Susana and the Scot (31 page)

He licked his lips. She wished she had some water to give him but she didn't. And she was thirsty, too. She would probably have drunk it all by now. “Is-Isobel? What happened?”

She smiled. She tried to make it as brave a smile as she could. “We've been kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?” He shook his head and winced again. “Why?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I doona know. But we're heading east, so I'm pretty certain it was Scrabster.” She wrinkled her nose. “He's a worm.”

“Scrabster?” Something flickered across his brow. It might have been concern. “How—How long have we been traveling?”

She sighed. “Hours. All day.” She sighed. “It's going verra slowly.”

He smiled, though it was a wobbly effort. “These things do.”

She tipped her head. “You're bleeding.”

“They coshed me on the head.”

Her interest flickered. “Were you fighting them?”

He frowned. “I was guarding you.”

“I was sleeping.” They sat in silence for a moment, swaying with the movement of the coach. He didn't look very comfortable at all. “Why do you think they brought
you
?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I doona know. But I'm glad they did.”

“You are?”

“Aye. I wouldna want you to be here all alone. Perhaps I can rescue you.”

Had her hands not been tied, she would have patted him. It was very sweet that he wanted to rescue her. And though he was very old, he was valiant.

Of course, it was more likely she would rescue him than the other way around—given his age—but she didn't mention it because Mama had always taught her to try to be respectful of her elders. She'd never really excelled at being respectful, but she did like Hamish a lot. Though it was clear now, he would not make as good a father as Andrew. There was something about Andrew that made her feel safe and cared for and protected. It didn't hurt that his hair was the same color as hers. That was easily as important a consideration as the fact that both Mama and Hamish were gingers.

And Mama had let Andrew
kiss
her.

Mama had never let any man kiss her before.

Ah, poor Hamish.

She reached over and patted him anyway.

The coach slowed and took a corner, then the vibrations changed, as though they had turned onto a cobbled road. Through the window Isobel caught a glimpse of a tall tower. “I think we're almost there,” she whispered.

“Isobel. I have a dirk in my boot. Can you reach it?”

She frowned. “I canna take your dirk.”

“When we reach wherever we are going, they will probably separate us and I would feel better if you had a weapon.”

“Why would they separate us?” Trepidation flickered through her. She very much did not want to lose his company.

He didn't answer, but his frown darkened.

“Why would they separate us?”

The carriage slowed to a halt. “Isobel. There isn't much time. See if you can reach my dirk.”

She sighed and shifted around until she could touch the hilt of his knife in his boot. It was awkward trying to reach something with her hands tied together in front of her, but she got it. She levered away as she pulled it out and gazed at it in awe. It was not a dirk. It was practically a sword.

“Careful. It's verra sharp.”

She blew out a breath. “I'll be careful.” It was indeed sharp and long. It glinted in the waning light. She cautiously slipped it into the deep pocket of her nightgown.

“Be judicious,” Hamish whispered. “Doona use it until you are certain you can escape.”

“Aye,” she sniffed. As though she didn't know that much.

“And pretend to be asleep,” he suggested.

“Asleep?”

“Perhaps we can learn more about their plans for us that way.” He winked. “Men tend to talk when they doona think you are listening.”

“Good to know.” He was very clever indeed. And as sneaky as she was. A pity he wouldn't be her father, but she had decided she liked Andrew best. Still and all, she liked him very much. Obediently, she closed her eyes and flopped down on him, just as the door to the carriage whipped open.

“Hell. They're both unconscious,” a dark voice drawled. It was a little familiar, but Isobel couldn't place it and she didn't dare open her eyes just yet.

“I told ya we should ha' stopped to give them water.”

“There wasna time.”

The man with the dark voice snorted. “Come on. I'll get the girl. You lot get the man.”

Whoever he was, he lifted her very gently, for which Isobel was thankful. As he carried her away from the carriage, she braved a peep at his face. How disappointing that it was still covered with the black hood.

