blanka Monro in the glen he called home. He was a hunter but hunting had been plentiful lately, the clan had enough meat for a while, and Blanka needed protection. All the warriors were far more alert than they had been before Paisley was taken and much discussion about the clan’s vulnerability had already taken place. Usually a place where the women got their exercise and the children played, there were markedly more men in the glen. Even so, Thomas often watched the trees just to make sure he could not detect some sort of movement.

  All his attention to protecting her made Blanka a little ill at ease. She appreciated it, and in fact was used to it, but for a second day she was in the home of strangers who most likely had better things to do. She felt a burden but there wasn’t much she could do about it. Her father left her there and that was that.

  “Are you unwell?” Thomas asked soon after they reached the middle of the glen.

  The question surprised Blanka. “Do I look unwell?”

  “Not at all. It is just that you keep wringing your hands and my mother does that when she is unwell.”

  Blanka quickly dropped her hands to her sides. The sun brought out the red in her brown hair and her fair complexion seemed in need of a little color. “If you must know, I am displeased.”

  Thomas instantly stopped walking and turned to her. “Do I displease you?”

  “You? Not at all, ‘tis my father who displeases me. He left me here hoping Laird MacGreagor will take me for his wife.”

  “So I have heard. You do not prefer our laird? Many a lass in our clan does.”

  “I find nothing unsightly about him, if that is what you mean, but I would much rather not be a mistress.”

  “A lass who does not want to be a mistress? ‘Tis unheard of.”

  She realized he was teasing her and returned his pleasant smile. His hair was nearly the same color as hers which he wore pulled back and tied. His beard was slightly lighter and his mustache was well trimmed. “As long as I can remember, I wanted to be queen, but alas, the king is...well, he is...”

  “Already married?”

  “That too,” she said and started them walking again. Thomas was a far more pleasant man than she expected and she was beginning to like his company.

  “What other is he?”

  “He has a particular failing in his character.”

  “A failing?” Thomas quickly glanced around pretending to make sure no one else could hear and leaned a little closer, “The King of Scots is a bit odd, is he? I am shocked to hear it.”

  “I swear ‘tis true, the king likes my father.”

  “Nay,” Thomas scoffed.

  She couldn‘t help but giggle. “I simply cannot forgive the King for it, do you blame me?”

  “Well, I do not know your father, but if you say...” He quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her back before she stepped in a hole and twisted her ankle. She looked upset for a moment until he pointed down. “ ‘Tis where lightning struck once. We fill it, but the rain washes the dirt away.”

  Blanka nodded and as soon as he let go of her arm, she walked around the hole to the corral to look at the stallions. A horse with a golden coat and a white mane instantly caught her eye.

  “Do you like to ride?” he asked.

  “I did before my father decided to marry me off. Now I dread the journey home when he returns. ‘Tis a good week of riding, maybe more, and I am not at all fond of sleeping in the forest...” she started to giggle again.

  “What?”

  “I am not fond of sleeping in the forest with no less than fifty snoring lads nearby.”

  Thomas chuckled. “Tis the same for all Scots, I have heard. Do you suppose the English snore?”

  “I doubt the King of England would allow it. If you believe the gossip, he is a stern lad who does not abide anything he does not personally command. Do you believe the English are as brutal as we have heard?”

  “Aye they are, and we can be as fierce as they believe us to be. I pity the lad who took Paisley for he will surely die and perhaps many with him.”

  Blanka sighed. “Some lads deserve to die. They treat women as animals, sometimes worse, and my father turns a blind eye to it all.”

  “There will always be lads who harm lasses and children. We occasionally have one or two in our numbers, but the punishment is swift and without mercy.”

  She glanced around at the other people in the glen. “Everyone seems to live in peace here.”

  “Today we live in peace but it cannot last. There are rumblings among us. Some lads desire more adventure than Justin allows and they wish for the power he has. The day may come when it is no longer possible to keep our lives the same.”

>   “You speak as a lad who knows. Do you want to be the MacGreagor laird someday?”

  “Not I, but there is one I fear will soon challenge our ways.”

