Page 28 of Kidnapped by her Highland Enemy

A horrid pall had descended on the castle the next morning, almost erasing the happiness from the pre-marriage celebration. Lucas had sent word to the priest that the wedding would be postponed for a while as he and his men were set on finding who had killed one of their own.

The subdued air had taken to everyone, except Lucas who had struck out from dawn, and Maisie had found herself back in the healing rooms to speak with the eldest healer there.

“Ye want to learn with us?” Elder Agathe said, her spindly fingers expertly plucking off vervain leaves.

“Aye,” Maisie nodded. “I realize it’s unusual—”

“Nay, nay,” Agathe shook her head. “Tis nay unusual. I’ve been alive long enough to have served two ladies who were healers themselves. Me only concern is that ye are soon to marry, yer time will nay be much.”

“I’ve learned a decent amount already,” Maisie said. “And—”

A shout from the entrance of the room had them turning to see two guards carrying a wounded man with blond hair in their arms to a bed. Maisie darted up and ran to the man’s side, her frantic rush nearly blinding her into thinking that it was Lucas on that bed – but it was not.

The poor man was a mess of blood, and ripped flesh. Among the multitude of gashes on his chest, two long furrows of torn flesh oozed blood on his belly.

“’Tis shallow,” Maisie said as she watched the women wash his wounds. “He’s lucky they didn’t strike his vitals. He’ll need sewing up and a paste of royal fern and comfrey to heal.”

“Aye,” Agathe gave Maisie a long look. “Ye might do well with us, lass, but let’s see.”

While the healers busied with the man, Maisie asked the guards, “Was it a boar who tore him?”

“Nay, me lady,” a man shook his head. “Roderick is a sentry of the outer near the loch. Nay wild animal has ever been seen there and even more, we saw no signs of one. I ken this is another attack like the one from last night.”

Fear began to build a block of ice in her chest, and she bit her lip—Lucas would not be pleased when he heard this. “Thank ye for carrying him in so quickly, ye can go back to yer posts now. We’ll handle it from here.”

Turning to Agathe, she excused herself, “Please pardon me, I need to go see Lucas’s father.”

With a hurried curtsy, she rushed out the room and headed to Cinead’s meeting room, but only a few feet away, she heard men speaking inside. Faced with a dilemma she wondered if she should walk in or let the men finish before going inside—but no, the matter was too important to let it wait.

Knocking on the door loud enough to get the men to pause, she walked in and met Lord McKenna’s, her father’s, a portly laird she had not met, and Cinead’s gazes.

“I apologize for interruptin’,” she said, “But I need to speak with ye, sir.”

“Go ahead, lass,” Cinead waved her forward, “We are all friends here.”

“Another one of you—our—guard has been injured,” she said. “I was in the healing rooms when two men brought him. He is alive but whoever had attacked us from last night, has done it again.”

Cinead did not look surprised, “I expected that, lass.”

“Then what shall we do?” She asked.

“That is what we are discussin’” Cinead said, gesturing to Angus. “Between the four of us, we are trying to find any clan or laird who is our mutual enemy.”

“And have ye found one?” She looked to them. “And will negotiation be of any use?”

“As much as I would like to think so,” Cinead’s lips twisted down. “I believe it is past that point.”

Maisie nodded, “When will Lucas be back?”

“Probably by nightfall,” Cinead said, his tone now hard and vicious. “He’s on a hunt, lass, but instead of beasts, he is hunting this killer, and believe me, lass, he willnae have any mercy on this bastard.”

The trail had ended on the rocky lands to the north and Lucas felt a ball of frustration tighten his gut. He felt like a lamb being toyed with by a wolf—and he hated it. He did not know where to turn and while the waiting drove him mad, he refused to sink into gloom.

His men, five, including Oliver and Ian had made camp while Neil and Gilroy had gone hunting.

A screech of a falcon had him looking up, watching as the bird circled before it decided to rest on its master’s Galan’s arm.

The bird, whose name was Finn—‘fair’—had a majestic profile, cream and gray plumage and a mackerel patterning on its back and wing.

The bird was as much a weapon as their swords were, as it spotted their prey, animal or human, a far off.

Now, though, even it was at a loss. Since he had known the skill of following even the faintest tracks to lead him to his prey, never had he lost his mark…

until now. The men who had killed his guard had vanished into smoke.

