Chapter Nine

"Where is she?" Alasdair demanded again, his sword pointed at his cousin's chest. When Ollie started to push up from the ground, Alasdair shook his head. "Nay, Ollie. Dunnae move."

"Alasdair," Ollie pleaded, but the beseeching desperate tone did nothing to thaw the hard block of betrayal in Alasdair's chest. He could hardly believe the trail he'd tracked had been to his cousin.

"Unless ye have something more to add, I dunnae wish to hear it," Alasdair bit out, and Calan, standing by Alasdair's side, nodded his approval. "Ye betrayed me."

"To keep my head!"

"Ye betrayed me," Alasdair repeated. "We are blood. Ye should have confided in me. Instead, ye used me."

"I did nae plan to use ye."

"Is that supposed to soothe him?" Calan demanded.

Alasdair appreciated the angry disbelief in his friend's voice.

"Nay, but I could nae think what else to do. I was desperate!" Ollie cried.

"Well," Alasdair said, feeling no pity. "I'd say the best thing for ye to do is to make yerself scarce so ye can keep yer head."

"And how am I to continue to earn a living as a mercenary if I make myself scarce?" Ollie demanded.

Alasdair leaned closer to his cousin and held the man's gaze so Ollie could clearly understand his fury. "Ye lied to me. And ye attempted to use me to find a lass whom ye then took from me. Ye ken the dire position the clan is in, and ye did nae care. Ye could have talked to me. I could have tried to aid ye, but ye did nae give me the chance, so I dunnae care how ye earn a living. Dunnae attempt to take the lass from me again. If ye do, ye'll nae see the sun rise in the Highlands the next day. Do ye ken me?"

"Ye've too much honor to kill me."

"I'll nae kill ye, Ollie. I'll give ye to the Dark Riders, and ye and I both ken nary an outsider has ever entered their woods of perpetual night and stepped foot in the sunlight again."

Ollie shivered at the mention of the riders who legend said were truly ghosts of warriors betrayed by loved ones. "If ye near the Dark Rider's domain, they'll take ye, too," Ollie whispered.

"Nay, Ollie," Alasdair said, the truth of the past, of his biggest regret, rising up to curl cold fingers around his chest. "They owe me a life debt, so mark my words, if ye come for her, I will be ready, and I'll take ye straight to the Ghost Woods even if I have her in tow. And there I will leave ye for a life of eternal darkness and servitude to the Dark Riders."

His cousin shrank back from him and stared at him for a long moment, trying, Alasdair was certain, to ascertain if he meant it. Ollie finally nodded. "I'll nae come for her again. I vow it."

"Goodbye, Ollie," Alasdair said, rising. He turned, and without looking back, he strode to his horse and mounted it as Calan mounted his.

Calan looked at Alasdair. "Where to?"

"We'll go back to her home," Alasdair said.

Calan frowned. "Ye think the lass foolish enough to return to her da's house?"

"Nae foolish," Alasdair replied. An image of the lass as he'd first seen her came unbidden to his mind. Eyes lit with determination. Confidence in her expression. A delicate appearance in body contrasted by her wild abundance of molten hair. And then another image of her hit as she spoke of her sister. Love had shone in her eyes. "She'll go back to protect her sister. It dunnae matter the cost to her."

"Ye like her," Calan said, matter-of-fact.

"I admire her," Alasdair corrected.

"That dunnae bode well for what ye must do."

"Nay," Alasdair said with a sigh, "it does nae."

Sorcha pointed the dagger at her father as he swayed with his normal overabundance of mead. Her sister stood on the threshold of the inn. The door was open so that Sorcha could see the sky had darkened. That black night fit her current mood. "Why did ye nae tell me who I really was?" she demanded again.

"I already told ye," her father said, his words slurring. "I dunnae ken who ye are other than the burden Martha convinced me years ago to take on."

Sorcha flinched at her father's cruel words. "If I'm such a burden" she said, her eyes stinging mercilessly with the need to cry, "why did ye nae rid yerself of me when mama died?"

Her father let out a loud belch and then a hiccup. "Because yer mama was right. Ye saved me coin with all the different jobs ye do around here."