It was difficult to close her eyes all the way after that, because she really was curious about where they were and where they were taking her, so she squinted them until she could see through the fringe of her lashes.

The man with the hood carried her up the stairs into a castle she'd never seen before, but she knew without a doubt it was Scrabster's, especially when the laird himself leaped up from a table by the hearth as they entered the great room. The castle was very old and hadn't been updated from its ancient layout, so the great room was an enormous, booming hall with a stone staircase curving up one side. At the moment, it was filled with Scrabster's men who were having dinner. The smell of roasted chicken tickled her nose and made her mouth water.

But still, she didn't rouse. Hamish's words hummed in her brain.

“Did you get her?” Scrabster asked.

“Aye,” the man holding her said.

Scrabster lifted her hand and let it drop. “Is she dead?”

“She's asleep. We brought one of Dunnet's men as well.”

“Excellent. Take him to the dungeons.”

“The dungeons are not in good repair.”

Scrabster chuckled. “It willna be for long.”

“Aye, my laird. And the girl?”

“Take her to the dungeons as well,” Scrabster said.

The man holding her stiffened. “She's a girl.”

“And?”

“My laird…” His tone was much like Mama's when she was trying to be reasonable when she really wanted to bellow. “You canna toss her in the dungeon.”

“Can I not?”

A sigh. “I guarantee you, once she finds our note, her mother will arrive with all haste to accede to your demands.”

“So you said.”

“Can you imagine her reaction if she arrives to find her darling daughter … in the dungeon? She would probably shoot you.”

Scrabster made a sour noise. “I'm a baron. She canna shoot me.” But there was a hint of doubt in his tone.

Isobel nearly snorted. Because if it had flesh in its arse, and it annoyed her, Mama would probably shoot it.

“If you want to win her mother, I suggest you take another tack.”

Oh, bother. That was what this was about? Isobel nearly blew out a breath but then remembered she was pretending to be asleep. To that effect, she gave a little snore.

“Put her in the solar then. The door locks. She canna escape. And she's a tiny thing.” Scrabster barked a laugh. It took everything in Isobel not to stab him now.

As the man carrying her mounted the stairs, Isobel dared a peek at the direction they were dragging Hamish. She didn't know what they meant when they said he wouldn't be in the dungeon for long, but she didn't like the tone in which it was said. She didn't like it at all.

The idiots locked her in Scrabster's solar and left her there alone. Mercifully, they brought her a tray of food and water, which they set on the desk. Once they left, it took her less than a minute to slice through her bonds and pick the lock with Hamish's knife, but when she crept out into the hall and peered over the landing to scout the area, she saw that the great room of the old castle was crawling with men. She couldn't attempt an escape with so many guards about. But it was evening. They had to go to sleep at some point.

She made her way back into the solar and occupied her time eating, drinking, and exploring Scrabster's study. It was mostly very boring things like papers and maps, but she did find a lovely bow hanging on the wall. The bow was quite large for her, but she'd practiced with Mama's—when she wasn't looking—so Isobel was certain she could handle it. She also found a chest that was very interesting indeed. The lock was harder to work than the one on the door, but she had plenty of time.

It was a great disappointment to find the chest wasn't filled with gold and jewels—just letters—though there was one very beautiful chunk of gold with mysterious inscriptions on it that captured her attention. She tucked it into her pocket. She was sure Scrabster wouldn't mind. Or maybe he would. She didn't care. At the very least it was payment for her inconvenience. She took the letters, too, but only because they were important enough for him to lock in a chest.

There were lots of other papers in the room. These she piled on the desk.

She peeped out to check the great room every now and again, and each time, there were fewer and fewer men. When finally, she saw that the hall was empty, she lit the papers on fire with the lamp and slipped out the door. It was great fun skulking through the shadows with Hamish's knife in her hand and the bow and quiver over her shoulder. She almost hoped someone would come upon her so she could skewer them. But sadly, they did not.