“North of here is McKenna’s lands and to the east is Boar’s,” Oliver said. “If the men came from either lands, it makes nay sense as we’ve never had an issue with either of them.”

“It began a mystery and it still is one,” Lucas sighed grimly. “We’ll wait out the night and start afresh in the morning.”

A resounding of “ayes” came from his fellow warriors.

He started the fire and waved the flames to build it up, throwing kindling in to get it roaring, when Neil and Gilroy each returned with two rabbits each.

In under an hour, the hares were roasting over the fire while Ian and Galan took up the watch.

“How is yer lass doing?” Oliver asked, sitting aside Lucas.

“On the outside, she’s doing well but I ken she is worried to death,” Lucas said while turning the spit. He then eyed Oliver, “What about Eilidh? She should be ready to deliver any day now. D’ye think ye’ll get back before then?”

“I can only hope so,” Oliver replied, “But if nay, then it is what it will be.”

They lapsed into silence, but Lucas could imagine what was going through his second’s mind—who were these mysterious foes? And how had they known how to elude them?

After eating, they pulled out their thin rolls and laid for sleep. The fire’s light flickered over Oliver, casting a warm glow over his boulder-wide shoulders as he dozed. How could he be so relaxed? Lucas wanted to find these enemies, every last one of them, and put them to the sword.

Resting his back on a tree, he let his gaze droop and while his heartbeat slowed, he did not sleep, rather, he lingered on the line between awake and slumber. Then—when the shadows began to shift around his camp, he was glad that he had not succumbed.

When the man lifted from the shadows, the firelight glinted over a wicked blade, moments before it descended on Ian, but the youngest’s hand shot out and in moments the two were wrestling on the ground.

He was already out of his place when another launched into the clearing, and he used his boot to kick the fire’s embers into this one’s face. The man screamed and clawed at his eyes, moments before Lucas pounced on him and got him down on the ground, both arms twisted behind his back.

“Who are ye?” He demanded, twisting the attacker’s arm that much tighter, “Tell me now! Who sent ye!”

The man kept on screaming, and struggling to break free, while Ian had his attacker in a similar hold. Oliver had a torch lit and when he jammed it in the middle of the ground, Lucas saw that the two men looked eerily alike—they were twin mercenaries.

Both dark-haired with hard black eyes and hateful sneers on their face. One of them hawked and spat a load of blood-filled spittle at Lucas’s feet. “Ye’ll never get a word out of me, ye stinking pile of shite.”

Casually, Niel boxed his ears, sending the man’s head snapping to the side. It was a miracle he had not snapped his neck. “Ye want to try that again, boy,” Niel’s deep tone carried tones of menace and impending death with it. “Answer his lairdship, now.”

“I daenae think I will,” the man sneered.

Ian shoved the other into the small ring they had created, and he crouched near the two with a dirk out at the ready. With the blade lifted, he said, “Talk or ye’ll die.”

“I amnae afraid of death,” the man spat. “Matter of fact, ye might have to kill me because I will nae talk.”

Still, Lucas pressed, “Tell us who sent ye and we might let ye live in prison for the rest of yer lives, or if nay, ye’ll be drawn and quartered.”

“Nay,” one of them spat—and before Lucas could react, he jabbed a hand into a pouch at his side, took out a wineskin and gulped. His eyes bulged and he collapsed on the ground, just as the other grabbed the dirk from Ian and slashed his throat— each one, quicker than a flash of lightning.

Lucas stepped away from the blood soaking into the earth and flattened his lips. “They werenae going to talk anyway.”

“What shall we do with the bodies?” Galan asked.

“Let them stay where they are, by morn, they’ll be feed for the buzzards,” Lucas said. “We shall find another camp and by daybreak, go back home. We’ve come out here and searched for nothin’.”

“Aye, sir,” Oliver nodded then looked to the sky, “That’s in three hours give or take.”

Looking down at the bodies, Lucas felt an odd sense that he had seen one of them before but try as he might, he could not place one of them anywhere.

Dismissing the thought, he said, “Let us move out then.”

Waking without Lucas near her made a soft pang rest on Maisie’s heart. She knew why he was gone—and why he would be gone in the days to come—but she still missed his presence. With a sigh, she roused and slipped from under the warm blankets then went to wash.

