Page 70 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

Chapter Twenty-Five

“Surely you’re going after her,” Percy said. “If she confronts him with the truth about Gavin’s death, her life might be at stake.”

Ross opened the wooden shutters over the window and looked out into the courtyard of the inn.

“She’s safe as long as she agrees to marry him,” he said.

“That tasty little tidbit you uncovered at the solicitor’s about his near financial ruin proves that.

He will have to start selling off the Huntly lands soon, unless he makes this marriage.

” He turned away from the window. “He needs her fortune, even if he doesn’t need her. ”

“God’s breath! You can’t mean to leave her there,” Percy said, frowning at Ross’ shrug. “You can do what you want, but I’m going after the lass.”

“Dinna fash yourself,” the Mackinnon said, putting a calming hand on Percy’s shoulder.

“The lad is trying his hand at baffling us with a bit of Scots craft. He thinks to rescue his lass all by himself and be the sole recipient of her gratitude.” The Mackinnon looked at Ross.

“If the guard was right and she did go to Stonehaven, you’re going to need a plan to get her out. ”

“Just because you were snatched from the jaws of death once today, doesn’t mean you’ll be so lucky next time,” Percy said. “You saw them hang that other poor fool. Be careful, lad, so you don’t end up back in prison.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Percy.

“I don’t know my plans as yet,” Ross said. “I’ll have to see what I’m up against once I reach Stonehaven and find this Mercat Castle of his.”

“I can tell you now what you’ll find,” the Mackinnon said. “A well-built castle set on a promontory with three sides protected by steep cliffs leading down into the North Sea.”

“Then I’ll go in the same way Huntly does.”

The Mackinnon shook his head. “I don’t know. Getting out is impossible. Getting in won’t be much easier. You can’t very well walk through the gates on your good looks.”

Ross grinned and ruffled his grandfather’s white mane of hair. “That’s exactly what I plan to do,” he said. “Even Huntly can’t run a castle without a lass or two about.”

The wind was a flood of blackness weaving through lofty trees as three riders galloped by.

They kept to the screen of trees as the full moon shone like a ghost ship sailing through clouds that churned wild as the sea.

At last the horsemen dismounted and looked at the great hulking shape of Mercat Castle sitting at the end of a road that gleamed like a ribbon of moonlight lost upon a lavender heath.

“Here you are, lad,” the Mackinnon said. “Don’t you think we should go back for the sheriff?”

“No,” Ross said, “I’ve got my way in already planned.”

“How about a way out? ” said Percy.

“I’ll worry about that once I’m in and have my lass,” he said.

“Then what?”

“As soon as we reach safety, I’m going to wring that lovely neck of hers for leaving. I don’t know what in the hell she was thinking of—chasing off after Huntly. Why couldn’t she wait until you had me released?”

“Maybe she thought you wouldn’t let her go to confront Huntly,” Percy said.

“You’re damn right, I wouldn’t have,” replied Ross.

“Or perhaps she thought it was too late, that you were already dead,” the Mackinnon said. “That other miserable soul did resemble you a great deal—from a distance, that is. I found myself believing it was you at first, until I saw you with Percy.”

They heard noises in the distance—conflicting notes of disharmony on the road behind them.

A few minutes later the laughter of bad singing voices and creaking wheels reached a near-painful level.

They turned and saw a cart loaded with young people—they had passed it half a mile back—making its way slowly up the road.

The night was young, and so were the carts’ occupants, their blood running thin with whisky as they sang off-key a verse of Open Your Bodice, Leonore.

“Hide yourself,” Ross said. “And take the horses. My ride has come.” Seeing his grandfather’s anxious face, he said, “I may be a while. If I’m not back by daybreak, go for the sheriff.”

Hiding in the shadows, their hands over the horses’ noses to prevent their nickering, the Mackinnon and Percy watched as Ross turned and started walking up the road.

A few minutes later the cart drew alongside him. From the midst of the revelry came a cheerful greeting. “Are you lost?”

“No,” Ross said with a laugh. “I’m not, but my horse is.”

That brought a round of laughter. “Are you going to Mercat?” a girl of sixteen or so asked.

“As fast as my tired legs will carry me,” replied Ross.

“Hop on, then,” the girl said, “we’re going that way ourselves.”

Ross hopped, seating himself between the two girls who had yanked him into the back of the cart. “Do you live at Mercat?” he asked.

“We work there,” one of the girls answered, kissing his ear.

“Lord Huntly must be a love to work for if he gives his help a night off during the week.”

“Oh, he don’t usually,” the other girl said. “Only today he had a visitor. A lady visitor. Open Your Bodice, Leonore,” she sang with a laugh and fell back into the cart, pulling Ross with her.

By the time they reached Mercat, Ross knew two verses.

Annabella stood beside the grand piano in a gown of claret velvet, rearranging a bowl of roses.

The Earl of Huntly sat on the corner of a French writing desk swinging one foot, his two Spaniels at his feet.

In his left hand he twirled a small silver dirk.

Her heart pounded beneath the gown of claret velvet, but she fought to keep her breathing even and her voice steady.

Across the room from her, Huntly looked as though he was fighting his own battles with rage.

He took another sip of burgundy wine. She knew he was walking on eggs, that he had to remain calm.

He looked her over, taking in her pristine innocent appearance.

