Chapter 17

“We cannae find any sign o’ the men.”

Domnhall was reaching the end of his rope. He sat in his study behind his desk, head tipped back and eyes closed as he rubbed them with his thumbs, trying to stave off the headache he could already feel creeping in. He couldn’t understand how no one seemed to know who had attacked the castle or what they wanted. With all the security measures they had taken, with all the precautions, somehow they had still been outsmarted by the enemy.

Of course, the leading theory was that the attackers were Ferguson’s men, and Domnhall was quite convinced of it himself. They didn’t have any proof, though, since even those who had seen the attackers had no idea who they were.

“Are ye sayin’ they are gone already?” Domnhall asked.

Around him, the men of his council shifted uncomfortably. Cormac and Laird Robertson were there, too, though they both stood at the back of the large room, observing quietly.

“So it seems,” Hugo said, taking over. Domnhall had no doubt his friend knew just how agitated this attack had made him and was now trying to spare the others from an outburst. Whether he would succeed or not was an entirely different story. Domnhall had assembled this council choosing the men he had found most efficient, most knowledgeable, but now they were all letting him down.

“What did they want, then?” Domnhall asked. “Why would they leave after injurin’ a dozen men? What good did that do?”

No one had an answer for him, not even Hugo, who only shook his head slightly, not knowing what to say.

Not only was Domnhall’s clan under attack by an unknown enemy who could strike again at any moment, but now Laird Robertson and Cormac would surely think he was incompetent. This attack had come at the worst possible moment, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it had been planned specifically for this.

But why would Ferguson attack simply tae make the Robertsons think I’m a bad leader?

The Robertsons had no claim to the MacAuley Clan, nor would they support Ferguson in his attempts to take the lairdship for himself. Humiliating Domnhall couldn’t have been Ferguson’s goal.

The sound of the door opening wide made everyone in the room turn around to see Elsea standing there, panting as she tried to catch her breath. She said nothing as she crossed the room and handed Domnhall a note she had crumpled in her fist, but her entire body was shaking, her eyes wide and fearful.

It was signed by Ferguson, and Domnhall’s blood ran cold as he read it. He had Billie, the note told him, and he demanded that Domnhall meet him at the specified location with gold in exchange for Billie’s life. Domnhall read it again and again, and with every repetition, another bead of sweat formed on his temple, bile rising to the back of his throat.

How did he take her? How did this happen?

“I found it pinned on my door,” Elsea said, voice trembling. “At… at the cottage.”

“Domnhall,” Hugo said, his voice gentle as he approached. He must have seen how the blood rushed away from his face, leaving him pale and shaking. With careful fingers, he plucked the note from Domnhall’s hand and read it, clenching his teeth once he was finished.

Hugo turned to address the room. “We have a situation.”

Billie’s arms and legs ached, and the air was cool around her, a breeze blowing in her face. For a moment, she wondered how there could be a breeze in her chambers, but when she opened her eyes, she realized she wasn’t in her chambers at all.

There was nothing but the green of the grass and the blue of the sky around her, cloudless and sunny. She tried to sit up and take in her surroundings, only to see that she was bound with rope, her wrists behind her back, her ankles tied together. She must have been left there, on the ground, for a long time if the pain in her joints and muscles was any indication, with no regard for her comfort or her well-being.

When Billie looked up, she saw there were several men around her, though she had no idea if they were the same ones who had taken her. The memories of the previous night came back to her slowly, first the attack, then offering to fetch the flowers for Elsea. It had been foolish, going out there all alone, but she had never suspected someone would grab her from inside the castle walls. Even with the commotion after the attack, she had thought herself safe, imagining it impossible for any enemy soldiers to infiltrate the walls so easily.

And yet there she was now, bound with no chance of escape, in the middle of nowhere, her only company some men who were surely using her to get to Domnhall.

They must be the same people I saw in the town. The ones who were questionin’ the locals.

The one she had talked to must have realized who she was. That had been reckless, too, talking to a stranger and trying to find out more about what they were doing in that town, but once again, she had been lulled into a false sense of security after Domnhall had assigned so many guards to protect her and Abigail. How could she have ever expected she would end up like this, nothing but a tool to get Domnhall’s enemy closer to him?

