Chapter 3

The sight of his home was always a welcome one. Spurred by a mixture of relief and anxiety, Bellamy urged his steed into a gallop across the final stretch of the open moor before they reached the edge of Loch Murdoch.

Ignoring the squeaks of protest coming from behind him and the tightening of the healer's arms around his waist as they thundered forward over the springy, heather-covered earth, he guided his horse onto the stones of the causeway that reached out over the waters and into his family's stronghold.

As the ancient stones of the castle called to him, he felt strength flowing into him—the strength of generations of Murdochs who he was proud to say made up his bloodline.

The party crossed the stone traverse and approached the enormous gates of the high-sided, looming edifice. Shouts came from within, and Bellamy heard the portcullis being raised on its massive chains before the guardhouse gates swung slowly open. Men came out to greet them, hailing their Laird heartily in welcome.

The first to greet him as they rode into the courtyard was Jamie, his brother in all but blood.

"Och, 'tis grand to have ye back!" Jamie exclaimed as Bellamy pulled his horse to a halt before the keep and slid front-wise from the saddle to the cobbles. A stable lad approached and silently took the horse's reins.

"I see ye got what ye wanted," Jamie whispered to Bellamy as the pair embraced and clapped each other on the back in greeting, looking over his shoulder at the woman still seated in the saddle.

"Aye, it's her, all right, and a trial she's been, lad, ye wouldnae believe it," Bellamy whispered back before the pair broke apart. "How's it been while I've been away? Any trouble?" he asked in a more normal tone.

"Nay, quiet as mice," Jamie replied, staring up at the woman again. "Do ye nae think ye should help her down?" he asked, gesturing with his eyes towards her. "Ye dinnae want to upset her too much, or she might refuse to help the bairn," he added, lines of concern appearing on his tan, youthful face.

Bellamy sighed and turned to do as Jamie suggested. "Come on," he told the healer sternly, offering her his arm.

With a haughty glare, she took it, allowing him to help her down to the ground. She smoothed her hair and her skirts, but she kept her chin raised, looking challengingly from him to Jamie.

"This is the healer, Daisy Winfrey," Bellamy said, holding onto her arm and presenting her to Jamie. "Meet Jamie Blair, me man-at-arms and friend," he told her drily.

Jamie smiled at Daisy and then bowed gallantly. "Good day to ye, Daisy. I hope ye had a comfortable journey." He examined her with curiosity in his keen, bright-blue eyes.

For some reason, that irked Bellamy. He frowned, pulling the healer closer to his side. "All right, that'll do for now," he told his friend, but before he could speak further, the healer piped up.

"A comfortable journey?" she scoffed, her tone incredulous. "Do ye nae ken that I was kidnapped and me entire escort murdered by this mad man? He's dragged me here by force! Will ye nae do any—"

Her words became muffled as Bellamy clamped his hand over her mouth. Murmurs came from the gathered crowd, but he ignored them.

"Shut up," he hissed in her ear.

Eventually, she did, but when he took his hand away, she glared at him sulkily, though she remained quiet.

Bellamy turned to Jamie and instructed urgently, "Tell the council I want a meeting right away, will ye? I have things to discuss."

"Aye, I'll round them up. I'll see ye in the council chamber, then," Jamie said. Then, he nodded to the healer. "I hope ye enjoy yer stay here, Daisy, and that I might have the pleasure of yer—"

"Go and do as I bid ye, will ye?" Bellamy snapped, glaring at Jamie warningly.

Jamie just grinned. As he left to go and carry out Bellamy's orders, he looked back at his friend and said, "I've got a feeling things just got interesting around here."

Bellamy ignored him, instead gesturing to the stable lad still holding the horse's reins. "Take him to the stables and give him a good rub down and a feed. Have someone take the box and the bundle in the saddlebags up to me daughter's room immediately," he instructed.

The lad doffed his cap and said, "Aye, M'laird, straight away." He led the horse away to do as he was commanded.

It was when Bellamy looked back at the healer that he first heard it. A whisper, riffling like a soft breeze among those gathered to greet them, his clansfolk, his subjects. As the whisper circulated, growing in strength, he glanced down at her and clearly saw that she could hear it, too. He caught the flash of surprise in her eyes, then, curiously, resignation.

Witch.

Anger at the ignorance of it surged through him, along with a strange instinct to protect the healer.

"Go on, away with ye and go about yer business!" he commanded loudly with a wave of his free hand, clasping her closer to his side.

He strode along, practically carrying her under his arm, making for the mighty doors of the castle keep. One stood open, and he went straight inside, into the great hall, where the double stone staircase wound its way to the several floors above.

He sped up the left side of it.

"Where are ye taking me?" the healer gasped, her feet hardly touching the ground.

Bellamy did not answer, single-mindedly stepping onto the second-floor landing and taking a right turn, into a long, high- ceilinged hallway with a series of doors leading off it. He opened the first door on the left and pushed her into a small but opulently furnished bedchamber. She would be safe there until he needed her.

