Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

" T hey left us yesterday and we expected they would be here before nightfall. The only reason I can think of fer their delay is that some ill has befallen them. I pray Bairre Mackinnon has nae caught up with them."

As Arran spoke, all three of Dahlia's brothers were shaking their heads, their expressions grim.

Ivar was the first to respond. "If the Mackinnon catches up with them things will go badly fer Dahlia. She is still tied tae him in betrothal under the king's decree and until she is released from that he can force her intae marriage."

Arne shook his head. "Laird Haldor has petitioned King Robert, requesting he release her. But we've nae had his reply yet, that's why we havenae sent a letter tae her about it. As we ken this marriage was against her will, it was our hope that he would agree to our petition and spare her instead of rushing into war."

It was impossible for Arran to remain still. He clambered to his feet. "I must retrace me steps and search for her. There is nay other way. If both she and Craig have been captured there is nae time tae waste. Ye are right tae suggest Bairre will force her tae wed him. She is the prize he is determined tae win and there is no way he would willingly relinquish his hold over her."

The others rose also. "We are with ye," Haldor said with a nod to Arne, who hastened out of the room. "Me braither will see tae a fresh horse fer ye and assemble a group of our soldiers tae accompany us. We'll leave here as soon as we're ready." He glanced at Arran. "After ye've had a serving of something tae nourish ye. I daresay ye're a mite hungry."

Arran smiled. "Aye, I've nay eaten since breaking fast this morning, but, truth tae tell, I've nay appetite when all me thoughts are for the Lady Dahlia and what fate may have in store fer her."

Haldor scanned his face, his gaze locked with Arran's. "I can see that ye care deeply fer me sister. Daes she share yer feelings?"

Arran considered this, unsure of how to respond. "I cannae speak fer her feelings, only mine," he finally said. "We have spent much time together. She holds me heart, and I would willingly give me life tae ensure her safety. During the time we have spent in each other's company I have come tae believe yer sister has warm feelings fer me also."

Haldor and Ivar contemplated his words as silence fell in the room. Arran wrestled with the bittersweet memory of Dahlia, in his arms in the village, naked, her eyes shining with joy as they spoke of a future life together.

The moment was broken by the appearance of two maidservants who served up bowls of hearty soup accompanied by slices of oatbread.

"Eat, lad," Haldor said, "Ye'll need yer strength this night. There may well be a fight if it is as we fear, that me sister is again in the clutches of a laird who will force her tae wed with him against her will."

After only two spoonfuls of soup Arran pushed himself up from his chair, giving a short bow to the Laird Haldor.

"Many thanks fer yer hospitality tae mesel' and me people. I am grateful fer yer Lady Sofia's concern fer me maither, Emilia Mackinnon. But now…" his gaze swept the faces of the two brothers, "I cannnae spend any further time before I set out tae search fer Dahlia and Craig."

"D'ye have any thoughts as tae where they may be?

"If they are being held by Bairre's men, there is one place that makes sense to me. A tavern that straddles the border between MacLeod and Mackinnon lands." He groaned. "And we rode past it this afternoon without any inkling that Dahlia might be being held there."

Haldor folded his arms over his chest. "Is it nae unwise fer ye tae go alone? We'll be setting off within the hour."

Arran snorted. "Ye're right. ‘Tis. But I fear that if I dinnae seek them out there's every chance whoever is holding them willnae bide long but take their prisoners back to Castle Mackinnon, where we cannae pass."

"Aye." Haldor nodded slowly. "That makes sense. Once they are returned tae the castle we'll have nay power. The king has decreed there should be a wedding." He gave a rueful laugh. "One of his aims is fer our clans tae unite peacefully. We cannae openly defy his wishes and take our fight tae the castle fer fear of bringing King Robert's wrath down on all our heads."

Arran left Haldor and Ivar to their soup and ale and strode quickly down the passage. He was bounding down the steps of the keep when he encountered Arne, who was heading into the castle.

"There's a fresh horse ready fer ye, Arran. We'll be leaving with five of our guards. The grooms are saddling the horses and we'll be ready tae ride before long."