Silently, stealthily, she made her way down the curving staircase and through the hall, then to the stone stairs leading to the cellars. She was greatly relieved, however, to find there were only two men in the dungeons, guarding Hamish who was locked in a grungy old cell. One of the men was cutting a radish and eating it slice by slice, but the other was asleep.

Hamish saw her creeping down the stairs and his eyes widened. She shot him a grin. Tiptoeing through the room, she picked up a cauldron, likely used for some manner of heinous torture, and stepped behind the radish man. Without hesitation she bonked him over the head. He fell to the side with a groan.

It was quite fun, so she bonked the other man, even though he was already asleep.

Pleased with her work, she skipped over to Hamish.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

She fluttered her lashes. “Saving you.” She pulled out his knife and quickly worked the lock. The cell door opened with a grating whine.

He stepped out and stared at her in bewilderment. “Are you certain you're a child?” he asked.

She laughed at his joke. Surely it was a joke. Then she tugged on his arm. “We must hurry. They will find it soon.”

“Find what?”

But ah. It was too late. From above stairs, shouts echoed through the castle.

“Where is she?” Scrabster's voice bellowed. “Find her at once! Susana or not, I am going to kill that girl!”

*   *   *

Andrew signaled for a halt as the company topped the ridge overlooking Scrabster's castle. It wouldn't do to barrel in without a plan. They'd ridden hard all night and though it was early morning, they needed a rest. Pity there wasn't time for that.

He slid from Breacher's saddle and hunkered down, surveying the lay of the land. Susana followed suit. Her eyes widened as she took in the devastation.

Indeed, this wasn't what they had expected to find. In the wee hours of the morning, the castle and the land surrounding it should have been quiet, peaceful. It was not. Men poured from the portcullis with weapons, and some had already fanned out into the lea surrounding the fortress. Their shouts and calls echoed in the breeze. More disturbing was the fact that smoke poured from the structure. One of the walls had crumbled. It looked as though it had been under siege.

“Oh, dear God,” Susana breathed. “My baby.”

Andrew rubbed her shoulder to calm her, though his own heart nearly pounded from his chest. “I'm sure she's fine.” An absolute lie.

She didn't believe him, judging from the way she gaped at him. “My baby is in there,” she hissed. “We need to get her out.”

“Aye. We will. Doona fash yerself.” Andrew turned back to the scene, his mind awhirl. Options on how to proceed flitted through his mind. They could simply ride into the castle, in which case Susana would no doubt be claimed by Scrabster at once. They could attempt an attack, but the men milling about far outnumbered the ones he'd brought. They could wait until dark and attempt a covert infiltration, but he worried that, if his suspicions were correct, Hamish didn't have that kind of time. Another option would be to create a diversion at the front of the castle and send men in through the back, but Andrew didn't know the layout of the castle well enough to guarantee success.

As he was weighing these options—ignoring his roiling stomach—a flash of movement in the woods below caught his attention. He narrowed his focus on it and his breath caught. Two figures, hunkered low and using the cover of brush to conceal themselves from detection, were slowly making their way up the hill. One of them was tiny and had white-blond hair. The other was a ginger.

His pulse launched into a rapid patter. He touched Susana's arm and then pointed. When she cried out and made a move to leap to her feet, he tugged her back down and set his finger to his lips. “We doona want to give them away,” he murmured.

Her features tightened, but she nodded.

Then he let go a low whistle, one that might be mistaken for a birdcall. Hamish stilled, and glanced up. When he spotted Andrew, his taut expression broke into a grin. He sent Andrew a quick salute, murmured something to Isobel, and changed direction, heading straight for their position on the crest of the hill.

It seemed to take forever for them to make their way through the brush, and several times Andrew lost sight of them, but Hamish was being cautious, and he was a master of stealth when he needed to be. All the while, Andrew kept an eye on the men who were, it was apparent now, searching for them down below. It stood to reason there would be men scouring the woods as well.