Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

M eetings were often tedious, but strategy meetings, when they had no idea what they might be facing, much less how to counter it or who was involved, he’d never been fond of, and that’s what the meeting amounted to.A futile exercise.

Unfortunately, it was still necessary to take such measures, otherwise he risked leaving his people vulnerable to attack. He refused to be so irresponsible as a laird, no matter how much he’d rather be spending the day with his wife.

Several candle-marks passed as they discussed strategies, battle plans, the best place to station warriors, and the routes for scouts to take to maintain a watchful eye on the borders of the clan. With that inevitably came discussions of resources, and whether or not it was necessary to call upon the clan’s allies.

They’d eventually agreed that Ryan would send a letter to Daemon explaining the situation in the morning. Beyond that, there would be no attempt to summon aid from their allies. There was no purpose to it, not when they were still unsure of what was transpiring.

Adrian and Bard, on the other hand, would take a trip around the borders of the clan. Adrian would look for signs of invasion or hostilities within view of the border patrols, while Bard spoke to the various villages under the MacLean clan banner, to find out if there were any rumors of unrest among the clan folk.

Darren himself would remain at the keep and manage the day-to-day running of the clan. In winter, there was little to do, but the warm weather of a few days ago had shown that spring was on its way, and preparations for spring clearing and planting needed to begin. There was very little farmable land on the island, so every inch and every moment of growing space and time needed to be utilized.

They could, of course, supplement their food resources with fishing, and traveling to the main part of the Highlands for hunting and supplies, but Darren preferred not to depend on such measures.

He sent the others on their way, while he remained in the council chambers to gather documents and write out a few notes for further consideration when the men returned.

It was late, past the supper hour when he finally finished up his work. Darren stretched, then dragged his papers together. Once he put the papers in his study, then he could search out some food and find his wife.

Things between them had changed, and he was looking forward to exploring those changes further, even if tonight involved gentler pursuits than the passionate lovemaking of the night before.

He stepped out into the dimly lit hall and began to traverse the corridors of the keep between the council chambers and his study. The evening was quieter than usual, enough to make the hair on the back of his neck prickle. Darren tried to dismiss the feeling as stress from the meetings that had consumed his day, but it persisted, making his shoulders heavy as well.

Something was wrong. The certainty grew with every step he took, supported by a lifetime of training as a warrior. Someone was watching him, someone who was hidden in the shadows, avoiding being seen.

Darren’s hand clenched on the hilt of his sword. His steps slowed as he passed by the Western Tower he and Alayne had ascended that morning.

Near soundless footsteps sounded in the silence. He started to turn, but it was too late. Something slammed into the back of his skull. The papers went crashing to the ground as he staggered. Pain sent sparks dancing behind his eyes, and his hand slid limply from his sword hilt as he fought to retain his balance.

Another blow dropped him to his knees, then to the hard stones of the corridor. The landing cracked his temple painfully against the ground, further stunning him. Through the haze of near-blinding agony, he thought he saw someone moving toward the tower door. Then the darkness filled his vision as he lost the fight to remain aware, and he slumped unconscious to the floor.

Alayne woke with a crick in her neck and the cake cooled to a sticky mass beside her. The first light of dawn was coming through the window, but there was no sign of Darren.

She’d fallen asleep at the study. Alayne rubbed her eyes, then looked around, hoping she’d somehow missed something. But a closer look at the study revealed that her first thought had been correct.

The fire was cold, and the rest of the room was undisturbed. There was no sign that a meal had been delivered, or the hearth tended to. It didn’t look like anyone had entered the room since she had come to wait for her husband. Including Darren.

She left the study, determined to find someone to ask for the whereabouts of her husband. She was so concerned, she nearly crashed headlong into Ryan who was coming down the hall toward the study. She staggered to a stop, noting the weary, haggard look on his face. “Ryan? Are ye looking fer Darren?”

He frowned. “Aye. He’s nae in his study?”

“Nae. I was waiting there tae speak tae him last night, but he never came tae the study. Is he nae in the council chambers, or in our quarters?”

“Nae. The study was the last place I was goin’ tae look fer him.” Ryan cursed in terms that would have made the guards of the king’s prison flush, or smile in admiration. “I’d hoped I was readin’ the signs wrong.”

Cold dread coalesced in Alayne’s gut. “Reading what signs wrong?”

“I remembered something I meant tae tell Laird MacLean afore I retired last night, but when I went tae look fer him, I couldnae find any trace o’ him. When I was walking the corridor between the council chambers and here, I saw signs o’ a struggle, and found some o’ the papers he was looking at last night on the ground. Looks like someone was lyin’ in wait fer him.”

“But how would they get inside?”

“Dinnae ken. A spy we’ve nae ferreted out, mayhap. Or just the fact that our defenses are weakened with Bard and Adrian out scouting and looking for information on any threats, or people who might have shot that arrow at ye.”

“Bard and Adrian are gone?”

“Aye. At first light this morn.” Ryan’s face was grim. “There’s signs o’ Darren being taken away. Whoever did it kent what they were doing.”

Alayne felt her gut clench in fear and shame. Fear for Darren, and shame because she feared she knew exactly who had attacked him and why.

Donall. Donall knew all the ways their father had used to spy on Clan MacLean. Including the methods by which Darren had been kidnapped once before. The fact that Darren had been attacked inside his own home once again, and kidnapped from it, argued that her brother was likely involved.

She’d known Donall was free, and likely to attack the MacLean clan, and the MacLean laird in particular. And she’d failed to warn anyone, including her husband. Guilt felt as crushing as the weight of the stones of the keep around her.