“She’s awake,” a voice called and Billie looked up to see one of the men scrutinizing her. Before she knew it, two pairs of hands grabbed her and pulled her upright, so she was face to face with an older man, tall and broad, his grey hair gathered at his nape. She winced, just as much from the pain in her limbs as from the cruel, cold gaze with which he regarded her, as if she was less significant than even an ant.

Billie wasn’t used to such cruelty. She had heard of it, in her sisters’ stories, but she had never encountered it herself, and now it made her falter, not knowing what to do.

“Billie Robertson,” the man said with an empty smile. “Or I suppose I should call ye Lady MacAuley now. Tell me, dae ye enjoy bein’ the King’s pawn?”

Billie’s first instinct was to point out she was no one’s pawn. She had chosen this for herself, and she didn’t regret agreeing to the marriage with Domnhall. She could do a lot of good by his side. She could help people.

But that was precisely what the man wanted to hear—or perhaps he expected her to cry and beg and tell him she never wanted any of this. Either way, she had no intention of showing even a hint of weakness in front of him.

He must be Blaine Ferguson.

The description of the man matched the one who stood in front of her, and he was the only one, as far as Billie knew, who had a motive to treat her this way. So, this was the enemy Domnhall had been talking about. This was the man who thought he had a claim to the MacAuley clan more than Domnhall did.

Billie said nothing. She only stared at the man, standing still and silent before him.

He let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I would advise ye tae answer me when I ask ye a question,” he said. “I dinnae have patience fer wee lasses like yerself.”

Once again, Billie said nothing. Before her, Ferguson’s face morphed into a mask of rage, his lip curling to reveal his teeth like a snarling animal.

“I asked ye a question,” he said, and as he spoke, he raised his hand only to bring it down once more, striking Billie across the face with such force that hers was thrown to the side. The slap left her reeling, as painful as it was unexpected, and it took Billie a few moments to recover from it. She grit her teeth through the pain and faced Ferguson once more, narrowing her eyes as she looked at him—challenging him.

The second slap was expected but no less painful for it. The crack of his palm on her cheek echoed in the emptiness around them. From the corner of her eye, Billie saw the soldiers frozen around them, none of them knowing what to do.

How much could Ferguson truly do to her? Surely, he couldn’t keep hitting her forever, nor could he hurt her to the point of death. She was of no value to him dead. If he wanted Domnhall, he had to keep her alive, and Billie simply had to wait and hope Domnhall would come.

“I bet ye’re very pleased with yerself,” Ferguson said. “But it doesnae matter. We’ll see how long ye’ll last.”

Ferguson raised his hand once more and Billie braced herself for the blow that was to come. Before Ferguson could hit her once more, though, a voice cut through the air, accompanied by a set of hooves.

“Stop! It’s me ye want.”

Billie turned to see Domnhall there, just at the edge of the hill where the path sloped down. In his hand, he was holding a pouch, showing it to Ferguson.

“I have the gold,” Domnhall said. “Let Billie go an’ I will give it tae ye.”

Billie glanced from Domnhall back to Ferguson. The satisfaction in his eyes told her it wouldn’t be so easy.

There had been nothing for Domnhall to do other than give Ferguson what he wanted. Even if he used the gold to build an army, Domnhall would have to deal with that when the time came. For now, his only desire was to save Billie, and to take her back from Ferguson before the man could hurt her.

His council had been against it, but Domnhall hadn’t listened. He had only grabbed the gold along with Hugo, Cormac, and Laird Robertson, and the four of them had made the ride to the hill near the castle, where Ferguson had told them to meet him. Ferguson didn’t know the land as well as Domnhall, though. The moment he had returned from France, Domnhall had made sure to learn the terrain, to know all its advantages and disadvantages, and the place Ferguson had chosen had many hidden pitfalls. Even as he appeared to be alone, his three companions waited in hiding, ready to spring into action if Ferguson decided not to hold up his end of the bargain.

There were about a dozen men with him, Domnhall counted. Surely, he had brought more, but whether they were hiding in the woods or they were otherwise occupied, he didn’t know. As it were, the odds were certainly not in his favor, but perhaps they could still get out of this if they fought their way out, though Domnhall would have preferred a peaceful exchange.

