Chapter 25

Kinloch, Loch Rannoch, Perthshire

February 26, 1757

“ M ind the dung, miss,” instructed Aileen as she handed the reins of her horse to MacLagan. “Ye dinna want yer boots and riding habit to get mucky.”

“Thank you.” Sarah, who’d already dismounted with MacLagan’s assistance, neatly sidestepped the fresh pile in the middle of the half-frozen muddy square that was most probably the village green—at least, in the summer.

When Sarah had heard that Blackloch’s resident housekeeper was going to visit the village to make a few purchases for the castle’s cook, she’d asked to come along, too. Alex had been away from Blackloch for two whole days, and to take her mind off missing him—not only did she yearn for his company, but quite shockingly, his lovemaking—she’d thought a tour of Kinloch would be just the diversion she needed.

It would also help her to stop worrying about Aunt Judith who must be sick with worrying about her…

Now that she was free, Sarah was eager to send word to her aunt explaining she was safe, along with an invitation to join both her and Alex at Blackloch Castle. Alex had promised that upon his return, he would dispatch a courier to both Linden Hall and to Charles Swindon’s office in Newcastle to make sure Judith learned of her whereabouts. Even though Alex had been fairly certain Malcolm would no longer be at Tay House, he was quite understandably reluctant to send a message there.

Home . Sarah still couldn’t quite believe Blackloch and the village of Kinloch would indeed be that place rather than Tay House or Taymoor Castle. How remarkable it was that her life had completely changed course in such a short space of time.

Trying to ignore the curious glances of a pair of red-coated dragoons riding past, and a dour-faced woman tending a small patch of garden in front of her cottage, Sarah picked up her red wool skirts and followed Aileen toward a cluster of neat, gray stone buildings with thatched roofs set against the imposing backdrop of a towering craggy hill. It was an overcast, frosty day and the hill’s peak was lost in a blanket of dark cloud. Sarah hoped it wouldn’t rain on the return journey to Blackloch.

“The master has worked miracles here, Miss Lambert,” said Aileen when she caught up to the servant. Her mouth had lifted at one corner into a rare smile, and her gray-green eyes shone with pride. They’d paused by the window of a small building that looked like a shop for general purchases. “Och, only a few years ago, this place was as wild as could be, despite the dragoons’ barracks. The master has worked verra hard with the dragoon captain, the factor of the forfeited Robertson estate, and the new pastor and his wife, to make the countryside a wee bit more civilized. Over there”—Aileen pointed with one gnarled finger across the green to a larger building with wide wooden doors—“is the blacksmith’s and the wheelwright’s. Next door is the mason’s. And behind the trees, closer to the river, is a schoolhouse. The pastor’s wife has also been teaching the crofters’ wives to spin and weave. One day the master hopes there’ll even be a mill, a tailor, dressmaker, and shoemaker here. He also has plans underway to build a better bridge across the Tummel and a fine new kirk on the other side. All for the villagers.”

“That is indeed wonderful,” agreed Sarah with a smile. Her chest swelled with pride to think the man she loved had such a great sense of philanthropy and social responsibility. Unlike Malcolm...

She pushed thoughts of the blackguard and the havoc he’d wrought aside as she followed Aileen into the small shop. The housekeeper was greeted warmly by the stooped, gray-bearded shopkeeper. He stood behind a long wooden counter piled high with all manner of odds and ends including jars of sweetmeats, several large wheels of cheese, and a wooden crate of vegetables. Aileen introduced him as Mr. Reid.

The elderly Mr. Reid studied Sarah with interest. “We dinna get ladies as bonnie as you visiting Kinloch verra often,” he remarked in a voice cracked with age. He suddenly winked. “Are ye staying up at the castle then? As a guest of Mr. Price?”

Sarah blushed but before she could respond, Aileen shot a sharp glare at him.

“Mr. Reid!” she admonished. “Where are yer manners, man?”

“Och, I’m sorry, lass. It’s just that many of us from around these parts have been hopin’ our laird will settle down with a wife. ‘Twould be a braw thing indeed to see some wee bairns at Blackloch.” He winked again, but this time at Aileen. “Just like in the old days, eh, Mrs. Dobson?”