She’d failed. She should have taken the chance and interrupted his strategy meetings, regardless of how harsh his reaction might have been. Had she done so, he would have known to be on his guard, even within the keep. Instead, she’d let timidity and her own shame put Darren’s life in danger.

“Here now, lass, dinnae be so upset.” Ryan’s voice pulled her from the well of self-recriminations she was drowning in. Alayne realized there were tears streaking her cheeks. Ryan’s comforting hands gripped her shoulders. “He’s likely still alive.”

She blinked up at him through blurred eyes. “What dae ye mean?”

“There’s traces o’ where he was taken, and a trail fer us tae follow. If they’re skilled enough tae attack him and capture him without bein’ detected, then the only reason tae leave a trail is for us tae follow. They want him found.”

“They want us tae come after him?”

“Aye.”

“Then we have tae go. We have tae get him back.”

Ryan shook his head. “Nae quite. I need tae take a group o’ warriors tae go after him. Ye need tae stay here. Darren would kill me twice over if I let ye come tae harm.”

She understood his predicament, but even so, the guilt that filled her would not allow her to sit idly by. If it was Donall who had attacked them, then she was partially to blame. She reached out as Ryan and started to turn away. “I cannae just stay here. I willnae. If ye try tae leave me here, then I’ll simply go on me own.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Ye can track?”

“Nae. And I dinnae ken me way around these lands. So if ye dinnae want me wandering around alone and lost, then ye’ll take me with ye.” She tilted her chin up. “I’ll make it an order from the lady o’ Clan MacLean if I must.”

Ryan heaved out a sigh. “Just… promise me ye’ll stay with the warriors I assign tae ye. Stay back and stay safe, and follow me orders. Otherwise, I’ll have the healer give ye a sleeping potion tae keep ye unconscious until I return with Laird MacLean.”

“I’ll listen tae ye. I just cannae stay here waiting fer news, when me husband is likely in danger.” And when she might be the reason Darren was in danger in the first place, she thought to herself.

Ryan grimaced. “All right. Meet me at the stables. I’ll be assigning two warriors tae guard ye.”

“Aye.” Alayne turned to make her way to her rooms, intent on changing into clothing suitable for riding and outdoor activity in the late winter weather.

“One last thing. If ye’re nae ready when the horses are saddled and the men are gathered, I’ll nae wait for ye.” Ryan stated.

Alayne scoffed. “I’d neither want nor expect ye tae wait fer me, with me husband’s life and health at stake.”

Ryan smiled grimly and turned away. Alayne hurried to the laird’s quarters to change her clothing. She changed as fast as she could, praying as she did so that they would find Darren before it was too late.

She prayed too that the culprit was someone other than Donall.

Darren’s head was throbbing as the first vestige of consciousness crept over his senses. His eyes were too heavy to open, and his body might as well have been a statue for all he could move it, but he could hear voices. They were close by, and somewhat distorted by the dizziness in his head.

Still, he could at least understand the words, even if he couldn’t recognize the speakers by sound alone. “He doesnae look so strong, nae like this.”

“Nae many would. But that’s all the better fer the two o’ us. We’d be in far more trouble if he were capable o’ fighting back.”

“We could kill him. ‘Twould be easy like this.” The voice was vaguely familiar, but his dazed and muddled mind couldn’t figure out who it was.

“Nae a chance. Dinnae even think o’ tryin’ it.”

“Ye’re nae any fun. And why shouldn’t we kill him?”

“Because we’d be in the king’s gaol for murdering a laird. I’ve been there and I’ve nae desire tae return. And I cannae think ye’d want tae return there yerself.”

“Cyprian…”

“Nae. That’s final. Ye cannae kill a laird, nae matter how much ye might want tae. Nae even him.” The second voice - Cyprian’s - was sharp. “We made this plan tae gain money. That’s all we’re after. Money and vengeance. We’ll go nae further than we need tae fer achieving those goals.”

“Ye say that, but ‘tis nae as if anyone would ken our identities. There’s nae witness. Besides…” The second voice - the one that seemed most familiar - was thick with bitterness. “Me faither deserves vengeance fer his unneeded death. Why should I stop short o’ getting that fer him when I have a chance?”

Darren felt his stomach roil with more than the pain in his head. There weren’t that many people who wanted vengeance on him for a murdered father. First and foremost - his wife’s brother, Donall Ranald. But Donall was in prison at the king’s palace.

Who else? He couldn’t think of anyone. That didn’t mean there wasn’t someone else that might have declared a vendetta against him. But then why not do so openly and honorably?

“Stop whinging like a child. Ye’ll soon have enough coin tae appease yer vengeful feelings, and yer faither’s spirit, with plenty tae spare. But we need tae hurry. The guards will be following the trail we left, and they’ll be here soon, I’m thinkin’. Best tae finish up and get out o’ here afore we’re caught.”

“As if we couldnae handle them.” There was scorn in the second voice. “After all, their laird wasnae any trouble.”

“But then they’d ken who ye were. And what would ye be able tae dae then?”

“Och, shut yer mouth. I ken that well enough. Still, ye arenae objecting tae me having me fun, I hope?”

“Nae. So long as we give him another dose afore we leave. We dinnae want tae take any chances. Have yer fun while I check the letter one last time.” Cyprian sounded both amused and resigned, as if he was humoring his partner.

The crack of a fist against his cheekbone rocked Darren’s head back. He was in no shape to respond, much less fight, as someone seized his hair, jerked his head back, and tipped a vial of something down his throat.

His mouth was shut by another fist that cracked his teeth together. Then another blow. And another. Face and body were beaten without any discrimination. Before long, Darren felt himself dragged back into unconsciousness.