The Laird (30 page)

~#~

The time passed with interminable slowness while Duncan waited impatiently for the Bruce stronghold to settle for the night. Like Blackstone and the Campbell’s Dunstaffnage keep, this keep’s only obvious entrance was from the bailey. Had he someone to watch his back he might have tried to find the secret entrance, but he hadn’t the luxury and time was fleeing.

All finally appeared quiet by the time the moon passed the mid-point on its journey across the sky--its cool light cast only on the west and north faces of the battlements. He took a deep breath and slipped from the stable. Keeping to the shadows, he ran for the keep’s covered doorway.

He pressed the latch. As he’d hoped, the door had been left unlocked for the night guards who’d been coming and going at well-spaced intervals. He pulled it open a few inches and blessed the man who kept the hinges oiled. Hearing no movement in the great hall above and none below where the dungeon lay, he slipped into the keep.

He crept to the lowest level. Assuming the Bruce had captured Beth for ransom, he’d not expected Jacob to find her below. He’d told the lad to look in the dungeon simply to eliminate it. Duncan had fully expected to spend the night searching tower rooms. That he didn’t have to hunt above spoke volumes about the Bruce’s intent--for which he’d pay dearly.

Spying a guard dozing on the bottom step, just feet from the dungeon’s grate, Duncan slowed. Taking one cautious step at a time he stole closer. He then placed his dirk on the man’s throat and pressed. As he’d hoped, the man jerked awake. ‘Twas verra important to him that the cretin know who would take his life.

Grabbing a fist full of hair, he wrenched the man’s head back, glared into his surprised eyes, and sliced. The man gurgled as his life’s blood spewed across the stairwell coating the walls crimson. Spying the keys hanging from a hook above the man, Duncan kicked him forward and off the steps.

The way clear and the keys in hand, Duncan peeked into the dark hole.

“Psst.” He worked the key into the lock and lifted the well-oiled cover of his wife’s prison. “Beth.” He heard no movement below and the blood drained from his head.

Please, God, dinna let her be dead.

In a voice just above a whisper he called, “For God’s sake, woman, if ye be alive, wake ye.”

She rolled over, opened her eyes and smiled. “It’s about time.”

He grinned for the first time in hours. Lord, she was a wonder. “I need drop a rope to ye. Can ye climb it?”

Crouching, she shook her head. “I don’t know—-ken. I can try.”

“We dinna have time for tryin’.” He tied a loop on one end of the rope before dropping it over the edge. “Stick yer foot in the loop and hold tight.”

Pulling seven stones dead weight straight up from a depth of twenty feet without jerking or grunting became no easy matter. By the time she was in his arms, he was drenched in sweat.

She threw her arms around his neck the moment she cleared the opening. “Oh, Duncan! I was so afraid I wouldn’t see you again and I wanted you to--”

He kissed her soundly, in relief that she was alive and to hush her up. “Lass, we have much to say to each other, but now
isna
the time.” He took a tight hold on her hand and started toward the stairs. She gasped and then faltered seeing the guard and pool of blood on the lower steps. He put an arm about her and forced her forward. He then led her on silent feet up the stairs.

He peeked out the bailey door. “When I tug yer hand, we run.” He felt rather than saw Beth nod.

The three-quarter moon lit the north side of the stronghold. Beyond the steep south wall with its boulder footing lay the orchard and within it Angus and their mounts. But first he had to get her up onto the curtain wall where he could throw the rope over one of the crenels and lower her to the ground.

He waited until the guards settled into conversation then jerked her hand. Crouching, they ran to the right and quickly mounted the steps.

Gaining the top unnoticed, he pulled her close and pointed to the farthest point on the south wall. She nodded. Scurrying past an archer’s quiver, he picked it up.

Looping one end of the hemp line around the quiver and bracing it against the battlement aperture, he threw the rope over the wall only to see it fall a good four yards short of the ground. He cursed staring at the boulders below. Even grasping the very end of the rope, he’d have to fall a yard.

He grunted. There wasn’t a thing he could do about lengthening the rope now. His decision made, he glanced at the occupied guards before saying, “On my back, lady, ‘tis time.”

Gaping at him, Beth hissed, “You aren’t serious?” She peeked over the edge. “Ohmygod.”