"Do ye even love me at all?" she asked, tears blurring her vision. She hated that she'd asked the question, but she needed to hear the answer. He was not her father, and she'd known that for as long as she could remember, but he was the closest thing she'd had for a father, terrible one or not, and she'd loved him in that way that children had for their parents no matter how horrid they were. Her desire to flee him and life under his cruelty had not meant she didn't hold any love for him, and that meant her heart was still vulnerable, even after all the wounds he'd inflicted upon it. In this moment, her heart ached so badly she wanted to press her hands to it. Instead, she curled her fingers tighter around the hilt of the dagger she held.

"Enough of this wickedness, Sorcha," he growled. "Put down that dagger, and ye need to get to work. I dunnae ken where ye have been, but dishes have piled up, washing needs tending, the rushes need refreshing—"

"Da!" Ada interrupted, stomping her foot on the ground. "Sorcha was taken! Dunnae ye even care? Dunnae ye have a loving bone in yer body?"

He swept his dull gaze over Sorcha and Ada. "Taken? Who the devil would take Sorcha?" her father asked, frowning at her. "Ye've a right sassy mouth on ye, ye're far too opinionated, and ye do men's things like shooting. The only men who want ye are those who want to bed ye. So, were ye bedded?"

Sorcha's cheeks heated, and behind Ada, Dougray suddenly appeared. He distracted her just enough that before she knew what was happening, her father kicked her in the hand and knocked the dagger from her grip. It clattered to the ground. He bent down, surprisingly swift for his mead-heavy state, and came up to point it at her. He stepped toward her and slid the dagger down her right sleeve and slit it open.

Her heart sank at the glee in his eyes. "I heard the strangest whisperings," he said, moving his gaze to hers. "I heard a lass was being searched for," he said. "It's all the chattering down at the market. They said Laird Stewart had offered a great amount of coin for the return of his lost sister. Imagine my surprise when I heard her description, and when I heard she carries the brand ye do and is missing a toe just like ye. I ken who ye are now, Margaret Stewart, and there is nae anything I ken about more."

She blinked at the tears that had begun spilling from her eyes as she looked at the man who had hurt her mother so many times with cruel words, lashes, and smacks across the face. "I ken who ye are, too," she said. "Ye're the poorest excuse for a man the gods ever created."

Her father's hand connected with her right cheek with so much force that she spun before falling to the ground. Ada and Dougray were by her side helping her up, even as she grabbed at the edge of her skirt to stop the flow of blood from her lip.

"Step away, Ada," her da snarled. Sorcha knew that angry tone of his, and when it was mixed with a belly full of mead, that meant danger. "She's got a lashing coming for daring to point a dagger at me."

"I'd nae do that, sir," came Dougray's voice from the doorway where Ada had been standing. She looked to the aged stablemaster. His dark eyes and heavy lids were in slits and his lip curled back from his teeth in a half snarl. She had always thought he'd never liked her father, but it seemed apparent now in the daggers Dougray's eyes shot him. He held up a piece of foolscap with torn, yellowed edges on three sides and on the other a corner was burnt. "I do nae think the Laird of Stewart would care to hear ye lashed his sister," Dougray said and locked gazes with Sorcha.

It took her a moment to get over the initial shock that he knew who she was, but then she swallowed and said, "How?" When Dougray started toward them while extending the aged missive in his hands, she felt certain she was about to get her answers.

"Halt there, Dougray," her da barked, turning the dagger on Dougray. "If ye think I'm letting ye get the coin for Margaret Stewart," he said, drawing out the name to make it sound of ridiculously exaggerated importance, "ye'd be mistaken. I'll kill ye first. Hand over the missive," her father demanded.

"Nay," Dougray said, but heeded her father and stopped. "I've done enough evil when it comes to the lass." Dougray looked to her, and she sucked in a sharp breath at the remorse in his eyes. "This missive," shaking the missive clutched in his hands, "was written, I think, by the man who brought ye here. The bottom edge of the missive was burnt years ago, so his signature is gone, but it speaks of a young lass he's charged with saving and it's written to his sister, who, as misfortune would have it, he did nae ever name. But he says the wee lassie possesses red hair, and eyes of a stormy sky, blues and silver streaked through—"

Dougray paused, and Sorcha blinked at the tears that had spilled from her eyes and down her cheeks. "Shall I continue?"

"Aye," she replied and her da for once in his life was silent. She supposed he wanted to hear the contents as well.