"I thank ye Arne, but I cannae wait. I must set out tae find Dahlia without any delay."

Arne nodded reluctantly. "Take care, lad. Ye may be heading into a hornets' nest. Dinnae forget we'll nae be far behind ye. If ye meet trouble on the way ye'll have the MacLeod men on yer side."

The groom walked Arran's fresh horse out of the stables into the courtyard for him to mount. It was a bay, a lighter horse than his stallion, but the groom assured him he was fast and could keep up his pace over a long distance. He clicked and the horse pricked up his ears as Arran mounted. He patted the bay's neck and whispered to him. "Good lad. I'm counting on ye tae take me fast as the wind."

Once they'd departed from the castle gate, he kept up a steady gallop for the next hour or so, quietly cursing himself for having passed the tavern earlier in the day and not having taken the time to check it. But realizing he'd no idea that Dahlia was not already safe at MacLeod Castle he gave up berating himself.

It was not long before the inn came into view and he slowed his horse to a walk. It was a dark, moonless night and with luck he would be able to make it without being noticed.

He dismounted and tethered the horse not far from the entrance of the inn, then he crept silently into the stables. Sure enough, to his horror – and relief – he caught sight of Dahlia's mare in one of the boxes, and beside her was the horse Craig Donald had been riding.

So, he was right in assuming this was where Dahlia had been taken.

Considerable noise was issuing from the rowdy crowd in the tavern, encouraging Arran to consider he could enter unnoticed and slowly make his way toward the stairs. He was convinced Dahlia was being held prisoner in the very same room he had guarded all those weeks ago, when it was he who was her jailer, taking her against her will to wed Bairre Mackinnon.

He shivered at the memory and marveled all the same at the long journey he and Dahlia had begun that night. Now she was everything to him, the sole possessor of his heart.

Rage bubbled in his blood at the thought that she might have been hurt and was, even at that moment, being held, terrified, in the hands of some ruffian who cared little for her comfort.

He entered the dimly lit, crowded inn. The place was bustling with serving-maids carrying flagons of ale amid bawdy comments and laughter. Men he assumed to be farmers were seated on benches by the fire and around the room. No one looked up as he slipped inside and took a seat at a table not far from the door. He scanned the room but saw no one he recognized or anyone wearing the Mackinnon tartan.

He briefly wondered. Could he have been wrong in surmising Dahlia was imprisoned here? Recalling the little mare in the stables he reassured himself. No doubt her jailers were guarding her door, as he'd done when he'd taken on that cursed role.

Taking care not to draw attention to himself, he gradually moved toward the stairs. Fortunately, the staircase was busy with men and wenches coming and going to the bedrooms above and he was able to make his way up to the next floor unnoticed.

To his surprise, there was no guard standing outside the door of the room he guessed Dahlia was being held in. He tried the latch and to his further amazement the door opened slowly. The room was pitch dark as he hesitated in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Hearing a moan, he entered, fearing that it was Dahlia in pain.

Feeling his way, he encountered a wooden high-backed chair and, as he ran his fingers over the splintery wood, he encountered a strand of long hair.

"Dahlia, is it ye, are ye here?"

He heard her mumbling incoherently and, as his fingers traced the outline of her face he realized there was a length of cloth binding her mouth shut.

"Oh me God darling, keep still while I untie this from ye."

He was fumbling with the cloth when the room was suddenly illuminated and a figure holding a lantern aloft entered the room. There was no time for him to react and an instant later he was dealt a severe blow to his head. His senses reeling under the blow, his head ringing with the pain, he slumped to the floor.

He was hardly aware of voices, his arms being pinioned by his side and tied, before he was lost to all sensation.

When he woke, he was lying where he'd fallen. The room was again in darkness and his head was throbbing mightily. He struggled hard against the ties binding his hands, twisting and turning until he felt the rope loosen slightly. He pulled one hand free and then the other and set about undoing the rope that bound his feet.

He moaned and, to his great joy, he heard Dahlia's soft whisper coming to him from close by. He'd succeeded in loosening the gag from her mouth.