“Make haste, woman, or all is lost.”

Realizing he was right, Beth threw her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.

When she opened them seconds later, she wished she hadn’t. Only his hands, wrapped in tartan as they clung to the rope, held them suspended four stories in the air. Then without warning he loosened his hold and the ground came rushing toward her.

Duncan’s feet hit the boulders. He rolled to protect her but she still cracked her head and left shoulder on granite.

Dazed, she struggled to sit. “Are you okay?”

“Aye, but we best—-”

“HALT! Who goes there?”

A torch suddenly flared above them, then another. Like gargoyles, the silhouetted guards leaned over the battlements as they strained to see into the darkness.

Before she could gasp in horror, Duncan yanked her to her feet. Holding her to his side, he hauled her at pell-mell speed over the rocks. She bit into her lip to keep from crying out as she twisted an ankle.

“Halt ye!” The blast of a trumpet and pounding feet echoed off the granite walls at their backs.

Clutching her by the waist, he started running across the clearing. “Hie, now!”

She thought, “How?” He’d lifted her off her feet as dozens of arrows began raining around their heads.

With him holding her as he did, she could do little more than breathe and keep her gown out from under his feet as he carried her at a breakneck pace toward the tree line.

Though clouds now masked the moon, he didn’t slow down once they reached the grove, but continued at a dead run down a well-worn path.

She soon understood why. The roar of the drawbridge crashing into place was quickly followed by the sounds of braying hounds and yelling men. Fearing they had only moments left before the howling lymers would run them down, she clung tight to Duncan and prayed.

The air was then infused with the sent of ripe pears. An owl screeched and Duncan immediately swung to the right. “This way.”

Was he kidding? Her feet hadn’t hit the ground once in the last three minutes.

“Here!” someone called.

Duncan immediately dodged around a heavily laden tree. She spotted Angus, mounted, holding Ransom’s reins.

“Hie now,” Angus whispered.

Ransom, agitated by the closing lymers and sounds of impending battle, terrified her as he pranced and snorted in place. Apparently realizing she wasn’t about to get any closer to the beast, Duncan let go of her hand, grabbed Ransom’s reins, and leaped. To her relief, the moment he swung into the saddle, the horse stilled.

“Beth, grab my hand. As I pull, set yer left foot on my boot.” She did as she was told and with one strong tug, he hauled her before him. Before she could settle comfortably, his arm wrapped about her waist like a vice. The hounds had arrived, snapping and growling. To her horror, Ramsom suddenly reared, his from hooves lashing out at everything that moved. Duncan growled, the horse shook his head, and then spun. At the same moment a bank of clouds covered the moon.

As they raced through the orchard and then up a steep incline in total darkness, Beth clung to the saddle’s wide pummel and prayed as she’d never prayed in her life, for her baby, Duncan, Angus, herself, the horse, and for the damn moon to come out of hiding.

A half-hour later they still hadn’t slowed and she was hoarse from squealing with fright. How they avoided racing headlong into trees or over cliffs she had no idea. Since she could no longer hear the braying hounds, she decided for sanity’s sake to just close her eyes and put her trust in the man at her back.

If they survived, all well and good, but if they didn’t, she could take comfort in knowing she would go to her Maker with the knowledge her life hadn’t been wasted. She’d loved a good man. Not a necessarily sane one, but a good one.

When she opened her eyes again, it was to find Drasmoor Bay and Blackstone bathed in the pearly glow of dawn. My word! She’d apparently fallen asleep.

“We are home, my lady.” Duncan sounded exhausted.

As she yawned, she shivered. “Aye. ‘Tis something I wasna sure I would ever see again.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Ye be startin’ to sound like a Scot born and bred.”

She grinned, thinking of the wee Scot deep within her, and her gaze shifted from the place she called home in this time and in her own to the ring that had given her the incredible flesh and blood man holding her. And through him, a baby.

  He tipped her chin so he could kiss her. “When I thought ye lost to me...” His eyes started to glaze with tears and he looked down at her wedding ring. He cleared his throat as his fingers brushed its ruby and gold surface. “I never expected to say this to ye, but I love ye, dear Beth, more than yon keep, more than me life.” His voice broke and his Adam’s Apple bobbed. “I dinna want ye to go, to leave me.”