  Blanka turned away from the horses in favor of watching the children play. The little ones tried to catch the older, who could easily outrun them and then turn to taunt their pursuer. Other boys, not yet old enough for formal training, challenged each other with wooden swords, while a warrior nearby made sure they didn’t poke an eye out. Watching them made her smile and she easily changed the subject. “What is the most glorious thing you have ever seen?”

  He started to say she was and that thought came as a total surprise to him. He enjoyed her company and she was pleasing to look at, but they had only just met the day before and there were limits to what a man could say to the daughter of a laird. “A golden eagle.”

  “For me it is a child’s first smile. I can never get enough of seeing it and cannot wait until it is my own child who smiles at me.”

  “Then I hope you will have many smiles to choose from.”

  IT HAD TAKEN A LONG time for Laird MacAlister to die which amazed Rona. When he did not easily swallow the porridge, she tried poison in wine, in broth and even in water, but with his face void of muscles, it was hard to make him drink. Most spilled out of his mouth into the bowl she held under his chin. As a last resort, she spoon-fed him the liquid and held his mouth closed until it went down his throat. At last, he drew his final breath.

  “‘Tis a pity we carried him up only to carry him down again,” said his second in command when it was over.

  “Throw him out the window.” Rona didn’t smile and the men were not certain if she meant it. “Do you fear breaking his neck?”

  Both men grinned, turned Laird MacAlister’s body sideways on the bed and then each took hold of an arm and a leg while Rona looked out the window to be sure MacAlister would not land on anyone in the courtyard. With the coast clear, they carried him to the window and with a one, two, three, heaved the man out head first. Then they listened to the thud of his body hitting the dirt.

  Rona finally smiled. “Clearly, it was the fall that killed him.”

  “I can think of no other explanation,” MacAlister’s second in command said.

  “Nor can I,” said the third.

  It had been such a pleasure watching those flickers of horror in MacAlister’s eyes as she fed him more poison, and she hoped someday she might feel some measure of regret. Not this day, however, this day she was thrilled.

  How a deathly ill man managed to fall out the window of his second floor bedchamber was a secret between the three of them, and that particular bit of juicy gossip would not spread all over Scotland. However, the sight of a man flying out of his own castle and falling to his death before the clan’s very eyes surely would.

  THREE MEN ON HORSEBACK hid behind trees at the edge of the forest and watched the man fly out a window. Then they watched the clan begin to slowly gather around the body in the castle courtyard.

  For a change, the dog was behaving himself and sat down beside Chisholm’s horse. That was before he spotted sheep in the meadow and what was a dog for if not to chase sheep? Abruptly, off he went, scrambling toward the meadow and the unsuspecting ewe.

  “A fitting end for an unfit lad,” said Ross, sitting on his swayback horse between Chisholm and Adair.

  “Who?” asked Chisholm, keeping his voice down so they would not be discovered.

  “Lest my eyes deceive me that be Laird MacAlister.”

  Chisholm raised an eyebrow. “Truly?”

  “Aye,” Adair agreed. “She is safe now, at least from him.”

  Chisholm wrinkled his brow. “Are there more dangers you care to tell me about?”

  Ross smirked. “She is in no danger from me; I choose not to marry her. A lad could spend a lifetime trying to find her each time she is snatched away.”

  “What other danger is she in?” Chisholm asked.

  “Well, the two of you still want her and MacAlister warriors will as well once they lay eyes on her.” Ross sighed. “The one who claims her will soon regret it.”

  Adair nodded. “If my brother does no want her, then neither do I.”

  “So you have seen her?”

  Instantly, both brothers caught their breaths. “Well, we...”

  “How close to the MacGreagor glen did you get?”

  “We only saw her from afar,” Adair tried.

  “But close enough to know she is a bonnie lass?”

  Ross folded his arms. “We have heard rumors, the same as every other lad.”

  “Have the MacGreagors caught you?”

  “Twice,” Adair said. Then he quickly moved his horse out of reach so his brother could not shove him off.

  Chisholm smiled, turned his attention back to the people still gathering around their laird’s body and decided now, while the people were distracted, would be the best time to see to Paisley’s safety. He urged his horse out of the trees onto the path that led to the courtyard in front of the large doors of the castle.

