Page 20 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER TWENTY

A ileen insisted on walking Davina back to her cottage after supper. Although Davina had half-hoped she might have some time alone with Everard again, she knew that it would be foolish to be alone with him. Especially, now that all she could think of was how his perfect lips had felt on hers, how his strong arms had embraced her and how she wanted more of him.

Besides, she had much to share with Aileen. While they had awaited the men to join them in the solar she had spoken with Aileen about her upcoming trip to Castle Bay on the morrow. Aileen was sailing her small boat across to the village, while Maxwell remained at Kiessimul for talks with Everard and the Clan Council.

She’d offered to take Davina with her, and start the first of her sailing lessons. Davina had worked with Broderick to prepare a list of supplies and she also was hoping to ask the midwife questions about childbirth. Her heart was in her mouth at the prospect of finding her way alone through the village, but she was also eager to select the herbs she needed for several of the salves and tisanes Broderick would prepare.

Although she was daunted by the prospect of sailing, she was determined to overcome her fear of water.

If she was able to remain at Kiessimul Castle, as she hoped, continuing her work with Broderick, she would have to make frequent short trips to the village to fetch supplies. Aileen had agreed not to mention to Maxwell or Everard that Davina would accompany her the following day, as Davina had it in her mind to surprise Everard with her new skill and show off her newfound courage.

When they parted at the door of Davina’s cottage, Aileen handed over Feather’s little basket. “We shall leave early, I will come and tap on yer door.”

“I’ll be ready.” Davina was almost breathless at the idea of the forthcoming trip. She so wanted Everard to see her as worthy and even, in time, to regard her as every bit as worthy as all those other lasses, the daughters of lairds, who were more suitable matches for him.

Paying no heed to the nagging doubts planted in her head by Mildred’s words about who Everard would wed, she donned her night-shift and readied herself for bed. Her heart was singing as she carefully hung up her new gown, untied her braids and combed her hair before shaping it into a single braid down her back.

Feather joined her on the pillow just before she snuffed out her candle.

It was a crisp, sunny, morning when Davina set off with Aileen for Castle Bay. First of all, Davina had to learn how to tie and untie the boat’s mooring rope before they set off. Next, she was shown how to hold the oars, how to pull them evenly and how to change direction using only one.

As the sail caught the wind and they skimmed across the water, Davina was so busy with her lessons that she almost put out of mind the fact that she was on the sea and not on dry land.

Once they’d reached the shore and pulled the little craft up onto the sandy beach, Aileen waited, while Davina painstakingly tied the mooring knot she’d been shown and secured the little craft. They wandered along the shore, enjoying the sunshine, passing the assembly of scattered cottages leading to the center of the small village.

They parted ways at the first crossroad they came to. Aileen continued on, heading to the blacksmith’s to see to a strong steel gate he was making for the new house, while Davina turned down a narrow lane, following the directions she’d been given by Broderick.

They had agreed to meet in the tavern as soon as their tasks were completed.

Davina checked the directions Broderick had written for her to make sure she didn’t get lost. “Six houses along ye’ll come tae a bridge over a wee burn. Cross the bridge and the first cottage ye come tae belongs ttaeo the midwife.”

She passed six houses and, sure enough, there was the burn and the bridge. She crossed the bridge and knocked at the first door she came to.

A burly, red-faced man opened the door. “Is this the midwife’s house?” Surely, this couldn’t be the right house. The midwife was a woman.

The man looked at her with a grimace of disgust. “Nay, lass. Two doors further down.” He waved a hand toward the end of the lane.

After thanking him she headed off to the place he indicated. It was the last cottage in the lane, set back from the street in a small thicket of woods and quite difficult to discern among the trees. Making a mental note to bring Broderick up to date with his directions, she paced to the gate of the small cottage, opened it and continued along the path to the front door.

After rapping three times and waiting without hearing any response from indoors, her heart sank. The place was quiet, there was no smoke issuing from the chimney. Mayhap the midwife was away, helping to bring a newborn into the world at this very moment.

She walked back along the path and out through the gate, pausing to decide whether she should wait a little longer or join Aileen in the tavern.

It looked like someone was at home at the neighboring house as smoke was spiraling from the chimney. It occurred to her they might have an idea where she could find the midwife. Making up her mind to consult with whoever lived next door, she turned back. As she did so, a man appeared beside her.

Not expecting to see someone else there, her heart jolted. She gasped and her hand shot to her mouth.

“I’m sorry, lass. Did I frighten ye?”

“Aye, ye did. I thought I was alone here. Where did ye come from?”

“Me house is yonder.” He pointed toward the woods. “Beyond the trees.”

He seemed polite enough, despite appearing beside her like a wraith. He was dressed in fine clothes and there was something about the way he held himself straight-backed and kept his head high that reminded her of the man she’d met at the market.

“I was hoping tae find the midwife.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “Are ye with child, miss?”

She shook her head, taken aback at his bad manners in asking such an improper question.

She looked carefully at the newcomer. No, there was a similarity to be sure, but this was a quite different man. Whereas the man, Dùghall, had had a kindly, open face and sparkling golden-brown eyes very much like her own, this man had a frown permanently creasing his forehead, and a downturned mouth that told her he was unused to smiling.

“Nay. I wish tae purchase herbs from her.”

“I ken where she is. She’s at a house near me own, where there’s a lass having trouble wi’ her first bairn.”

“Oh. Thank ye.” She turned to go.