"It speaks of yer missing toe and talks of the brand L3 that ye possess, and that the man gave it to ye, much to his dismay, on order of yer da, Laird Stewart, so that there would be a hope of finding ye someday. Yer da was trying to protect ye and ensure he could bring ye back to him." Sorcha traced a finger over the exposed brand on her upper arm. She was Margaret Stewart, and she was Sorcha. So much emotion rose in her, she found it impossible to speak. Margaret was who she should have been. She tried to imagine that life, no doubt a kinder one, but she would never have known her mama or Ada, and that she could not imagine, even with all the hardship and heartache that had come with being Sorcha MacGregor. Knowing who she was did not change the fact that she did not want to return to the Stewart stronghold and be forced to wed a stranger. But that was exactly what the current Laird Stewart, her brother, intended.

She swallowed repeatedly and found her voice as she stared at Dougray. Her father had moved to the side of her, his hand gripping her arm like a vise, and the dagger pointed toward Dougray. Behind Dougray stood Ada, eyes wide and lips parted. Sorcha had told her sister all that had happened since she'd been taken, but Ada looked as shocked as Sorcha felt about the missive.

"How did ye come by this missive?" her da demanded in a ruthless tone that told her his anger had risen to great heights. She tried to pull away from him, but he increased his grip so tightly that she whimpered.

Dougray's attention flicked to Sorcha's father and then came back to Sorcha. "Yer mama threw it in the fire, but I pulled it out."

"That woman was a fool!" her da bellowed so loudly that Sorcha jumped and tried once more to tug away, but her da shoved her, sending her flying sideways into a chair. She fell over it with a thud, landing hard on her hip and making stars dance in her eyes. Sorcha let out a moan and squeezed her eyes shut on the shooting pain in her hip, but when her sister screamed, Sorcha jerked her eyes open once more.

Dougray was staggering before her with the dagger in his chest. Her da had stabbed Dougray! "Da!" she cried out in horror, and pushed up with her palms to stand, despite the throbbing pain, but her da was over her, yanking her up even before she gained her feet. Above him, Ada was pounding on his shoulder. Finally, he released Sorcha long enough to shove Ada with the same strength he had Sorcha. Ada went flying backward, tripping over the overturned chair Sorcha had knocked down in her fall, and Ada hit the ground with a groan.

Sorcha moved to run, but her da grabbed her by the arm once more. "Ye are going to make me rich!" he yelled. "I kinnae ken why yer foolish mama kept this secret from me, but I'm getting the coin that is due me."

"Sorcha, ye must fight him!" Ada screamed from behind her, because her father was dragging her out of the inn. She was no match for his strength in his rage. She glanced behind her to see Dougray on his knees trying to remove the dagger and Ada trying to gain her feet.

Her da pulled her across the dirt like a sack of grain, cursing her mother as he went. It shocked her just how devastating it felt to know that he had no love for her at all in his heart. Her arms were too heavy to lift, and any words of protest were lodged in her throat. She'd been telling herself for so long that she did not care that he didn't love her, that she'd almost convinced herself it was true. But it wasn't, and she had known in the woods that it wasn't.

Inside her, there had been a sliver of hope that someday the man who was supposed to be her father, supposed to protect her from all and love her, would somehow show her some gesture, mayhap even stand up for her, and show her love.

"Da!" Ada screamed, suddenly there pounding on their father's back. "Ye kinnae take my sister away!"

"She's nae yer sister!" their father bellowed back. "She's been a burden all her life, and now she will finally bring me the coin yer mama vowed to me she would!" he bellowed, and each word was like a knife jabbing in Sorcha's gut.

"Da, nay!" Ada cried out and grabbed at his arm.

Their father shoved her away so hard that Ada hit the ground with a thud and a cry of pain. That did it. That snapped Sorcha out of her stupor.

"Let me go!" she shouted, flailing her arms as Ada scrambled to her feet.

"Let her go!" Ada yelled as well. She attempted to grab their father's arm again, but he backhanded her to the ground once more.

"Ye filthy swine!" Sorcha roared. She twisted in his grip and broke his hold long enough to step back and kick him in the shin. The back of his hand connected with her lip and split it open again. She doubled over with a cry of real fear. She stared at the dirt as blood filled her mouth, and she spat it out. To her left, Ada was still lying on her back. Tears leaked out of her sister's eyes, and even in the twilight, Sorcha could make out the bloom of a bruise and swelling on Ada's left cheek. Sorcha spat more blood out as her thoughts tumbled and landed on Alasdair. It was funny that she'd had more faith in a man she'd just met than she did her own father.

