Page 42 of Deceived by the Highlander (Daughters of the Isle #2)

Stealthily, she backstepped, even though her head berated her. Why did she care if he saw her? The truth was, she didn’t, but she’d rather avoid a confrontation with him. The way she felt about the machinations of men right now, she’d likely give him some home truths that could never be forgiven.

“We’re ahead of schedule.” Colban’s voice was low, and although she’d intended to retreat further, something in his tone made her pause. “I’d allowed an hour for Lady Freyja to pack her belongings, but I could scarcely delay when she was ready to leave.”

Why would he want to delay? He had his own ship. It wasn’t as though he had to wait on another captain’s timeline, the way she’d had to when she’d booked passage for this afternoon.

Something didn’t sit right with her and when she caught Morag’s questioning gaze she raised her hand in warning. Morag stilled and Dubh ceased his exploration, his eyes fixed on her.

“We weren’t expecting the extra men,” Colban’s companion said, and alarm scraped through her. Any last remnant she’d harbored that she was in the wrong by eavesdropping vanished. “We were prepared for Clyde. But four more will cause problems, Colban.”

“Ride ahead and give the men fair warning. They’ll know what to do.”

“’Tis not straightforward.” The other man sounded sullen.

“Do as I tell ye.” Colban’s voice was hard. “The reward will be great for ye and yer men. But there are to be no mistakes, ye hear?”

“We’ll need more men from the ship to join mine in the ambush. Can ye vouch for yer own men, Colban?”

“With my life.”

Freyja gripped the strap of her satchel, the leather biting into the palm of her hand, as her stomach churned in distress.

It had been no coincidence that Colban had arrived so soon after Alasdair had left to answer the earl’s summons.

He’d waited for the right moment before coming to Dunochty with his tale that her grandmother was ailing.

Is she ailing?

She didn’t know the truth of that, but of one thing she was certain: Colban planned on murdering Clyde and the men who accompanied her, and there could be only one reason for it.

He wanted Kilvenie and sought to gain control of Rum through her.

Clearly, his spies hadn’t informed him that since her marriage she had lost her inheritance to her husband and his earl.

She had to tell Clyde. He would know what to do. But before she could silently retrace her steps to the pantry, Colban’s accomplice spoke.

“The messenger dispatched from Dunochty for Alasdair Campbell was intercepted. He’ll have no idea what’s happened until it’s too late.”

The puzzle of Colban’s missing man, who had suddenly reappeared, fell into place. He’d stayed behind, to deal with the messenger Seoc had sent, and Freyja’s paralysis cracked. The poor man, simply doing his duty. Colban would not get away with any of this outrage.

“Good,” Colban sounded satisfied. “Once I have Lady Freyja safely secured, yer men can lay in wait for when Alasdair Campbell leaves Edinburgh Castle. With him gone, nothing will stand in my way to claim what is rightfully mine.”

Iced terror gripped her heart. They meant to murder Alasdair in cold blood. In an ambush, most likely, which he’d never see coming, and how could he defend himself against unseen forces?

She swung about and hastened back to the pantry with Dubh at her heels and Morag close behind. Heart thundering and hands shaking, she closed and locked the door behind them before hurrying back to the storage room.

For a moment she stood there, immobile, as terrifying images pounded through her mind, and her thoughts tumbled, incoherent.

Focus.

She breathed in deep, before slowly releasing her breath through her mouth. Panicking would get her nowhere. She had to think clearly, the way she did when a medical emergency presented itself.

Alasdair didn’t know he was in any danger. He had to be warned. If she sent one of their men to Edinburgh now, he could pass on a message to Alasdair before he left the castle to return home. Surely the earl would scout the area and find the would-be assassins.

’Twas a sound plan. Colban’s cowardly scheme relied on the element of surprise, and once that was gone, his men would be found. The earl thought highly of Alasdair, and he’d ensure justice was served.

Alasdair would be safe. He wouldn’t die an ignoble death because of her. Relief washed through her, causing her knees to wobble, and she had the overwhelming urge to sink onto the stool and bury her face in her hands.

And then her grandmother’s voice whispered in the back of her mind.

Keep perspective in all matters to be a fair judge of truth.

She shook her head. There wasn’t time to think of Amma now. Yet her wise words would not be silent, and she could no longer ignore how she had been guilty of disregarding her grandmother’s most solemn tenet.

The truth couldn’t be denied. She’d been so hurt when she’d read Afi’s letter and discovered her marriage was nothing more than another political alliance she had, indeed, lost all perspective.

Alasdair hadn’t told her the whole truth about why he’d visited Rum. But he’d never spun a web of lies around her the way Colban had, nor plotted to kill anyone who stood in the way of his objective.

His loyalty was with his earl, just as most men’s loyalty remained with their lord.

It didn’t mean he thought any less of her.

If he’d truly wanted to trick her into marriage, he would’ve seduced her into compliance.

It was a stratagem as old as time itself, to force a woman to wed by impregnation.

Alasdair had no way of knowing she could protect herself against conceiving a bairn.

But he hadn’t forced or coerced her. She’d wanted him that time in the stables, and he had been the one trying to show caution.

Grief and regret twisted through her as she recalled the accusations she’d thrown in his face before he’d left for Edinburgh.

Aye, she was mad at him and would always harbor the secret wish he could love her the way Willliam loved Isolde.

But the anguish and horror that had flashed across his face when she’d flung those words at him would haunt her forever.

He deserved her condemnation. But he hadn’t deserved that.

Please let me see him again to tell him I didn’t mean it. And she didn’t know whether she implored Eir, the ancient Norse goddess of healing, or God Himself.

Only then did the realization hit her that her plan wouldn’t help Clyde or the three men who remained with her, if they were attacked by a large contingent of mercenaries. And should her faithful Clyde fall, it was easy to guess the fate Colban had in store for her.

She had to save Alasdair, but she also had to save her people and herself.

Her gaze fell upon the jug of ale on the stool. Colban’s men were doubtless enjoying themselves in the tavern, where ale flowed freely. But no matter how many tankards they had consumed, if offered wine she was certain they’d accept.

She pulled her satchel from her shoulder and carefully sorted through her precious stocks. Aye, she had what she needed to ensure Colban and his men fell insensible. All she needed was the means to deliver it.

“Fetch Clyde,” she said to Morag, who did as she was bid. Clyde listened in stony silence as she quickly told him what she’d overheard. “Do ye think ye can ensure his men drink the drugged wine, Clyde?”

“Aye.” That was all he said, but the word was filled with simmering rage.

She nodded, before kneeling on the floor and preparing her potion.

“Make it strong,” he said.

She glanced up at him. “Don’t worry. A goblet of wine with this infusion would knock out a horse.” And give her time to return to Dunochty to alert the rest of Alasdair’s men.

When it was done, she handed Clyde the phial. “Make sure it’s mixed thoroughly in the jug of wine,” she instructed him. Certainly, it would be better if she could dose each goblet individually, but since that wasn’t possible, this was the best she could do.

He gave a single nod, took the phial, and left the room.

Now all they could do was wait until the potion took effect.