As she found her feet and whirled to face him, her mouth already opening, he slammed the door shut and locked it. Pocketing the key, he headed back downstairs to meet his councilmen.

"Are ye sure that's her, M'laird? I mean, she's just a wee lassie," Meredith Black asked doubtfully from Bellamy's far left, down the length of the council table.

"Aye, I'm sure. D'ye question me intelligence?" Bellamy demanded irritably from his seat at the head of the table, glaring at his councilman.

Meredith shook his head vigorously. "Nay, M'laird, never! But ye must admit, she looks too young to know much. I want the wee lassie to be cured, but—"

"Be quiet. Listen. I'll tell ye all once more. She's the healer. I told ye I was going to get her, and now she's here. And I want her to start trying to find out what ails me daughter right away."

A soft cough brought Bellamy's attention to his immediate left, to his chief advisor, Donal Fiske.

The tall, whiskery-faced old warrior spoke in a deceptively gentle manner, "Of course, M'laird, I think we all understand the urgency of the matter, and I think I can speak for us all in saying we support ye fully in that." He paused to glance around the table, to be answered by nods and ayes of agreement.

"But?" Bellamy bit out, setting his jaw and drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

"Well, M'laird, we've been hearing certain rumors from the party that returned with ye."

"Ye shouldnae listen to rumors, Donal. Listen to me instead, and ye'll nae go far wrong," Bellamy shot back.

" But, M'laird, these rumors suggest that the lassie hasnae come on her own accord. The men are saying ye kidnapped her, and ye killed her entire escort in the process."

"I dinnae have to explain meself to ye," Bellamy said with some force. "But if ye must ken, we had nae choice. Her escort refused to give her up and then attacked us. We just defended ourselves and brought her back with us."

There were rumblings around the table, and worried glances were exchanged between the councilmen as they contemplated this information. Bellamy watched until, eventually, some sort of consensus appeared to have been reached.

Donal nodded sagely and then turned back to Bellamy. "This is a very serious situation, M'laird, as I'm sure ye're aware," he began. "This healer has very powerful connections. Very powerful, indeed. We dinnae have to remind ye that she's related to three lairds and is, in fact, the daughter of Hudson Winfrey, the former Laird McGunn, one of the most respected lairds to grace our times. Her braither Dominic Winfrey is the current laird—again, a highly respected man with many influential friends. Once her braither finds out what has happened, he will surely retaliate and act to retrieve his sister with all speed."

"I dinnae care about any of that. Me daughter comes first, before anything!" Bellamy burst out, banging his fist on the table, unable to keep his temper in check any longer. He stood up and leaned towards his advisor menacingly. Donal shrank back slightly, but his face remained calm. The others were mute as Bellamy swept them with his eyes.

It did not prevent Donal from driving home his point on the council's behalf. "But the risk is so great, M'laird. Her braither is part of a strong alliance of several Highland clans. Even our good reputation willnae save us from certain destruction when he finds out the truth," he argued.

"It willnae come to that. I have a plan in place to deal with it. And if it does come to a fight, it'll be us who'll be doing the killing," Bellamy growled. "I dinnae care if we have to slaughter every last one of the McGunns, and the O'Reids, and the Rottrichs altogether. Me daughter will have her healer now!"

He waited a few moments for his words to sink in before straightening up and declaring the meeting over. As the worried councilmen shuffled out of the chamber, he heard someone say, "'Tis a big risk he's taking with all of our lives just for the sake of a bastard bairn."

Bellamy flew across the space between them, identifying the voice and grabbing the culprit by the scruff of his neck from amid the huddle.

Lewis Arbroath yelped in surprise as he found himself held in an iron grip and dragged backwards. A blow from a huge fist sent him flying across the table and crashing to the floor on his back. As the man lay gasping and groaning, Bellamy advanced upon him, dragging him up and punching him again.

He would have punched Lewis Arbroath again, and again, if he had not felt Jamie's arm on his own, staying his hand.

"I think ye've made yer point, M'laird," Jamie murmured quietly.

Bellamy threw Lewis bodily to the floor, and the man squirmed and groaned in pain, his face covered with his own blood.

"Never speak about me daughter like that again. In fact," Bellamy added after a short pause, "never speak of her at all."

He strode out of the chamber then, followed by Jamie, leaving the shocked councilmen to deal with the mess. As he and Jamie passed down the corridor to the great hall, the fury that had filled him moments ago began to drain away.

"What was that all about?" Jamie asked him, giving him a sidelong glance.

"Did ye nae hear? The bastard suggested Elodie isnae worth all this trouble because she was born out of wedlock," Bellamy growled, his fury gradually giving way to a feeling of despair.