"Is it really ye, Arran?"

"Aye lass. It was never me intention fer us both tae be prisoners. In moments me hands and feet will be free and I'll come and set ye free."

"We're both in great danger, me love. Bairre and his men are here, it will be impossible fer us tae escape from this place."

He grunted, his finger encountering the crude knots holding Dahlia's wrists. He pulled the dirk from his boot and sliced through the rope freeing her hands. She clutched at his arm in the darkness and he leaned in to brush a kiss against her lips.

At that instant the door was flung wide, flooding the room with light, and two men entered, one of them holding a lantern.

Arran struggled to gain his feet, while Dahlia shook her hands free.

The first man who had entered the room was Bairre Mackinnon, followed by two of his guards.

Beside him, Arran heard Dahlia cry out in terror and, without a thought, he raised his arm to shelter her as best he could.

Bairre hissed at him. "Ye're naught but a fool Arran Mackinnon, tae come here looking fer yer lady-love. She is mine, and on our return tae the castle the priest will be waiting tae perform the ceremony of marriage. We'll be wed under King Robert's decree. I'll bed her and ye'll nae be able tae dae a thing tae stand in me way."

With that, he let fly with his boot, catching Arran behind his knees and almost bringing him down. He closed his fist and landed a brutal, shattering blow to Arran's jaw.

"And that's just the beginning of what I have in store fer ye. Ye vile, traitorous knave." He laughed menacingly. "When I've finished, ye'll curse the day ye were born and long fer death tae claim ye."

He turned his attention to Dahlia. "And ye, ye strong-willed little whore. Did ye think I didnae ken that ye were whoring yersel' with me cousin? That ye were in his arms every night, pretending tae dislike his presence as yer guard. How ye mistook me fer a fool?"

Arran hauled himself to his feet and grabbed the back of the chair Dahlia was seated on to keep his balance and furiously addressed Bairre.

"And ye played the part of the horned cuckold," he spat the words with as much contempt as he could muster. "Without honor or high principles, standing by while the lass ye wanted chose another, better man. Ye never cared a whit fer the lady. Tae ye she is only a tool that will bring ye riches and status. ‘Tis ye who're the fool Bairre, fer thinking tae wed a lass who despises ye."

Bairre guffawed. "Och, I kent every time ye played games with the whore. We kent it was she who saved ye from the fire in the old cottage when ye should have died there. And did ye really think I would believe the cock and bull story ye told about losing yer clothes?" He stepped closer, pushing his face close to Arran's with an ugly snarl. "And dinnae ye speak tae me of honor, when ye've been a traitorous knave under me own roof bedding the lass who is rightly betrothed tae me by King Robert's decree."

He pulled back his arm and delivered a hard slap across Arran's face with his open palm. "And that's the blow I've been waiting tae give ye fer years fer the trouble ye caused in releasing Dahlia from me braither's prison."

The force of it threw Arran's head back, but it was Bairre's words that caused his heart to sink.

This cannae be true.

There was no soul other than Craig Donald who was aware he was the man who'd tried and failed to rescue Dahlia from the Laird James Mackinnon's dungeon.

Yet Bairre knew of it.

Slowly it dawned on Arran that his friend had betrayed him to Bairre.

Craig is a traitor. He tricked me intae sending Dahlia with him intae his trap.

It was then that the door was flung open again and, almost as if he was aware of the thoughts swarming in Arran's mind, a smiling Craig entered the room.

"Ye filthy traitorous swine," Arran managed through gritted teeth. "I trusted ye with the life of the lassie I love, who is the most precious in the world tae me. Ye kent this, yet ye thought naught of betraying us."

Craig shrugged away Arran's accusations. "Och, me friend, ye are truly na?ve if ye think that the bonds of childhood remain strong enough through life. Why, they dinnae provide a roof over me head, or fine food, or the favors of sweet-scented women. All these are pleasures I crave and me loyalties lie with he who provides me with the substance tae obtain them." He glanced briefly at Bairre. "And it is me Laird, Bairre, who ensures me needs are met. I am his liege man, and when he commands me, I obey."