Highland Abduction Page 5

  His eyes widened as he realized she was telling the truth. The makeshift blade was but an inch from his neck. He leaned in and kissed her. "And I forgive you, and all of Clan Davidson."

  Dropping the knife to the floor with an unceremonious clatter, she wrapped both arms around his back, feeling the sheer size and power of his body as he began to make love to her. She surrendered herself to him, not fighting, not resenting him, but embracing everything he was from here onwards. It felt wonderful.

  This was what she had wanted it to be. This was what she had needed from her first time. She wondered whether she could rewrite that event for herself, forget about it and start over from scratch. Perhaps, that was the best way. Then, she could reimagine their first encounter as being this very night, in this very bed. She could rewrite history, with herself giving her body to him, and him accepting it with humility and gratitude.

  It was not the truth. But it was what she had to believe in order to save her own life, protect her Lairdship, and end the war. It was not the truth... but it would become the truth.

  As she abandoned herself to the pleasure of his body, she cried out, clawing his back with animalistic urgency. Davidson and Stuart were now one.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ronan knew just what he needed to do. It would be dangerous, and perhaps all for naught, but he had to try.

  When Silena had vanished, he had known exactly what had happened to her. He had not wanted to think about it, of course. But he had known. How could he not? At first, he was in denial, but as time passed, he knew where she had to be. She was not the sort of girl to wander off with strangers, and beasts were rare so near the castle. Were she kidnapped by someone needing money he would have heard already.

  He supposed that was why he had not organized more than a few search parties. He wasn't scared they would find her. He was scared they would not.

  When a week had passed without sign of her, alive or dead, there was no doubt she had been taken by Clan Stuart. And he had to find her. With the full acceptance that she had been taken came the sort of heartache he couldn't remember feeling since his parents died. He was furious at himself for not arranging a siege of Clan Stuart's castle before.

  He had to calm himself down, and remind himself that he had done the right thing. It would have been insane to immediately mount an attack against Clan Stuart to retrieve a single woman, however important she was to him. He could not endanger his troops when it was not even certain that she was there.

  But with certainty came anger; an anger he could not repress, which drove him beyond his usual, rational self. Rather than accept the loss of his sister, his last living family, Laird Ronan was overwhelmed with pain and fury, driven to the border of insanity, desperate to either take his sister back, or slaughter Stuarts left and right until he felt in his heart that she had been avenged.

  His men had taken a little more persuading. All were certain that Silena was dead, and that attempting to recover her would be an exercise in futility. After all, marching out onto enemy territory after someone who had been missing for a week was insane.

  But she was, nevertheless, their Princess. As he passionately rallied them towards the cause, they slowly came around, realizing how important she was to the stability of their Clan, how frail Ronan, and therefore the Lairdship, were without her. Like it or not, she was Ronan's sister, and the last thread holding his sanity together after war had ripped it to its very guts. And they would save her. They had no choice.

  The journey had been long and hard, around through the marshes and coasts, avoiding detection as they neared the other Laird's castle. As they rode onward, and later, as they dismounted and approached carefully on foot, they plotted together the different ways they could enter the castle and find the Princess. They had a plan for every conceivable scenario. Whether she was dead and in the gallows, locked in a dungeon, or held within the main castle itself, they had a way of getting to her and bringing her home, in whatever state they happened to find her.

  Ronan wanted to race in and take her right away, but he knew better than to ruin all their carefully laid plans like that. He had to focus. They had not been detected, which meant their first move needed to be entering the castle undetected and scouring it from the dungeons to the rooftops, until they found her.

  His men began scaling the walls at the far side, landing in the gardens, near the cells and dungeon windows, but away from the main guards. The moon was new and the night was cloudy. On the one hand, this was an advantage, giving them the full cover of night. On the other hand, they were at a disadvantage against any enemy lurking in the shadows, as this was the enemy's home and they would no doubt know it like the back of their hands.

  Skulking about the walls, the men investigated every dungeon room through the window, peering in, each hoping to be the one to rest his eyes on her golden locks and thankful face.

  But Silena was nowhere to be seen in any of the dungeon rooms. Ronan feared the worst, but would not lose hope. Every dungeon room was empty. Perhaps, Clan Stuart had known they would be invaded. Perhaps, the dungeons had been cleared down, or moved elsewhere. Perhaps, they had killed them all.

  No.

  She had to be alive. She had to be in there somewhere, held captive, waiting for him to rescue her. Perhaps, there was another reason that the dungeons were empty. There had to be. He couldn't have allowed his kidnapped sister to be killed by these brutes and maniacs. He couldn't have lost the last remaining family he had.

  He stopped as the clouds parted, and the faint starlight shone down into the dungeons.

  Inside one of the rooms, he saw the shreds of her dress. He recognized the bright red fabric and intricate beadwork instantly, his eyes tracing the embroidered shield of Inverness, and nearly wept. She had been there. She had been in that room. And she wasn't any more.

  Before the clouds closed, he saw that the dress had not been removed, as someone would before bathing or getting changed. It had been cut from her body, ripped and torn all over. Right down the front, up the stitches of the skirt, everywhere. It had been shredded from her like a man breaking into some sort of an exotic fruit. Ronan stopped himself from thinking what could have led to that.

