Pride of the Clan (6 page)

A question plagued her. Why hadn’t Rheade intervened?

She gripped the bars more tightly, startled when warm hands covered hers. Even in the dark, she knew it was Rheade before he spoke. The ice in her veins warmed to his touch.

“Margaret,” he whispered. “I am ashamed for my clan. I promise on my honor ye won’t be down here long, and I regret with all my heart you’ve been forced to endure this indignity.”

As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she saw his face pressed to the bars. His breath warmed her fingers. His nearness floated like a lifeline in the sea of despair in which she was drowning. She leaned against the cold iron, barely able to touch her forehead to his. “Rheade,” she murmured with a sob that shuddered from deep within.

“Margaret,” he rasped in reply.

STARTLING REVELATIONS

Rheade left the cells with a heavy heart. Margaret’s imprisonment was more than a blow to his growing personal feelings for her; it was an affront to the reputation of the clan. Tannoch had behaved like an ignorant barbarian, not a Highland chieftain.

Hoping to sort out the emotions swirling in his mind in a quiet and peaceful place he ascended the stairway to his chamber. To his surprise, Logan was waiting for him, slumped against the doorframe, his knees drawn to his chest.

Loud snoring echoed from the laird’s chamber further down the hall.

“He’s asleep then?” he asked.

His younger brother came to his feet, brushing the dust of the stone floor from his
trouzes
. “Aye. Passed out cold. His mates carried him up, though most of them were barely able to stay upright. Two o’ them are sleeping it off with him.”

Rheade pushed open his door. “At least Glenna gets a reprieve for the night.”

“Bitch,” Logan muttered, shoving the door closed behind them.

“Canna blame her,” Rheade said resignedly. “For her own preservation the woman has to devise ways to stay in Tannoch’s good graces.”

Logan sat on the edge of the mattress. “Our brother’s behavior is a travesty. We’ve got to do something.”

Rheade unpinned his plaid, threw it on the bed, and carefully put the treasured gold pin his father had given him into the armoire. He rolled up the sleeves of his
léine
. “I agree. We cannot allow Lady Margaret to remain in the cells. It’s a place not fit for rats.”

“But how can we get her out? No one here will defy Tannoch, and where would we take her?”

“There are two people who I’ll wager would be willing to help,” Rheade replied. “They are probably already scheming.”
 

Logan frowned, but then seemed to understand. “The driver and the simpleton.”

“Exactly, but I dinna believe Joss is as stupid as we think,” Rheade said, possibilities jumbling in his fevered brain. “He’s big enough to help us get the three of them out of the cells, and his brother is wily enough to get the wagon ready without anyone realizing what he’s up to.”

“But they willna get far in a wagon. Tannoch will easily track them down.”

Rheade stood to face his brother. “I have a plan, but I dinna want ye involved in this, Logan. Treachery against a chieftain is no trivial matter.”

Their gazes locked. For a moment, his father’s eyes looked back at him, but a light tapping at the door caused them both to swivel their heads.

Logan came to his feet. Rheade put a finger to his lips as he strode to the door. He opened it a crack, surprised to see Fion in the corridor. The auld man looked uncharacteristically nervous. “May I enter?” he asked.

Once inside, the steward made straight for the hearth, seemingly interested in the fire. “I see ye have enough peat for the night,” he murmured.

Rheade eyed him curiously. “Ye already knew that, Fion. There’s another reason ye’re here.”

“Aye,” the servant replied with a heavy sigh. “There’s something I must tell ye. Something someone ought to hae told ye a long time ago.”

Rheade and Logan exchanged a cautious glance as Fion ushered them to the chairs by the hearth. “Ye’ll want to be seated whilst I tell ye,” he said.

Rheade sat, hoping it might ease the lead weight lodged in his belly. He’d never known Fion display any emotion, but the man’s face was ashen. “What is it?” he asked.

Fion clasped his hands together and rocked back and forth on his heels. “I had hoped to take this secret to the grave, but I must speak.”

Logan frowned. “Secret?”

Fion raised one eyebrow. “Aye, laddie. Dinna interrupt or I might not summon the courage to tell ye the tale. It concerns yer parents. Specifically yer mother.”

The deafening pulse of his own heartbeat drummed in Rheade’s ears.

“’Twas a terrible, lawless time when yer parents were first wed. We lived in constant fear o’ raids by other clans.