She breathed in quick, shallow gasps as a distant rumbling seemed to reach her, but she did not look up to see who approached. It mattered not. She took in her sister once more and knew what she needed to do. "If I come with ye willingly, will ye let Ada go and give her the dowry to wed Hamish?"

"Aye, aye," her da assured her.

She didn't believe him, but what choice did she have? Besides, he was going to drag her there no matter what, and at least once there, she could refuse to say the vows unless her brother, the Stewart laird, gave her sister the dowry she needed.

"Dunnae believe him, Sorcha!" Ada cried out, moving to get up, but her da shoved her down once more.

"Touch that lass or her sister ever again, and I'll kill ye," came a familiar voice from above Sorcha.

She jerked up, took in Alasdair standing behind her father with his sword drawn and pointing at him, and her jaw fell open. Behind him stood Dougray, dagger removed, holding his tunic to his wound.

Her father swung toward Alasdair and then staggered backward, likely at the sight of the sword pointed at him. "Who the devil are ye?"

"I'm Margaret's protector, that's who the devil I am."

Protector? She narrowed her eyes at him. "Ye're nae my protector! Ye're here to drag me to Laird Stewart to gain coin."

He scowled. "Well, I'm currently protecting ye from this sorry excuse for a man," Alasdair replied.

That was true enough. From what she'd seen of Alasdair so far, he was not the sort of man who would raise a hand to a lass, and this was not his first time protecting her. Contradicting emotions flooded her. She was both sad and grateful that a stranger defended her from her own father.

"'Tis my daughter! Ye've nae any right to interfere."

"Oh, so now I'm yer daughter, am I?" Sorcha said, incensed. "A breath ago ye were dragging me off to a brother I dunnae even ken for coin! And ye!" She pointed at Dougray. She looked up at him and demanded, "Why did ye nae ever tell me who I was?"

"Well, ye were just a wee bairn at first, and yer mama threatened to have me hanged by telling yer da I had stolen." When her lips parted in shock that her mother would do such a thing, Dougray held up his hand and shook it. "I was vexed at first, too, but that woman loved ye with all her heart, and so later I did nae ever say anything because I could nae tear ye away from her. Then when she was gone, I was nae going to take ye from Ada. Besides that, I kenned yer mama and yer da had died, yer da—Laird Stewart—had been branded a traitor, so it was nae good for ye to return anyway. I am sorry. I did what I thought was right," he finished, handing her the aged missive.

She took the thin paper in her hand and looked down at it, disappointed to see that the writing was hardly legible anymore, as the years had done their damage to the ink. She folded it and put in into the pocket of her skirts to read what she could of it later.

"I did nae ken of yer brother returning until I heard yer da bellowing about it," Dougray said with sad eyes. "When I saw ye sneak back into the inn, I immediately retrieved the missive, and then I came upon all of ye here."

"Do ye recall anything from the night I was brought here?" she asked.

"Yer da was upstairs, I do believe, near asleep with the drink." Sorcha and Ada both snorted at that, and their da made a derisive noise. "A man brought ye here with him. He was sorely injured."

"What did he look like?" Alasdair asked.

Dougray stared out into the night, as if trying to recall. "Bald headed. Dark eyes."

"I imagine that would have been Archibald Stewart, stablemaster to Laird Stewart back then."

"Ye kenned him?" she asked Alasdair.

"Nay me. My da, and my da was a great storyteller. He was verra descriptive."

She nodded at the explanation and said, "Anything else, Dougray?"

"I aided yer mama in getting him inside, and later, I aided yer mama in getting his body out of the inn when yer da was asleep so he'd nae ken the man had died in the inn."

"What?" Sorcha's father bellowed. "Martha told me he rode off into the night."

"'Cause she knew how superstitious ye were about ghosts," Dougray answered before looking at Sorcha once more. "I'm sorry, Sorcha, I mean Margaret, I suppose."

She understood his confusion for she felt it acutely. "Sorcha," she said. "Call me Sorcha. I may have been named Margaret at birth, but I kinnae simply think of myself as Margaret because of that."