"Did he, now? Well, he's a damned fool for saying so. He cannae be surprised by yer reaction, then," Jamie said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"He's lucky he's still alive," Bellamy told him. They had reached the bottom of the left-hand stone stairway. They both stopped, and he said, "So, I have something urgent to do. I have to take the healer to see Elodie. But I'll talk to ye later, all right?" Ignoring his friend's look of disappointment, he started up the stairs.

"Have faith!" Jamie called after his retreating figure.

The second Bellamy closed the door behind him and Daisy heard his boots stomp down the hallway, she wasted no time banging on the door and protesting. She immediately whirled on her heel, casting about the chamber for an escape route. But her search was in vain. There was no exit other than the locked door, and there was a drop of about fifty to sixty feet from the window.

Despondent, she crossed to the bed and sat down, her head in her hands. The enormity of her situation threatened to overwhelm her. In an effort to release some of the tension gathering inside her, she got up and began pacing restlessly. Back and forth she went over the plush Turkey carpet, still in her dusty riding boots, unconscious of time passing as she sought to make some order of the thoughts raging in her mind.

Daisy jumped when she heard footsteps approaching down the hallway. The sound was unmistakable.

He's back! Now what?

She ceased her pacing and stared expectantly at the door, trying to look dignified. The latch rose, and the door was thrust sharply inwards, revealing the figure of the Laird of Murdoch filling the doorway with its bulk. Lamps had been lighted in the hallway behind him while she had been sitting in the gloom of the dying day. A nimbus of warm, orangey light framed his powerful figure within the threshold.

Daisy breathed in, feeling as if the air had been knocked out of her lungs. Deep within her belly, something stirred, the same thing that had gripped her back in the woods, when, to her eternal shame, she had wanted him to kiss her, just so she could kiss him and see what it felt like!

She crushed the feeling as he strode into the room, keeping her chin up.

"Why did ye lock me up? Ye're treating me like a prisoner, when I thought we made a deal. I told ye I'll help the bairn without yer bullying," she berated him, fueled by her annoyance at the effect he seemed to have on her.

To her surprise, he did not respond, not even to tell her to shut up. He just glanced around the chamber before crossing to the window in a few strides. He slammed shut the window she had not realized she had left open.

Daisy sensed a change in his mood. At times during their journey, he had seemed almost entertained by her arguing with him. Now, his face was stony, his swarthy jaw set.

He's furious about something.

"What's the matter? Cat got yer tongue?" she bated him, though she fervently wished to know what had happened to alter his mood.

He returned to face her then, taking her by the arm and pulling her gently out of the door and down the hallway.

"I'm taking ye to see me daughter," he said as they came to a set of double doors with a pretty, carved frame. There, he stopped, still gripping her arm, but not hard enough to hurt her.

"All right," she answered as he shouldered open the doors and pulled her inside after him. He shut the doors firmly. Then, he let go of her arm.

Daisy watched with interest as the Laird crossed the chamber in quick strides to the elaborate poster bed that dominated the room. He stopped at the bedside and looked down at the small figure it contained, its face deathly pale and pinched from pain. A pair of small, white hands reached out to him, while large, dark gray eyes fixed upon his face.

"Da! Ye're home. Och, I'm so glad," the little girl cried, her cheeks turning a hectic pink as she tried to lever herself into a sitting position.

Daisy frowned, seeing how the effort seemed to exhaust her, for the little girl fell back on the pillow, out of breath. It was clear she idolized her father.

If only she kenned!

"Aye, lassie, I told ye I'd be home in nae time," the Laird told the little girl, his harsh expression softening into one Daisy recognized with amazement as love. He knelt beside the child, who slipped a tiny hand into his large one. He covered it and gently squeezed. "How are ye feeling?"

"Och, I'm feeling much better, now ye've come to see me, Da!" the girl said, her bloodless lips smiling sweetly in a way that tore at Daisy's heart.

Letting go of the girl's hand, the Laird stood up and stepped back, beckoning to Daisy, who had been silently observing them.

The tenderness he showed to the little girl made it clear to Daisy why he had gone to such lengths to bring her here. The child was precious to him, and her life meant more to him than anything else. Daisy could not help but admire that quality, even in her brutal kidnapper.

Just as she moved towards the bed, a pretty young woman in her mid-twenties, with light-brown hair and navy-colored eyes, wearing a dark-colored dress, appeared from an anteroom with a small vase of buttercups in her hands. She stopped at once, glancing curiously at Daisy. Then, seeing the Laird, she bobbed a curtsey.

"Good evening to ye, M'laird," she greeted, smiling. "Elodie will be so glad to see ye." She placed the vase on the nightstand and said to the girl, "There ye go, me pet. I picked these to bring a little sunshine indoors for ye. Are ye nae happy to see yer Da?"

"Always," Elodie said with a little giggle. "Thank ye for the flowers, Poppy," she added. "Are they nae pretty, Da?" she asked, smiling up at her father.

"They are, me lass, but listen, I have someone important to introduce ye to," the Laird told her. "The healer I promised ye, she's come."