 
“Mind,” he chuckled, “we did our fair share o’ raiding too.”

Rheade wanted to share the humor but his mind was numb. Whatever Fion intended to tell them would change their lives forever.

The auld man swallowed hard. “Some clans weren’t content with stealing cattle. They sometimes abducted women.”

Rheade itched to flee the chamber, but he seemed to have lost control of one leg. It twitched up and down like a thing possessed. And if Logan didn’t soon stop tapping his foot, he might have to tear if off. He should call a halt now before the fateful words were uttered.

“Shortly after the marriage, yer mother was taken.”

Nay! Nay! Nay!

The thought of his sweet mother’s fear, his father’s anguish made his belly roil.

“Yer Da got her back safely, and killed the man who took her.”

The knot in his belly eased.

“But she’d already been violated,” Fion rasped.

Rheade twisted in the wind, a noose tightening around his neck, the breath whooshing from his lungs.
 

Logan leapt to his feet. “Nay,” he shouted, his face crimson. “Ye lie.”

An icy calm seeped into Rheade’s heart. “Sit down, Logan. I’ve a feeling there is more to the tale.”

Logan glowered, but remained on his feet.

“Aye,” Fion said sadly. “Not long after, yer mother discovered she was with child. Yer father had told her the abduction made no difference to his feelings. He loved her still, mayhap more. They’d no way of knowing if the bairn was his or—”

Rheade conjured a vision of his distraught father, having no one to confide in but this trusted servant whom he now viewed in a new light.

“When Tannoch was born, ’twas impossible to say whose likeness he favored, but yer Da accepted him as his own son.” His face became sterner. “Which he well may be.”

The murky question that had nagged at Rheade for years suddenly became clear. “But ye dinna believe he is.”

Fion swayed alarmingly then slumped into the chair Logan had vacated. “Nay,” he whispered.

~~~

Margaret had fallen into a fitful doze when she heard the key turn in the lock. It was still pitch black in the cells, but it must be dawn. What new torments lay ahead? Her belly growled. Would Tannoch starve them to death?

She feared for Uncle Davey if he was subjected to torture. And what had he done to deserve such a fate?

A hand grasped her shoulder. “Margaret.”

Her heart bounced around her rib cage. “Rheade?” she whispered.

“Hush, sweeting,” he murmured. “We dinna have much time. Wake the others, Joss.”

“Joss is here?” she asked, rubbing her eyes, reassured by a familiar grunt.

Rheade took her hands and pulled her to her feet. “Shaon has the wagon ready.”

Aunty Edythe had awakened but she wailed, “I’ll never get back up those steps.”
 

“We’ll help ye, Edythe,” Davey rasped.

“Me. Carry,” Joss grunted.

Margaret heard a squeal of surprise and surmised Joss had picked up her aunt—no mean feat.

“Good man,” Rheade whispered hoarsely. He grasped Margaret’s hand and led the way. Joss followed, breathing heavily, Edythe cradled like a babe in his massive arms. Davey brought up the rear.

As they manoeuvred up the slippery stone steps a myriad of emotions swirled in Margaret’s heart. She wanted desperately to be gone from this terrible place, but returning to Oban would mean never seeing Rheade again. “Won’t yer brother soon overtake a wagon?” she asked.

“We’ve a plan for that,” Rheade replied.

~~~

Rheade hoped he sounded confident. The plan he, Logan and Fion had contrived was fraught with danger. However, given the servant’s startling revelations, they’d concurred the Ogilvies couldn’t be left to rot in the cells. There was no telling what the volatile Tannoch might do with them.

As he’d anticipated, Shaon had the carthorse harnessed and the wagon ready when they emerged into the darkened bailey. The lack of any challenge confirmed his brother’s shortcomings as a laird, but he was relieved Tannoch’s men were seemingly still sound asleep.

Logan appeared out of the darkness, laden with plaids. Judging by the varied browns and greys it appeared his brother had scoured the castle for them. David Ogilvie grabbed several. Once Joss had hefted Edythe into the wagon, her husband climbed in after her, and Joss took his place beside his brother.

Rheade wrapped another plaid around Margaret’s shoulders. Standing behind the wagon, she looked up at him and shivered. Her face was barely visible, but the moonlight illuminated her tears. “Goodbye, Rheade. I—”

He smiled, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Dinna bid me farewell just yet,” he teased. “Ye’re coming with me.”