  Her heart soared. “Oh, Duncan.” She twisted so she could touch his beautifully chiseled features. “I’ve loved you for so long and didn’t dare hope you might feel the same. I knew--kenned you were fond of me, but to hear you say you love me...” Pooling tears clouded her vision. “I swear as long as I draw breath this ring will remain on my hand.”

“Ah, Beth.” His kiss told her heart all she wanted to know.

“If ye two cooing doves are quite through...” Angus mumbled. He waved his lord and lady toward home. “...yer clan awaits.”

Chapter 29

A
small armada of fishing boats accompanied them across the bay. As they approached the isle and Castle Blackstone, Duncan could see precious little room for another body on the quay. His sept cheered as they drew near.

Isaac and Rachael, both looking haggard, were the first to greet them as they stepped out of the boat.

“
Mon ami!
” Rachael clasped Beth to her breast then kissed both her cheeks. “I have fashed myself ill. And look at ye. Are ye hurt?”

“Nay, Rachael, just sore from the ride and in desperate need of a bath.”

“Ah,
oui
.” She shooed people out of her way as she raced to do Beth’s bidding.

They could barely make headway as the crowd folded back on them, wanting to touch them both. Since Duncan held his lady wife in his left arm, Isaac fell in at his right shoulder.

“‘Tis good ye’re both home, my lord. Auld John has a surprise for ye.”

“Oh?”

“Aye, it seems he took yer suggestion for whisky to heart and we are now hip deep in the water of life. And I’ve had all I can do to keep the men out of it.”

Duncan laughed. “’Twill be good having only the mundane to fash over for awhile, friend.”

“Good for you, mayhap,” Isaac grumbled. “Ye can wield a sword to get their attention. My tellin’ them I dinna appreciate trippin’ over sotted fools had no effect.”

“Did ye hear, my lady?”

Beth turned from Kari’s tearful embrace to face her husband. “Hear what, my lord?”

“Yer whisky venture has begun.”

Her smile widened. “Good, because you’re going to need...”

They’d entered the bailey and a great shout went up cutting off her words. “What?”

She yelled, “Later! I’ll tell you later!”

~#~

Bathed, shaved, and shampooed, Beth felt like a new woman. Still a bit sore and too tired to fuss with herself, she pulled her hair back into a twist and stuck four elaborate pins into it. She didn’t care if it was inappropriate to walk around bare headed. She was going to be comfortable or know the reason why.

“The pale green gown will do, Rachael.” Watching her friend shake out the most comfortable gown she owned, Beth would have given anything for her comfy gray sweats.

Rachael hadn’t left her side since she’d entered the keep. It had taken Beth a good ten minutes of back patting to stop her friend’s tears and to allay Rachael’s guilt over underestimating Flora.

When Duncan knocked then entered, Rachael kissed her once again before leaving. As she passed Duncan, Rachael murmured, “Ye, I have yet to finish with.”

Beth chuckled as he enfolded her in his arms. “What was that about?”

“Ack. She was most displeased when I took Jacob on the raid, and even less pleased when one of the men let loose with the tale of how the lad found ye.”

“Ah.” Just the thought of gold spurns on her only child could get Rachael foaming at the mouth. They’d have no peace around Blackstone for a while.

“Ah, indeed.” He held her at arm’s length for a moment just studying her. “Have I ever told ye how bonnie, how beautiful I find ye?”

Her jaw dropped. “Beautiful? Me?”

“Aye. Ye are most fair about the visage with yer bright gray eyes and sweet full lips. I even fancy the shape of yer nose. Tells all ye are a woman of substance.”

She continued to stare at him, dumbfounded. No one in her twenty-four years and six months had ever called her pretty, much less beautiful.

He pulled her to his chest. “Of course, ye also have a lovely neck.” He nibbled right where he knew the nerves to her knees were somehow connected. As expected, her knees buckled when he hit an especially sensitive spot.

“And then there’s yer lovely white breasts...”

“Duncan...”

“Hmm?” He’d already managed to unlace the back of her gown.

“I think you need ken something.” Given his words of praise, she couldn’t think of a more perfect time to tell him her secret.

As he slipped the gown from one shoulder and nuzzled again, he mumbled, “What need I ken?”