Agathe had promised to train her and Maisie was eager for the distraction from Lucas’s absence and the ever-present threat that lingered over their heads. Dressed, she decided to see Agathe first before heading to have her morning meal—only to find the healing hall in a frenzy.

Eilidh was being rushed to the birthing room, her face set in the agonized rigor of labor-pains. All her hunger vanished, and she rushed into the room with the other ladies, hoping she could help in any way.

The hours slipped by like sand through her fingers, but Maisie hardly noticed.

Occupied with feeding Eilidh a pain-reducing concoction every quarter hour, Maisie sat in a state of ceaseless worry and hope for the lady, praying all would be well.

By midday, the cries of a girlchild rested Maisie’s heart at ease.

“I wish Oliver was here,” she said gently while mopping sweat off Eilidh’s brow. “I ken he’d love to hold her.”

“Daenae ye worry,” Oliver said as he strode into the room. “I’m here.”

Stepping aside, Maisie smiled as the doting husband kissed Eilidh’s forehead and used his thumb to gently ease his daughter’s clenched fist apart. Lucas’s arm circled her waist, and he brushed his lips across her temple.

“Look at that,” he murmured in her ear. “One day, that’ll be us.”

Maisie bit her lip—her courses should have come days ago, but they had not, and with how often she and Lucas had coupled, there could be only one explanation. Turning to him she whispered, “Mayhap it might be closer than ye realize.”

Shock painted his face and he tugged her into the hallway, closing the door behind them. “What?” his voice dipped while his eyes flickered over her face, searching for an answer.

Gently, she took his hands and rested them on her still flat stomach, “I may be carrying your bairn already, but it is too soon to ken yet.”

He pulled his hand from her body, wrapped her tight and spun her around in circles that had her laughing wildly. When he set her on her feet, Maisie had to grab onto him as the world was still spinning around her.

“We need to marry,” he said in her ear. “I need me daughter or son to come when we are wed.”

She rested her head on his shoulders. “But the threat…”

“Damn the threat,” he said in her ear. “We shall marry.”

Tipping on her toes, Maisie held his shoulder and kissed him, but Lucas took control. Not caring who was about, he crushed her to him and kissed her. He infused the kiss with all his love and Maisie succumbed.

Pulling away she replied, “Careful or ye might take me to yer chambers and this time, I’ll be sure.”

He snorted and pulled her away, “Have ye eaten yet?”

“Nay,” she shook her head. “I was going to but Eilidh’s labor came and I decided to stay with her.”

“Go to our chambers,” he directed. “I’ll have the kitchen send up our meals as I need to talk with ye.”

“I suppose yer pursuit was foiled then,” she said despairingly.

“And then some,” he kissed her forehead. “Go, I’ll be by shorty.”

A footman followed him with their meals on trays and Lucas entered his rooms to find Maisie sitting at a window, her right hand gently caressing her lower stomach—he was not sure she knew that she was doing it.

The door closing had her turning and Lucas paused, the bright rays from the window had formed a radiant ring around her head, and he felt humbled at her beauty.

Sitting across from her, he took her hand. “Since we must marry, I think it will be best if we do it in secret until we can find this foe and remove him. I only want to tell me faither and yers, then go to the kirk or have the priest come here.”

“Aye,” Maisie nodded. “I daenae mind. What happened on the trail?”

“We found naything and were fixin’ to come home until last night when two murderers tried to kill us,” Lucas rubbed her hands with his. “We tried to question them but they—they killed themselves instead. One swallowed poison and the other slit his throat.”

Maisie went white and pulled her hand from his, dropping it in her lap, “Good heavens…”

He sat back. “The thing is, lass, we’re at the crossroads of McKenna and Boar’ country, and the only inference is that the killers came from either clan, but never in me life have we ever had a problem with either.”

“What if they were only using those roads to go somewhere else?” Maisie asked, spooning her porridge. “That could be another explanation.”

“I’d considered that too, but the men found us, Maisie. If they had come from another place, it could only be that they had thought they’d gotten away but we had come upon them.”

The implications that they were not free from the threat rested heavy on her and Maisie rested her spoon on the edge of the bowl, “Which means that the mastermind is still out there somewhere and might strike again.”

“Aye,” Lucas shook his head.

Unable to find her hunger, Maisie shook her head, “We’ll wed then.”

He reached over to her and grasped her hand tightly, “We’ll wed.”