She startled when the wagon lurched away. “But—”

He gathered her into his arms, marvelling how a woman who’d spent hours in a filthy cell smelled so sweet. He still couldn’t pin down what her perfume reminded him of. “You’ll be safer with me,” he assured her. “Logan has a plan to throw Tannoch off yer uncle and aunt’s trail, but it’s likely he’ll be more interested in pursuing ye. However, he’ll soon abandon the pursuit if he fears it’s taking time away from hunting down yer betrothed and his grandfather.”

“But where are we going?” she asked.

“Blair Castle,” he replied, hoping he’d made the right decision.

REFUGE IN ATHOLL

Rheade would have liked nothing better than to have Margaret ride behind him, her tempting body pressed to his back. But speed was of the essence and he didn’t want to risk injury to Dubh. The animal was fleet of foot, and had an uncanny ability to see his way in the dark, but two riders on one horse wasn’t a good idea.

Margaret’s earlier performance had led him to suspect she was a capable horsewoman. Hoping he was right, he dropped to one knee beside the palfrey he’d provided, interlocked his fingers and looked up. To his relief she quickly hoisted her skirts, put her foot in his hands and confidently heaved herself onto the horse. Despite the urgency of the moment, he chuckled inwardly. Margaret Ogilvie wasn’t the delicate flower he’d first believed. No riding side-saddle for her. But then with three older brothers—

The memory of her grief-stricken face when she’d eventually told of their fate strengthened his resolve to protect her from further distress. “You’ve a knack with horses,” he said with a smile as they made their way out of the bailey.

“Aye,” she replied shyly. “What’s the palfrey’s name?”

Her question took him aback. He’d known what name he’d bestow on his own horse as soon as he’d set eyes on him, but the notion other animals might have names had never occurred to him. “He’ll bear whatever name ye wish to bestow,” he rasped. Obviously the vision of Margaret’s thighs pressed to his flanks had stolen his wits and rendered him a babbling fool.

She eyed him curiously, looked back at the horse and declared, “Bàn.”

Perhaps he’d misheard. “Oban?”

“Nay. The color. Yer horse is black, mine is white. Yers is Dubh, mine is Bàn.”

He had to agree it was appropriate.
 

He took off the leather satchel he’d slung across his body and secured it to the saddle. He’d pilfered provisions from the kitchens and a few necessities from his chamber, among them his
raser
. He’d never favored a beard, and took the treasured possession with him wherever he went. Logan often teased him about it.
 

Soon they were cantering alongside Loch Tay, headed for the Grampians. The darkness demanded they give their full attention to the road, though the full moon bathed the rippling loch in its silvery light.

“Beautiful,” Margaret shouted breathlessly.

“Aye,” he replied, wondering how he had lived his life beside this same loch and never noticed its splendor.

For years he’d wrestled with the irritation of Tannoch’s misrule of Dunalastair, but done nothing to change matters. It had taken the advent of a lovely young woman in trouble to push him into defiance. And of course the startling questions concerning Tannoch’s progeny had convinced him and Logan something had to be done.

What drew him to Margaret? She affected him physically. He’d been pursued by many beautiful women, bedded more than one—he was a healthy young man in the prime of his life. Margaret was different. He’d only to catch a whiff of her perfume, or sense her nearness, for his body to catch fire. Simply thinking of her had his balls in an uproar.

But there was more to it. He liked her, admired her. She had a knack of making the best of a bad situation. She’d uttered no words of censure for her unjust imprisonment. Here she was riding in the dark on an unknown road towards a castle where danger might lurk, her hair flowing behind her like a silvery cape. She looked like she was enjoying an adventure.

Life with such a woman would never be dull.

If they survived this lunacy.

~~~

Dunalastair had appeared pink in the sunlight. Blair loomed ghostly white in the moonlight. Two turret rooms, each topped with a cone-shaped roof, clung to the sides of a tall tower. Rheade’s home had delighted Margaret; Robert Stewart’s dwelling filled her with dread.

Strangely, the ride had been exhilarating, a reminder of the carefree life she and her brothers had led before—

She sensed something had happened to cause Rheade to embark on this foolhardy expedition. What had prompted him to defy his chieftain’s orders? Whatever it was, she was surprised to discover she trusted him. And what choice did she have?