Everyone turned to look at him when he spoke, but his own eyes saw only Billie. Though her cheek was reddened by Ferguson’s mistreatment, she seemed otherwise unharmed and relief washed over him at seeing her face. In the short time it had taken him to gather the gold and prepare for the short trip to the hill, his mind had managed to conjure up all sorts of terrible and unlikely scenarios, but it kept circling back to the same thing: making it to the hill only to find Billie dead. Even if he had known that Ferguson couldn’t kill her if he wanted the gold, he hadn’t been able to get the image out of his head and it had almost driven him crazy with concern.

“Laird MacAuley,” Ferguson said with such contempt that Domnhall almost flinched, as if his words were a physical blow. He had never understood why Ferguson hated him so much, why all this seemed to be more personal than a simple territory dispute. “I’m very glad tae see ye here.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Domnhall said as he dismounted his horse. He approached Ferguson’s party, but didn’t get too close to any of them, no matter how much he wanted to run to Billie. It would be unwise to put them both in danger. “I have the gold. Let Billie go an’ I will give it tae ye.”

For a moment, Ferguson seemed to consider it, as if that wasn’t precisely what he wanted. “The gold first, then the lass.”

Domnhall shook his head. “How can I trust ye tae release her if I give ye the gold?”

Ferguson looked around at his men, then at Billie, who hadn’t moved a muscle since Domnhall’s arrival. After some hesitation, he motioned to his men to release her, and two of them worked on cutting the ropes off her wrists and ankles, finally setting her free.

The moment she could run, Billie rushed to Domnhall, who pulled her behind him, though that provided her with little more safety. It was more to reassure himself, to feel her, solid and alive under his hands.

“The gold now,” Ferguson demanded. Domnhall braced himself, though he resisted the urge to reach for his sword. He knew there was a chance he was walking into a trap, but the more hostile he appeared, the more inclined Ferguson’s men would be to attack, even if all he truly wanted was the gold.

He walked slowly towards Ferguson, his wary gaze flitting from one man to the next as he tried to see if any of them were preparing for an attack. Their gazes were just as wary, as if they, too, expected an attack.

Once he was close enough to Ferguson to hand him the pouch of gold, Domnhall came to a halt. “I hope it was worth it,” he said, as he tossed it to him.

Ferguson caught the pouch, then handed it to one of his men without even looking inside. “It was.”

The attack came swiftly, but Domnhall was ready for it. Ferguson had his sword in his hand within moments, swinging it at Domnhall, but Domnhall was fast enough to jump out of harm’s way. He pulled his own sword out of its sheath, but Ferguson’s men circled him, three of them attacking at the same time. He parried blow after blow, the clang of their swords defeating in the quiet of the hill, but in the commotion, a fist connected with his jaw, making him stumble backwards and almost lose his balance.

Coward… he willnae fight me himself.

It didn’t take long for the soldiers to thin out. Beside him, Hugo, Cormac, and Laird Robertson had joined the fight, the four of them against all of Ferguson’s men. A few soldiers lay dead on the ground, but there were still too many of them.

Even if they could fight them and win, Domnhall was more concerned about Billie than defeating Ferguson right there and then. As long as she was there, she was in danger, and Domnhall couldn’t let anything happen to her.

“Retreat!” he called to the other three, but just as he spoke, another solider hit him on the side of the head. For a moment, Domnhall was disoriented and his enemy’s sword grazed his arm, but he quickly recovered from the blow. Stepping to the side, he swung his sword with a grunt, steel hitting steel. The force of his strike forced the other man to step back, though, losing his footing, and Domnhall took the opportunity to pierce him with his blade, killing him instantly.

He didn’t wait to see if the others heeded his order before he rushed to Billie. Domnhall knew he must have made for a frightening sight, covered in sweat and blood, but Billie didn’t seem scared at all. If anything, she looked relieved to see him, and the two of them jumped on his horse with Billie at the reins.

“Go!” Laird Robertson called when the two of them hesitated. He, along with Hugo and Cormac, were trying to retreat, heading back towards the woods. Though Domnhall knew Hugo could lead them to safety, he was still reluctant to leave them there. “Go, now!”

Her father’s order, though, was all Billie needed to put the horse into motion, taking the two of them away from the battlefield. As they rode away, Domnhall looked over his shoulder at Ferguson, standing aside, watching the two of them.

No, not the two of them, Domnhall realized. He was watching Billie.