Amanda Scott
Authors: Abducted Heiress
He was about to set Molly down when he paused, stiffening, suddenly alert.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I thought I heard voices,” he said, looking around as if he expected to see someone step forth from the shadows. They both
remained silent for a time, but in the flickering light only the shadows moved, and all Molly could hear was the crackling
of the fire.
“Doubtless, it was just my imagination,” he said, setting her gently on the bed where she could lean back against the pillows.
Then, fetching the pewter goblet, he handed it to her, saying, “Don’t drink too fast now.”
She sipped, watching him strip off his clothing. That he was in a hurry was plain. When he was naked he turned toward the
bed. Molly stared. He was magnificent…
“Amanda Scott is a master… . Her impressive craftsmanship is… pure delight.”
—
Affaire de Coeur
“A marvelous, emotion-packed love story that holds the reader spellbound from beginning to end… a real treasure and a ‘keeper.’”
—
Romantic Times
on
Highland Treasure
“A superb storyteller.”
—
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THE SECRET CLAN
. Copyright © 2001 by Lynne Scott-Drennan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any
electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the
publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Warner Books,
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New York, NY 10017
ISBN: 978-0-7595-2653-2
A mass market edition of this book was published in 2001 by Warner Books.
First eBook Edition: November 2001
Visit our website at
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.
Dedicated to
Maggie and Serendipity,
and to Donal Sean,
with many thanks!
For readers who enjoy knowing the correct pronunciation of the names and places mentioned in a book, please note the following:
Dunsithe = Dun-sith´-ee
Eilean Donan = Eel´-ee-an Doe´-nan
Dunsgaith = Dun-skaith´
Sleat = Slate
Ceilidh = K
´-lee
Contents
Dunsithe Castle, the Scottish Borders, 1527
W
hen they came for her, she was sleeping. Her dreams were untroubled, for she did not yet clearly understand that her father—the
big, laughing, teasing man she adored with all her heart—was gone from her life forever.
Powerful Adam, Lord Gordon, having against all odds survived the Flodden bloodbath at fourteen, had died at twenty-eight of
a knife wound suffered at the hands of a common reiver—and that after he had granted the villain the mercy of branding rather
than death. After his death, Gordon’s men had rectified their master’s error, but that had made no difference to Gordon, for
by then he was beyond caring, and he did not know what a quandary his dying would create. Things might have been different
had he left a male heir, but he had not.
“Wake up, lassie.” The strange voice was insistent. “Ye mun come wi’ us.”
Ineffectively, Molly tried to shrug away the big hand that shook her shoulder. She was five years old and sleeping the heavy,
deep sleep of an innocent child, so waking was not as easy for her as the man seemed to think it was.
“For Christ’s sake, just pick her up, Davy.” Another voice, another stranger. “His lordship wants her straightaway, below.”
“But she’ll need proper clothing,” protested the first.
“Whisst! D’ye think the wee lass kens where her clothes be kept? Take her up, man. She’s sleepin’ like the dead.”
Cold air enveloped her when one of them threw back the coverlet, but she was still too sleepy to care, even when he picked
her up. He cradled her small body against his broad chest, but hard points jabbed her tender skin through the thin shift she
wore as a bed gown, making her squirm to avoid them.
She blinked groggily. It was dark in the room, but where was her nurse? Her father’s men did not look after children.
“She’ll be cold,” the man holding her said. “Mayhap I should take along the blanket, too.”
“His lordship will say what the lass needs,” the other said gruffly.
She was more awake now and feeling querulous. “Put me down, you,” she muttered. “Who are you? You should not touch me.”
“Hush, lass,” growled the man who carried her. “Ye’re tae do as ye’re bid.”
His curt command silenced her, but it did not ease her annoyance. She was not accustomed to rudeness.
The stranger was carrying her down the torchlit, wheel stairway, into the great hall. It was cold there, too, for although
several torches burned in their holders on the arras-draped walls, the hall fire had burned down to embers. She shivered.
She should not be here.
“Here be the Maid, m’lord,” the man carrying her said.
“Put her down.”
That voice was one she recognized. It was her uncle, the Earl of Angus.
More disoriented than ever, because Angus rarely visited them, she watched him, trying to gauge his mood, as the man who held
her set her on her bare feet.
Then, seeing her mother in the shadows near the great fireplace, and being a well-trained child, she curtsied hastily and
said, “Good evening, Uncle.”
Though she stood on a carpet, her feet were cold, and she knew that her mother would condemn her untidy appearance and the
fact that she had come downstairs in her bed gown. Nonetheless, her gaze fixed itself on her uncle.
Angus was a handsome, fair-haired man in his late thirties, but his penetrating blue eyes were as cold as the hall, and they
stared unwinkingly at her. When he did not respond to her greeting, apprehension stirred within her.