“Aye, it would indeed,” agreed Aileen. Quite unexpectedly, she cast a rather knowing but friendly smile Sarah’s way, and Sarah felt her blush deepen. It seemed her erstwhile jailer was warming to the idea that an Englishwoman, one formerly betrothed to her master’s nemesis, was going to be the next mistress of Blackloch Castle. Considering that her daughter Isla had clearly resented her, Sarah was both grateful and relieved to discover Aileen bore her no ill will.

Aileen made her purchases—a cone of sugar, a small quantity of soft soap, and two dozen fat beeswax candles—and once she’d arranged for the delivery of several sacks of oats, barley, and flour to the castle, they returned to where MacLagan waited with their horses on the edge of the green.

The weather had changed whilst they’d been inside Mr. Reid’s shop. Although it was only early afternoon, a freezing fog had rolled in, obscuring the view of the loch and completely hiding the peak of Fairy Hill. As they clattered across the bridge at the southern edge of Loch Rannoch, heading toward the Black Wood with its massive ancient pines and birches, Sarah really wished she’d thought to wear her cloak. The distance from Kinloch to Blackloch Castle was seven miles, so it would take them almost an hour to trot all the way back, especially in thick fog. With any luck, the inclement weather wouldn’t delay Alex’s return. She rather hoped he might be home by nightfall.

Sarah was lost in deep thought, dreaming of Alex to take her mind off how cold she was, when Aileen—ahead of her on the woodland path—suddenly reined in her horse.

“Isla?” the older woman exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing back here, lassie?”

Sarah and MacLagan halted their mounts too. Sure enough, a few yards away beneath a towering pine was Isla. Sitting atop a horse, she ignored her mother’s question and stared straight past her.

Straight at Sarah.

The back of Sarah’s neck prickled at the hardness of the girl’s glare. “What do you want, Isla?” she asked. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded thin and anxious.

“You. Gone,” Isla said. And then there was a deafening crack and MacLagan slumped over in his saddle.

A scream spilled from Sarah’s throat as her horse skittered off the path and Aileen’s mount reared, unseating her.

“Ye said no one would get hurt,” Isla cried into the thick gray miasma behind her. “Ye promised?—”

“I lied.”

Oh, God. Sarah froze as a bolt of awareness struck her.

She knew that voice.

At that same moment, Malcolm materialized out of the fog, drawing alongside Isla. Attired in black, sitting astride an equally dark horse, he looked like the Devil himself. Before Sarah could even think to kick her horse into action, he’d grabbed Isla. There was a flash as a long knife—a dirk—was pressed against the girl’s throat.

Aileen screamed and scuttled to her feet. “Dinna hurt my wee bairn,” she cried. “Please. I beg you?—”

“Now, now, old woman. There’s no need for histrionics,” drawled Malcolm. “If you do as I say, both of you”—Malcolm’s attention briefly shifted to Sarah before returning to Aileen— “nothing will happen to Isla.”

Aileen nodded furiously. “Aye, sir, anything. Anything at all.”

“And what say you, my love ?” Malcolm’s gaze skewered Sarah and her heart stumbled in terror.

“What do you want, Malcolm?” she whispered, even though she knew the answer.

“You.”

Sarah swallowed. Her gaze darted to Isla. The girl’s green eyes were round with fear. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with each frantic breath she took. Malcolm had already shot, and possibly killed, poor MacLagan. Even though ice-cold dread gripped her, Sarah wouldn’t let anyone else get hurt. Not even Isla. Not even after the girl had betrayed her, yet again.

“Very well.” Sarah flicked her horse’s reins, urging it forward, but Malcolm pressed the blade against Isla’s throat and blood welled.

“Not so fast,” he growled and Sarah stopped. “You, old woman,” he called to Aileen. “I want you to get the ropes hanging from my saddle and tie one of Miss Lambert’s ankles to her stirrup. Then tie another rope to the bridle.”

“Aye, m-milord.”

“That really isn’t necessary, Malcolm. I’ll go with you willingly,” said Sarah as Aileen fetched the rope. “Just do not hurt?—”

“Shut it, Sarah. You’ll do as I say, or this chit and the woman will die.”

Sarah bit her lip, willing herself not to cry as Aileen firmly lashed her ankle to the stirrup. “I’m sorry, lass,” the housekeeper whispered, “but Isla’s my daughter.”

Sarah didn’t dare reply but in her heart she understood Aileen had no choice. After all, the poor woman had witnessed Malcolm’s depredations ten years ago, and knew better than anyone exactly what the man was capable of.

“Now lead Miss Lambert’s horse over to me,” barked Malcolm.

