Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

A rran's head was buzzing like a hive of bees as he made his way back to the castle. Dahlia's words had left him in no doubt that he must find the place Bairre had told her of. He was convinced this was where he would find his mother. Now it was time for him to put plans in motion to follow on with the rescue mission.

He slipped through the gate with a nod from the guard on duty and made his way to the stables. There he engaged in a quick conversation with the chief groom, advising that he would be wishing to ride out with the lady Dahlia sometime in the coming days and he wished their horses be kept well-exercised and ready. Then he progressed to the guards' quarters and spoke briefly to three men there who were loyal to him. He looked for Nicol but guessed the man was not yet on duty after his late shift the previous night.

Creeping into the keep, he made up his mind this was the last time he would hide himself like a common thief.

He would bide his time, waiting until the night had come. His plan was to surprise Bairre in his bedchamber when he was not surrounded by guards and make it clear to him that if he should injure Dahlia in any way, or if his own mother was harmed, that Bairre would die at Arran's hand.

Arran was no longer interested in paying lip-service to the laird. The man had not earned any respect. On the contrary his cowardly attack on Arran and his blatant attempt to destroy him meant that, as far as Arran was concerned, when the time came, he would show Bairre no mercy.

But before he carried out his plan, he sought out Craig in his chamber.

He knocked at the old timber door and heard his friend call "enter" so Arran pushed the door open and entered the room. Craig was seated before the fire with a tankard of ale by his side and leaped to his feet when he caught sight of Arran.

"Good God man, where've ye been all this time?" he cried.

The two men each took a seat in one of the leather chairs by the fireside, Craig looking expectantly at Arran.

"Me friend, I didnae ken what tae think. I was expecting tae meet with ye at training every morning as we always dae. When ye didnae appear days ago I went tae search ye out. I saw what looked like the disarray of a struggle in yer chamber but when I questioned the servants none of them had seen hide-nor-hair of ye. I began tae fash that mayhap some ill had befallen ye."

"Ye didnae ask the lady Dahlia if she'd come across me at some time?"

Craig looked puzzled. "Why would the lady ken yer whereabouts if the guards and the servants hadnae seen aught of ye?"

The response from Craig suggested to him that his old friend had no idea that Arran and Dahlia had been together. Had he been able to fool Craig into believing that there was nothing between him and the lady? He'd never mentioned his feelings about her to Craig and he'd never breathed a word even to his friend he'd been the one who had attempted to rescue Dahlia four years ago when she'd been held prisoner by James Mackinnon.

Whatever it was that had held him back from revealing his heart to Craig, Arran was unsure.

"Truth tae tell, Craig, I've been keeping myself out of sight ever since an attempt was made on me life."

Craig gasped. "Who would wish such evil on ye, me friend?"

It was on the tip of Arran's tongue to tell Craig about Bairre but he was reluctant to do so. Instead, he feigned ignorance.

"'Tis unsure I am. I've given it much thought but I cannae think of one who hates me enough tae end me life."

"Mayhap ye'd upset one of the guards. Or ye'd been his jousting partner and dealt him a sore blow and the man was taking vengeance."

"Aye. Mayhap that is so. But, after, I decided tae keep tae mesel' and let whoever it was come tae terms with his own rage."

"So ye think ‘tis safe now tae resume yer place again as the laird's lieutenant?"

Arran gave a mirthless laugh. "Nay. I dinnae believe anywhere is safe for me in Castle Mackinnon. Whoever wanted me dead is likely tae still have me in his sights."

"Then ye must keep yer wits about ye if ye're tae stay in the land of the living." Craig laid his hand across Arran's shoulder in a brotherly gesture. "I dinnae wish tae lose me best friend."

"Never fear, Craig. I've nae intention of putting me life at risk. I value it too highly."

"Then join me in a tankard of ale before ye go on yer way." Craig filled another vessel and handed it to Arran. " Slàinte mhath . Tae yer heath, lad."

After downing a convivial ale with his friend, Arran bade him goodnight and took his leave. The time had come for him to finally confront Bairre.

He found the laird exactly where he'd expected as he pushed open the heavy oak door to Bairre's chambers without bothering to knock.

Bairre was seated in his robe and nightshirt in front of the fire, a glass of whisky on a small table by his side. He rose hastily to his feet as Arran entered the room.

His hand flew to his mouth, which sagged open in shock.

Arran smiled grimly, amused to have caught Bairre off guard. "Ye seem surprised to see me."

Bairre straightened his shoulders giving Arran a disdainful look. "Nae at all. What surprises me is that ye dare enter me chamber without knocking on me door and waiting fer an invitation tae enter."