  "We must look for her deeper in the dungeon. She was here," he whispered to his men. "That means she is probably near."

  They began making their way inside the dungeons, gently easing the gates open and looking about. A guard spied them and was promptly finished off.

  As they searched, they found the dungeons bare, as though they had not been used for many years. Only the cell with Silena's dress in it had any signs of life. Namely some stale bread, the dress, and a little blood on the floor. Ronan felt his heart sink, but remained hopeful as his men called him to some stairs that appeared to lead to the dungeon tower. Torches lit, they began the expedition up.

  Ronan could see hints of human activity on the staircase, places where it had been dusted down and where a new brick had been laid. It was clear that, although the dungeons had not been maintained and scarcely been used in a long time, the tower was inhabited. And, seeing as Silena was the only prisoner there was any sign of, Ronan held hope in his heart that she was the person at the top.

  There were other possibilities, of course. But he dared not think of them. The very idea that his sister could already be long dead was so horrific to him, his brain was not letting it take any hold. He would have to see her lifeless corpse before he believed she had been killed.

  She would be up there, at the very top of the tower. He knew that much. But with who? Stopping, Ronan listened carefully. He could hear men's voices, whispering further up the stairs. His men hesitated behind him, listening also. As he looked over his shoulder, he could see they had heard the same as him. None of them could hear the exact words either. They extinguished their torches and continued to wait.

  The voices carried on, mumbling and grumbling under their breath. A sliver of light reached down just barely enough that Rona
n and his men could see one another. These men had torches, too. The thought struck Ronan that, from how low the voices were, and how well they travelled, as well as the clarity of the light, these men were probably very close. Possibly just around the bend.

  They were lucky not to have been heard. Hopefully, they could leap around the corner and take the enemy down swiftly.

  But if it was an ambush... then what would he do? What if she was not up there? What if she was dead? He would be marching his men into a trap, where they would all surely be killed. However dim and weak Clan Stuart were, they had so many advantages in such a scenario. It was their home, they knew the layout; they were better armed and had not been marching for days. Not only that, but they had probably planned this trap down to the smallest details. There were probably already men on their way up the stairs to finish off whatever remained of Ronan's party.

  Would it not be a tragedy to lose all his best men to such an obvious plot?

  No, the greater tragedy would be if she was alive and he abandoned her and died, leaving her completely at their mercy. He gathered his men around.

  "This may be a trap," Ronan confessed. "I am not certain, but the men may be waiting to ambush us, in which case we shall be trapped. There are probably men above and below."

  A look of apprehension was visible, even in the faintest light that reached them, on every face.

  "Shall we continue?" a man asked.

  "I am asking you," Ronan replied. "My sister could be there, but you must decide if it is worth risking your life for the mere possibility of saving her."

  "And, what if she is dead? What if all this is for nothing?" a man asked with a glare that hid a hint of fear.

  Ronan nodded. "Then we shall all die, without a doubt. If we leave now, there is some slim chance of escape, but not much. Our fate is all but sealed."

  There was hesitation again. Ronan could hear a couple of men swallowing hard, trying to restrain their fear.

  "If our fate is sealed, then why not try and rescue our Princess?" a man asked.

  Another man nodded sharply. "Aye, we must do all we can and be brave."

  A murmur spread down through the men. They seemed to be in agreement. Their beautiful, innocent, sweet Princess was to be protected at all cost, to be brought back home. Or, they would die trying.

  It made sense. After all, if there was a trap they were already trapped. And if there was no trap, surely it was better to march on up and attempt to rescue Silena. There was no sense at all in heading back down the stairs.

  So they marched up.

  By now, the torch light had vanished, and at some point, the murmur of voices had stopped. Ronan carried on, slowly and apprehensively, until he met a door. It was wooden and heavy, but it was a little ajar, and a sliver of light peeked through the side and bottom of it.

  From behind, he could hear the murmuring continue, punctuated by the odd man's voice. He was astonished to hear they were speaking of treason and betrayal. He could hear at least four men, but no more than six, speaking. They could easily take six men.

  But was there a point? What if Silena was not there? Then, they would be walking into their enemy's hands.

  And then, he heard it. A faint whimper of a woman's voice. Not just any woman. His sister. He could hear his sister's pained whimpering on the other side of the door.

  Overwhelmed with rage, Ronan broke in through the door, looking about the surprisingly crowded room. He had not expected anything like this. There were at least twenty men, one very well dressed, one nude, the remaining eighteen were as soldiers. The well-dressed man stood, as the other was held to a wall by some of the soldiers.

  All eyes were on Ronan as his men marched into the room, also baffled by the sight before him. But confusion then gave way to surprise and joy as Ronan's eyes landed on the far wall of the room, where his sister was curled on a bed, naked but for a couple of blankets, with soldiers either side of the bed. She saw Ronan, too, and her face lit up.