His expression was stern and his voice grim when at last he snapped, “Where the devil are your clothes?”
Swallowing hard past a sudden ache in her throat, and trying to ignore the tears welling in her eyes, she said, “N-no one
fetched them to me.” She did not dare even glance at her mother.
To her surprise, Lady Gordon said tartly, “Pray, Archie, what did you expect? The child is not yet six years old. Truly, sir,
I do not know why you are bent on this dreadful course, for she is far too young to be taken from her home.”
Molly tensed and rubbed one cold foot against the other, but she did not protest. Although she was young, she knew better
than to complain. Her mother was as unpredictable as Uncle Archie and would not thank her for voicing an opinion.
The earl regarded her mother with disfavor. “You will not set yourself in opposition to me, Eleanor,” he said. “You will do
what is best for your family, and I will determine what that must be. I have a new husband in mind for you, and although he
is willing to take a woman born on the wrong side of the blanket if she is my sister, he is not a man I can allow to control
the Maid of Dunsithe or her present heir. I shall control their destiny myself.”
“You cannot take Bessie, too,” Lady Gordon protested. “She’s but a bairn.”
“Of course, I will take her. Children die, madam, and if Mary dies, her sister becomes Maid of Dunsithe and inherits all of
this.”
Had he been anyone else, Molly would have told him quite firmly that she did not like to be called Mary. Her father had always
called her Molly.
“You do not care one whit about my daughters,” Lady Gordon said resentfully. “You care only about controlling Dunsithe and
its wealth, just as you have controlled the King’s grace these past years. I am Mary’s mother. Surely, I am the one best suited
to look after her and to tend to my late husband’s property as well.”
“Don’t be daft,” he retorted. “Dunsithe is a Border stronghold and requires a strong man to control it. The King has granted
me a writ of wardship and marriage for Mary, so you will do exactly as I bid you, or you will soon find yourself in sad straits
indeed.”
He paused, watching her, but the child was not surprised when her mother questioned him no further. No one argued with a man
when he spoke in that tone.
“That’s better,” Angus said. “Take the lass and see her warmly dressed. And see to the bairn, too.”
“What of their nurse?”
“Keep her here. I’ll provide them with nurses I can trust at Tantallon. Now, go, for I’ve other matters to attend to before
I can depart.”
Without another word, Lady Gordon snatched up her daughter, and Molly pressed her lips tightly together to keep from crying
out at such rough handling. As she was carried up the twisting stairway, she heard her mother mutter, “Other matters, indeed.
He wants only the fortune and control of Dunsithe’s heiress.”
Upstairs, Lady Gordon shouted for her woman, and when that worthy appeared, said angrily, “We’re to dress her to travel, Sarah,
so tell their nurse to give you warm clothing for Mary and to dress Elizabeth warmly, too, and to pack more for them to take
with them. They go with Angus.”
Tears sprang to Molly’s eyes at the thought of going away with her grim uncle.
“His lordship be takin’ both o’ the wee lassies then?”
“Aye, he is,” Lady Gordon said, “and I am to marry someone else of his choosing, if you please. Molly is an heiress now, after
all, and my esteemed brother does not consider me worthy to look after her. He wants Elizabeth, too, in case Molly should
die. By rights, that fortune should be mine to control until Molly is grown, but I am to have naught but what Angus and my
soon-to-be husband choose to allow me. Poor Molly will doubtless be married off soon, too.”
“Och, but she be gey young for marriage!”
“A girl with a fortune like hers is never too young to marry,” Lady Gordon said tartly. “Angus will use her and her fortune
to serve his own interest.”
“He willna let her go if Dunsithe’s treasure goes with her, I’m thinkin’.”
“No, but the course of history seldom runs smoothly, Sarah, and young King Jamie does not like my brother. For all that his
grace must answer to him now, in time, Jamie will win free, and when he does, Angus will no longer wield the great power he
wields now. What if something happens to Molly? What if someone should contest her claim?”
“But who would do such a thing?”
“Oh, think, woman!” Lady Gordon said impatiently. “Such things happen whenever men desire aught that belongs to someone else.
It would require only that someone declare her an imposter or suggest some other deceit or conspiracy afoot.”
“But ye’ll set matters straight if they do, madam. Ye’re her mother, after all.”
“Aye, but I’ll not be surprised if Angus forbids me any contact with her. This abduction—for it is no less than that—does
not mean he believes that he is better suited to raise her. He simply does not want me to control Dunsithe and her wealth.
Now go and fetch her clothing, or they’ll come and take her without it.”
The woman hurried away, and the child was left alone with her mother.
“Molly, listen to me,” Lady Gordon said. “You are going away with your uncle Archie, and you must be a good girl. Obey him
always, for he is very stern.”
“But I don’t want to go away,” Molly said, fighting tears again. “I live
here,
and I don’t like Uncle Archie.”