  It was a foreboding building made of gray stone and mortar as others were, only with darker, more ominous stones. The windows on the first floor were not covered as the brother’s had described, although, except for the one MacAlister came flying out of, those on the other floors were. The double wooden doors were massive and no doubt bolted from the inside, which meant Chisholm would have to find a way to get someone to open them.

  He was almost halfway to the courtyard when he glanced back and discovered the brothers were not with him. He halted his horse, turned it around and glared until the brothers shrugged and reluctantly came out of the trees. Once more he started down the path between cottages that were kept in good repair, no doubt to please the image MacAlister wished to portray. For a moment, Chisholm hoped Paisley was the one who pushed her abductor out the window.

  Some in the MacAlister Clan glanced Chisholm’s direction, but they seemed far more interested in what had become of their laird than in the three strangers riding into their village. Chisholm looked at each of the women desperate to find her, but Paisley was not among them. His next thought worried him more. Perhaps MacAlister’s men still held her captive or worse, MacAlister sold her to someone else. His anxiety steadily increased as he dismounted and walked to the castle door.

  Torn between their fear and their deep desire to know what would happen next, the brothers also dismounted, If all went well, they would have a glorious tale to tell—seen firsthand—if they lived through it, that is. Adair thought to draw his sword, but noticed no one was paying any particular attention to them and decided not to. Besides, his was not the best sword, what with it bent the way it was.

  Chisholm banged on the door three times and even then no one in the courtyard paid any attention. Nor did anyone answer the door, so he walked into the growing crowd of followers near the crumpled body of their laird.

  “Look at his face,” a woman whispered. “Never have I seen a face so...befuddled.”

  “Poison,” another mumbled.

  “Nay,” said a third. “His neck broke and that made his face sag.”

  Chisholm didn’t care what killed him. Once more he looked around for Paisley and as he suspected, the MacDuff brothers were hanging back just watching. Then he looked up and spotted a woman standing in the window her laird had fallen out of. “Lass,” he shouted, “What’s become of Paisley MacGreagor?”

  Rona quickly stepped back out of sight. She expected the MacGreagors to come for Paisley, but not so soon. If this one was Laird MacGreagor, he and his men might kill them all. Rona could think of no excuse not to answer and stuck her head back out the window. She looked, but the stranger seemed all alone and surely the MacGreagors would come with a mighty force of men. Perhaps they hid in the trees so she looked toward the forest, but saw nothing. Rona did however, spot the two MacDuff brothers whom she had seen before. “Gone,” she finally answered.

  Chisholm‘s hea
rt sank. “Gone where?”

  “She made off in the night.”

  Chisholm tried to see if there was honesty in the eyes of the woman, but she was too high up and he couldn’t tell. “I will see for myself!”

  “Come in then,” Rona shouted. She turned, headed out of the room and down the stairs. Just as she arrived in the great hall, MacAlister’s second in command opened the door and let the three strangers in. “I will show you each room until you are satisfied the lass is not here.”

  Seated near the hearth, the old man said, “She run off in the night.”

  Chisholm walked to the old man and moved his hand up and down in front of his face. “You are blind?”

  “MacAlister blinded me and four others for looking at his wife‘s nakedness. I am blind, but I hear well enough and I could feel her in the room. The lass you seek went out the back door.”

  “Did MacAlister’s lads bring her here or did someone else?”

  “You seem a might young to be her father,” said Rona.

  “I am not her father, I am Laird Graham. Her father is beside himself with worry and I must know, did MacAlister marry her?”

  “Nay, I killed him before...” She hadn’t meant to say that. Alarmed, she glanced at each MacDuff brother and then stared into Chisholm’s eyes.

  “Pity, I hoped to kill him myself. If not you or me, her father would have.”

  Rona was terrified, but not at the mention of the MacGreagors. “Do you mean to tell the king?”

  Chisholm remembered the brothers were right behind him listening to every word and knew as soon as they left, the gossip would begin and word would eventually reach the King of Scots ears. For a man to die at the hands of a woman in battle was one thing, but a woman who murdered a laird was something else again. “You might not have killed him. After all, he did take a bad fall out that window.”

  Rona was quick to follow his meaning. “That is true. I could not wake him is all and thought I might have given him bad wine for his evening meal.”