Keeping a close eye on Bairre's face, Arran moved toward the second chair by the fireplace. "I trust ye will invite me tae partake of yer hospitality." He looked at the glass and the whisky decanter on the table.

Smiling, Bairre gave a visible shake of his head. "Why, of course. Dae sit down cousin and allow me tae pour ye a wee dram." He lifted the decanter, poured a splash of the amber liquid and passed it to Arran.

Arran was impressed. The man's hands were steady and if he had not known the truth, it would have been possible to believe that Bairre had not been involved in a plot to end Arran's life only a matter of a few days ago.

"I've nay seen ye fer a day or two, lad. Were ye nae appointed as the special guard tae watch over the Lady Dahlia MacLeod?"

"Aye. That I was. However, I've been indisposed. Unfortunately, someone – I dinnae ken who the evildoer was – made an effort tae snuff out my life. I was taken from me bed, punched most cruelly and left trapped within a burning building with me hands and feet tied to ensure I couldnae escape."

He watched Bairre's face carefully as he delivered these words but Bairre merely shrugged, his expression one of well feigned concern.

Bairre clicked his tongue. "I'm sorry to hear that such a thing happened tae ye. There is wickedness tae be found in many places."

"Even within Castle Mackinnon it seems."

Despite the laird's expression of concern and his conciliatory tone, Arran was only too aware that Bairre was watching him like a hawk. Did the man realize Arran knew it was he who had attempted to murder him? That he recognized his voice? It suited him to have Bairre believe he had no idea who it was who had attempted to murder him. If Bairre thought he had got away with his attack then Arran could keep a closer watch on him and guard himself against the possibility of another attempt on his life. And Arran was certain that would not be far off.

He took a nonchalant sip of his whisky. "Nevertheless, I'm nae afeared of any would-be murderers under the castle roof."

Bairre looked up sharply. "And why is that Arran? I'd have thought ye'd be well fearful of another attempt on yer life."

Gazing into the fire, Arran responded with slow deliberation. "I've nay fear me laird, because I have alerted those members of the guard who are still loyal tae me that there is danger lurking fer me."

Bairre said nothing in response to this remark but Arran's steely gaze picked up the flicker of fear in the laird's eyes. Clearly, it had never occurred to him that members of his own guard might still owe allegiance to Arran.

"…and," Arran continued, "nae only will these faithful men watch out for anything untoward, but they will ensure that nay one bent on doing me harm will ever get close enough tae carry out their wicked plan."

Bairre poured another dram and, to Arran's amusement, swilled the liquor down his throat in one mouthful. He seemed rattled by Arran's revelation.

"Well," he finally muttered, "'tis good news that ye'll be kept safe after all." He rose to his feet, ending their conversation. "If ye're quite recovered, I wish tae see ye back at yer post, guarding the Lady Dahlia and nae letting her out of yer sight as I had ordered ye some time ago."

Arran's heart skipped a beat. He swallowed the last of the whisky and stood. This was exactly what he was hoping would happen. A chance to be close to Dahlia and, at the same time, ensure she was safe.

"There is still one pressing matter I'd like tae discuss with ye, me laird."

"And that is?"

"'Tis the matter of me maither's whereabouts. I would like tae see her and reassure mesel' of her good health."

Bairre chuckled. "Indeed, ye would. But until ye have discharged all yer duties tae me I'm afraid that will nae be possible."

Arran's insides twisted. How he would love to reach out and clasp his hands around Bairre's throat and tighten them until the man's face turned blue.

He schooled his features to remain bland, refusing to reveal the deep anguish Bairre's words caused him.

"Goodnight, Bairre." Arran bowed to the devil and moved toward the door. "I will continue with me duties and sleep tonight outside the lady's bedchamber."

Bairre gave him a dismissive wave without looking up. When Arran glanced back from the doorway his attention was again focused on his book.

He made a mental note to ensure he did not turn his back on Bairre Mackinnon at any time. The man was never to be trusted.

Feeling well enough pleased with himself and relieved that he'd finally bade farewell to the labyrinth of passages in the depth of the castle Arran made his way to Dahlia's bedchamber. While he well understood the challenge his ongoing presence was to the laird, he was ready to face Bairre.

He was sorely tempted to wake her with his news but, on second thought, it occurred to him that Bairre would have most likely posted one of his spies to keep a close watch on whether he made contact with her or not.

With his cloak pulled tightly around himself he scrunched himself down outside her door. Despite the hard stone floor, it was only a brief time before he slept, comfortable in the knowledge that he was on guard by his precious Dahlia's door.