She closed the distance between herself and Dougray and gave the man's hand a squeeze. "Ye did what ye thought best. I dunnae ken these Stewarts, except to ken the laird wants me back to use me, just as men with any hope for power always wish to use women."

"Ye're mine to take, and that coin is mine to receive!" her father burst out. "I could have a serving wench and a decent cook for that money instead of ye!" The harsh reality of his words and the truth that he thought nothing more of her than a servant, brought tears to her eyes once more and sent them spilling down her cheeks.

"I dunnae ken why this should cause such an ache in my heart," she murmured, pressing her palm flat against her chest. She stared at her father, willing him to take back his words, willing the man she'd served hand and foot for as long as she could remember to show her some thread of love, but he simply stared back. "I dunnae ken why I'm surprised. I ken well that men care only for how women can be used for their benefit, never giving a thought to their wellbeing."

"That's nae true," came Alasdair's voice from her left.

She slowly turned to look at him. The man was too pleasing to look at by half, and if her heart didn't ache so, she might have enjoyed it, but now it angered her. He angered her. Well, his words did.

"Nay?" she spat.

"Nay," he repeated, his tone one that threatened to lure her into the foolish hope of believing in a man. "I would have given my life for my wife's without a thought for myself, but she is gone."

"How lucky she was in life, then," she said, refusing to soften. No one had ever been soft to her, after all. She saw him flinch, and it gave her a sinful pleasure. "I've nae ever met such a rare selfless man in my life, including ye." Guilt tugged at her, but she shoved back mercilessly. "Ye are here to collect me against my will and trade me for coin. Unless ye have changed yer mind and are willing to sacrifice yer own selfish wants for the good of myself and my sister?"

He flinched again, and then he stared at her for a long, silent moment that was finally broken by her father. "Ye may take Sorcha, as she is nae my real daughter, but by the gods, ye will nae take Ada from me. She stays with me! I need someone here to care for me, to cook, to clean, to—"

Sorcha slapped him, and when he drew back to return her hit, Alasdair caught his forearm. "I'll cut off that hand if it touches her face."

"Oh, ye can protect my sister in this moment," Sorcha said as Ada began to cry beside her, "but what of her when ye have taken me away? Who will protect her then? Who will see to it that she can wed the man she loves? Nae him!" she spat out, pointing an accusing finger at her father.

Alasdair reached to his thigh and pulled a dagger from a sheath. And as he brought it up, she gasped at the jewels sparkling on it. "This dagger is worth a fortune," he said, turning to Ada. "I want ye to have it and use it as the dowry ye need to wed the man ye love." He held it out to Ada, but she simply stared at the outstretched offering as she sniffled.

"Alasdair," Calan started, but Alasdair silenced him with a look that Sorcha suspected would silence any man.

"I would rather ye leave my sister," Ada said, and the love Ada showed Sorcha created a huge lump in her throat.

Alasdair's shoulder's fell, and he said, "I kinnae do that." He looked between the two of them. "I'm sorry."

"Aye," Sorcha said bitterly. "I'm worth more to ye than the dagger."

A hard look settled on his face. "Nae personally ye're nae, but I serve the needs of others, nae myself."

She scoffed at that but turned to her sister. "Take it, and be wed with my blessing and love, and ask the gods to bring us together again someday." The tears spilled faster over the rims of her eyes, matching the flow of her sister's. "Go now," she urged Ada. "Make haste to Hamish, for I dunnae trust Da to let ye go once I've been taken away."

Ada hugged Sorcha fiercely. "I dunnae want to part with ye."

"Nor I with ye," Sorcha replied. She hugged Ada for a long moment, but when she saw Alasdair and Calan exchange a look, she suspected her time here was drawing rapidly to an end. "Go!" she ordered, pushing her sister gently away. Ada lingered for a moment and then, sobbing, took the dagger, turned on her heel, and fled into the darkness.

When Sorcha could see her no more, she looked between Alasdair and her da. "'Twas always a wonder to me why any woman would willingly wed and give control of her fate to a man, but more the fool am I, because even unwed women only have control of their fate until a man comes along and robs them of it." With that, she brushed past her da and Alasdair, marched over to his horse, who'd tried to bite her earlier, and surprised herself by mounting him without hesitation. She vowed not to speak one word to Alasdair MacLachlan unless it was a matter of life or death, and if it was his death, the man had better not look to her for protection.