She was a beauty. It angered him, knowing she probably wasn’t as pure as she looked. That drove him mad.

“You can’t be that stupid,” he said. Then he mimicked her, “I don’t wish to marry you, sir.

” He pushed away from the desk and came toward her.

“As God is my witness, I can’t imagine why not.

You’ll not get a better offer. You have ruined yourself, you know.

No decent man will offer for you when word of your time with Mackinnon leaks out.

Only my decision to honor my word and my signature on that betrothal contract stands between you and ruin. ”

“In that case, I’ll take ruin.” He slapped her then, knocking her backward.

She righted herself quickly. She felt her lip burn and tasted blood in her mouth, but she did not speak.

She kept telling herself that even if he killed her it would all be worth it, as long as he was convicted of Gavin’s death.

She had decided to remain quiet, hoping he, like her father, would bluster for a while and then wear himself out.

She hadn’t expected him to strike her, but even that didn’t deter her from her determination to deal with him.

“Your behavior at Seaforth was scandalous. Even my good name may not completely erase the stench of that folly.”

“Then don’t give me your good name. If you try, I’ll only refuse it.”

He was still close enough to strike her and she thought he might, but instead he touched the dirk to her throat and lightly drew a snake shape that ended at the lace across her breasts. “You are in no position to bargain, my sweet little slut. You are nothing more than Mackinnon’s leftover.”

“I’d rather be his leftover than your wife.”

He threw the dirk across the room and backhanded her on the return swing. Her head snapped around as she was driven back against the piano. She clapped her hand on the stinging welt on her cheek, her eyes glittery and hard. But she did not cry, nor did she say one word.

“Don’t provoke me again,” he said. He was about to say something more when he heard her gasp, saw where she was looking. Her face was white, her eyes overly large. He turned around.

Ross Mackinnon stood in the doorway, his eyes dark blue and filled with rage. He stepped into the room and Annabella saw the sword in his hand.

“That sword was on the wall for a reason. It is over four hundred years old,” Huntly said. “It’s priceless. It was last used in the Battle of Culloden.”

“Then it should serve my purpose well. Get out of here, Annabella,” Ross said in a controlled voice. “Wait for me outside the door.”

“But how…how are you here? I saw you climb the gallows.”

“I came close, lass, but that wasn’t me. Percy reached me in time.”

She almost swooned, but she knew Ross needed her to be levelheaded now. He had told her to leave. She started toward the door.

“Have you told him yet?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “You came before I had the chance.”

“Told me what?” Huntly asked.

Ross waited until she had left the room. “That the sheriff is on his way here to arrest you for Gavin’s murder.”

“You’ve already been convicted of that crime, and although it’s apparent you’ve slipped the noose this time, they’ll be hanging you soon enough.”

“I’m a free man, Huntly. It’s your neck the noose awaits.

You had this planned out pretty well, but you forgot one thing.

I’m not left-handed. It’s too bad. You write with your left hand.

You threw that dirk with your left hand—I saw you.

You should have stabbed Gavin with your right hand, but you didn’t. ”

Huntly stood motionless in the center of the great room, his jaw working, his fists clenched. “You bastard! If you think to trick me…”

“It’s no trick. The sheriff will prove that soon enough.”

“Why wait for that?” Huntly said. “You came here to kill me, didn’t you? What are you waiting for? Get it over with.”

“I wouldn’t want to deny you the pleasure of going to trial, Huntly. I came here for one reason only. Because you had something of mine,” Ross said. “The lass. As for the other, I’ll leave that to the high court. I’ll not kill you and leave the way open for doubt.”

Huntly lunged at him and Ross slapped him across the chest with the flat side of the sword.

Then with a mocking salute he lifted the sword to his face and turned toward the door, slicing the rope that held the chandelier in its place.

It fell to the floor with a crash, the candles rolling onto Huntly’s priceless Persian carpet. The carpet burst into flames.

While Huntly stomped the candles out and screamed for help, Ross slipped through the door, scanning the hallway for Annabella.

He saw her standing in the shadows, her petticoats piled beside her on the floor.

She had pulled her skirts between her legs and tucked them in front of her, cossack fashion.

“Don’t laugh,” she said. “I thought you might be leaving in a hurry and I would need leg room—to run.”

“That’s my lass,” he said, grinning as he crossed the hall to her and took her in his arms for a quick kiss.

“I can’t believe you’re here. I was so sure you were dead,” she said.

“I know, and remind me to paddle your backside for running off like that. Now, let’s go before Huntly gets his fire put out.”

Taking Annabella’s hand, Ross started down the hall.

Huntly’s frantic shouts for help rang after them.

Running now, they turned down another corridor and sped through two rooms, pausing only long enough to shove a chest in front of one of the doors.

Annabella felt a thrill of joy when she saw the balcony.

But once they were outside, her joy faded quickly.

They looked over the edge and saw that the ground fell away to a steep descent.

Moonlight sparkled like spangles upon a sea as black as midnight.

Ross stood beside her, looking at the long drop to the water below.

Huntly’s men broke through the door behind them.

“There they are!” one of them shouted.

Ross looked at Annabella. “Are you game, lass?”

“Aye,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Are you?” Before he could reply, she took his hand and jumped, pulling him over the edge with her.

The sound of Ross Mackinnon’s laughter followed them as they went over the side. Down, down, down they went, dropping at last into the sea.