  Silena had tears in her eyes as she held the blankets to her naked body, recoiling from a soldier who stood a mere foot away from her. "Help me, brother!" she cried.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Eadan had not expected to be awoken like this. His consul and his soldiers gathered about his bed. He felt a little uncomfortable. In fact, that was what had awoken him. The sensation of being watched triggered his intuitions and made him sit up alert, even before a word was spoken. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

  It was not as if he had never been awoken by his consul before. And it was not as if he had never suffered an intrusion whilst in bed with a woman. But something about this felt wrong, almost ominous. And the presence of so many soldiers cinched it. They would never gather like that unless they planned action. There was something terribly wrong right now. Something worse, that is, than the hangover he had woken up with.

  "What is it that cannae wait until I am ready to discuss it with you?" he asked, rubbing his sore, throbbing head.

  "Your dethronement," the consul said flatly.

  Eadan laughed a little. "What a nice joke, consul. But please, I must know if I am headed out to battle, or what other reason there may be for such a rude awakening."

  Silena stirred, her eyes fluttering open and suddenly widening as she realized they were no longer alone. She instantly grabbed him and pulled herself close for protection.

  "I am not joking," the consul carried on, as if Silena were not even there. "I am taking your throne, Eadan. I am now Laird of Aberdeenshire, and head of Clan Stuart. You shall be found today, literally in bed with the enemy, and both of you shall be killed. Then I shall parade your severed heads and announce myself the hero of Clan Stuart."

  Silena clung to Eadan hard, the men ravaging her with their eyes, some literally salivating as her figure was gently exposed with every slight movement.

  Eadan growled. "You fool! Do you not see what this means? If Silena and I unite, then the Clans shall be at peace, once and for all. Do you not want peace?"

  "No, My Laird," the consul replied flatly. "Our people have spoken. They expect an execution. And they shall have one. Or two. And if I must make the sacrifice of taking your duties upon myself…"

  "You complete and utter idiot!" Eadan exclaimed. "This is treason, but above all, it is stupidity. We have the possibility of peace lying before us, and you are willing to throw it all away so that you can steal a throne? What worth is there in being Laird if you are Laird of dead men?"

  "A lot of worth. There are always more men, whereas there is not much power or honor to go around these days. I would rather be Laird over dead men than a peer of living ones," the consul explained.

  "So you are prepared to kill our whole Clan, if it means you can be Laird of a patch of land?" Eadan asked, obviously disgusted.

  "Not at all," the consul said with a weak smile. "I am simply doing the will of the people. It is not my fault that the people do not know what benefits them, or what the consequences of their demands would be."

  "That is why they need a good Laird," Eadan replied. "To guide and protect them, through war and through peace, to ensure that they live, even if it costs him his wealth, his title, his family, or his life."

  "Alas, it shall cost you all that and more. I, on the other hand, have no intention of being a 'good' Laird," the consul said,

  Eadan leapt to his feet and closed both hands around the consul's throat, squeezing hard so the man gasped and wheezed, his air instantly cut off. Eadan used all his strength to slightly lift the consul, so he was balancing on his toes, his face growing purple.

  And then the unthinkable. Eadan's own soldiers grasped his arms and tore him away from the consul. As Eadan's hands released the consul's throat, the man wheezed again, gasped, and fell to his knees, panting for air and groaning in pain.

  Eadan tackled his soldiers briefly, but however strong he was, they outnumbered him, and soon had him under their total control, firmly gripped. As they attempted to restrain hi
m, he was slammed hard into the wall, feeling dizzier even than before as his head made contact with the hard brick, stars dancing in his eyes. He moaned in pain and whined as he heard bells ringing in his ears, and his vision slowly focused again.

  "You are by far the worst consul any Laird of Aberdeenshire, or of anywhere else, for that matter, has ever had," Eadan said. "You will not get away with this."

  "I shall," the consul replied. "On account of that you are going to be dead in the next few minutes. Although... perhaps we ought to show you both a lesson first." He raised his hand to his chin, looking over at where some of the soldiers still stood by the bed, looking at Silena as she desperately held the blankets to herself.

  The soldiers looked to the consul apologetically. "I am sorry, sir," one mumbled, stepping away from the bed.

  "No, no. Carry on. You may do with her as you wish. She will be dead by the time the sun rises. It would do her well to be a little... humbled by then," the consul remarked.

  Silena whimpered and withdrew onto the bed, pulling the covers up against herself, covering her nakedness, hiding behind her feeble barrier.

  The soldiers mumbled in tones of agreement and those who were not holding Eadan began to crowd around the bed, eyeing her up, working out some sort of hierarchy, some sort of order for the banquet they were about to share.

  Eadan was revolted by that suggestion. Of course, he had done the same thing. But now, he saw the error in his ways. He had done something terrible, and her forgiveness had been almost a blessing to him. And now, he was standing there, powerless, as they were about to put her through that suffering again.

  It was like looking into the jaws of Hell. This was his creation. These were the men raised by the society his ancestors created, that he had perpetuated. This was what happened when boys were raised by war. They looked at her and saw, not a woman, not a human being, but an animal, nay, an object, to be used as they pleased. He had to stop this from happening ever again.