The man held up his hand and stepped into her path. “Ye seem disappointed. Can I be of assistance? I’d be pleased tae show ye where she is. Why, even now she may be walking back tae her own cottage.” He pointed toward the woodland thicket. “The path through the trees will lead ye there. Ye might meet her half-way.”

“And it’s nae far?”

The man shook his head, his mouth lifting in what might pass for a smile on his grim face.

She hesitated. Perhaps it would not take long. And if she met the midwife on the path, she could accompany her back to the cottage. Otherwise, she could simply leave and meet with Aileen in the tavern. But that would mean returning to the Infirmary empty-handed. Weighing things up, she decided that seeking the midwife was the better plan.

“I’ll show ye the way.” The man strode off to the path into the woods.

There was something about the man that made her distrust him, yet, hating the prospect of returning to Broderick without the herbs, she hurried after him.

As they walked, the trees grew thicker, and it was not long before she was out of sight of the lane and the other cottages. It was dark, the canopy of the trees preventing sunlight beaming through. She shivered. It was cold and forbidding. Not at all what she’d expected.

Where were the houses the man had mentioned?

“Are we nearing the house ye spoke of? I cannae see any dwellings along here.”

“Dinnae fash, lassie. We will soon be at our destination.” The man’s voice sounded harsh, not as friendly as it had been before.

She took a few more steps, her apprehension growing. “Mayhap I should turn back.” She came to a halt, looking around. “I have tae meet me friend. She will wonder what has become of me.”

The man turned, his frown growing deeper.

“I… thank ye… fer…helping…”

His expression now seemed angry, causing her heart to jump and begin a rapid, uncomfortable beating. “I believe I have come too far and I must leave ye now.”

He grabbed her arm, almost causing her to drop her basket.

“Sir, please let go of me arm.” She attempted to wrench her arm away but he held fast. Now her heart was racing so fast it was painful.

At that moment she saw two other men racing toward them from the opposite direction.

Surely these men will come tae me aid.

“Please help me,” she called, as the men approached. “This man willnae release me. I am afeared.” She struggled, but he only tightened his grip and now seized her other arm.

Her basket dropped to the forest floor and she looked up in horror. The two men rushing towards them were not coming to her rescue. They were the men she recognized from the day she’d escaped from the Priory. These were the two men who had hunted her on the Isle of Mull, the ones that the Laird of the MacNeils had lied to, to protect her.

She screamed as loud as her lungs would allow. She struggled as the men bound her arms, and kept on screaming until they tied a cloth so tight around her mouth and nose that not only could she no longer call out or even scream, but she could hardly breathe.

Looking around there was no one else in sight. There were no houses. There was no midwife walking along the track.

She was a prisoner of the very men who had haunted her nightmares for so long. But why these men were so intent on capturing her and treating her so brutally, she had no idea.

The first man, the one she had followed, shoved her. Losing her balance and with her hands bound, she had no way of bracing herself as she fell hard at his feet. His face was twisted into a snarl as she looked up, imploring him with her eyes.

She saw nothing there but coldness and an implacable hatred that caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand to attention. It was only then that she became afeared her life was at risk. Until that moment she had assumed she was to be taken back to Iona and forced again into the nunnery.

What she saw in the man’s eyes told her that was not to be her fate. He had something far worse in store for her.

Standing over her, legs astride, his features twisted into a snarl, he spat a gob of phlegm that landed beside her head, among the leaves where she lay. “This is what I think of ye,” he said, his voice a ragged growl. She shuddered. Who was this vile man? And what had she ever done to earn his hatred?

He gave a vicious laugh and pushed contemptuously at her with his foot.

“At last, I have ye exactly where I want ye. Ye dinnae deserve tae live, ye’re aught but the spawn of a whore, and it will be me pleasure tae see ye suffer before I finally snuff out yer evil life. Finally, I shall rid meself forever of the sight of yer face and the woman ye remind me of.”

Her stomach roiling with nausea, Davina was shaking all over. She tasted bile in her throat, but she forced herself to ignore the sickness, for somehow she had to try and hold her wits together and stay focused on her predicament. She had no doubt the man’s deadly threats were real but she also knew she had no hope of releasing her arms from the tight bonds keeping them behind her back.

However, her legs were still free.

She managed to scramble to her feet and stood, facing her tormentor, praying that her eyes could convey defiance rather than fear. Despite his fearsome menace, she held her head high, her eyes meeting his. One of the men reached for her arm but she twisted herself violently away from his hand and took to her heels.

Running frantically back the way she’d come through the forest she could hear the men’s footsteps close behind her, their rough grunting and shouting assailing her ears.

She’d made the most of the tiny advantage she had in taking them by surprise and she was light on her feet, as fast as a deer, while they were clomping like carthorses, clumsily making their way behind her.

At last she came in sight of the lane meeting the woods behind the midwife’s house. If only she could keep ahead of her pursuers until she reached the end of the lane where she’d seen the burly man earlier, mayhap he would help her.

Flying as she was, she failed to notice the gnarled root protruding from an old tree beside the path. She caught her foot, twisting her ankle, and went down. Struggling to rise she was hampered by as stabbing pain in her leg. Attempting to run, she could only hobble. It was simply a matter of moments before the men caught up with her.

They grabbed her arms and hauled her, struggling frantically, onto the path.

The last thing she heard was the man’s harsh words: “That’s enough, little shrew. If nae fer that cursed son of mine I’d have drowned ye when I had the chance,” before she felt a hard blow to her head.

As she sank to the ground, almost senseless, the name of the man whose hatred had consumed her, flashed into her mind.

“Faither!”

The world faded to black.