Aileen nodded, her eyes darting between her mistress and the blade at her daughter’s throat. “Aye, m-milord.”

After the housekeeper had tied Sarah’s mount to Malcolm’s, he at last relinquished his deadly hold on Isla.

The young woman immediately kicked her horse and sidled away from him. “Ye evil bastard! Ye killed MacLagan,” she shrieked.

Malcolm shrugged, his mouth curled in a sneer. “You’re lucky it wasn’t your precious Mr. Price. Where is he, by the way?”

The brute leveled a hard, glittering glare straight at Sarah and she straightened in her saddle, despite the icy tendrils of fear curling through her. “Away. I know not where.”

And thank God for that. If Malcolm had come across Alex... Whilst Sarah’s heart ached for poor MacLagan, just the thought of Alex being hurt filled her with unspeakable dread and numbing despair.

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed, but he must have believed her as he simply said, “Come, dearest . We have better places to be.”

He quickly checked Aileen’s knots before kicking his horse and turning it away from the path, heading for the deeper woods. There was nothing Sarah could do but follow.

“Where are we going?” she asked as they eventually turned east, doubling back toward the trail through the Black Wood. They seemed to be heading toward Kinloch again. She recalled Isla’s words from a few days ago that Malcolm’s lands were to the south-east, beyond the mountains.

“Taymoor,” he said over his shoulder, confirming her suspicion. His tone was gruff. “Where you belong.”

Not anymore. Sarah kept the sharp thought to herself. She would do whatever she could to get away from Malcolm, this terrible beast she’d once believed she’d loved. How blind and foolish she’d been. And how ironic that she’d now been kidnapped by the very man she’d been stolen from.

Their wedding in Taymoor Castle’s private chapel had been scheduled for the seventh of March so she still had nine days to work out how to get away. Again.

Although, in that time, Alex might very well try to rescue her. Aileen would be sure to tell him what had happened on his return to Blackloch and she couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t attempt to save her. After all, his initial plot for revenge was dependent upon Malcolm not marrying her.

Moreover, Alex loved her and now wanted to make her his wife. But when he came for her, he would be in danger too.

Fear twisted Sarah’s insides into knots as Malcolm led her through the dark woods at a canter. Within no time they’d reached the fork in the rough road that would take them back to Kinloch. However, Malcolm veered to the right, away from the loch and the River Tummel, heading toward Schiehallion and Taymoor Castle—a place she never, ever wished to call home.

They’d been traveling for over an hour when Malcolm decided to stop in a small copse of wind-blasted Scots pines by the banks of a small lochan. The fog had cleared once they’d reached higher ground and a brisk wind tore at Sarah’s riding habit and hair.

“We need to water the horses,” he said tersely, before dismounting and leading his gelding and her mare to the water’s edge. Then he drew a pistol from the folds of his greatcoat and aimed it at her. “Just in case you decide to make a run for it,” he said.

“You need me alive to marry me, Malcolm.”

He shrugged. “I don’t need to kill you, just disable you,” he said with such cold casualness, Sarah shivered.

Every now and again she risked a glance his way as they waited for the horses to drink their fill. His face was thinner and haggard, as though he hadn’t eaten or slept enough lately, and he badly needed a shave. His boots were in a terrible state and his clothes were not only travel-stained but in need of repair—Sarah spied a torn and grimy cuff poking out from the braided edge of his coat sleeve, and there were at least two buttons missing from the front of his greatcoat. If she didn’t know he was the Earl of Tay, he could easily be mistaken for a ruffian.

Malcolm caught her studying him and he clearly didn’t warm to her expression as his top lip curled. “What’s the matter, dear Sarah? I thought you’d be happy to see me. Your chivalrous knight. Your one true love.”

She kept her lips pressed together and looked away, crushing down the urge to react to his goading. She wouldn’t show how much he disgusted her, or how terrified she really was, or how much he’d hurt her.

However, ignoring him had the opposite effect as he took a few steps closer and placed one of his large gloved hands along her thigh. “Isla Dobson tells me you are betrothed to Price,” he said in a low voice, full of menace. “He only wants you so I can’t have you. Fucked you already, has he?”

The dam holding back Sarah’s emotions broke. “What choice did I have but to agree to his proposal?” she countered angrily. She instinctively knew she should not admit that she’d fallen in love with Alex and that he loved her too. Such a confession would probably enrage Malcolm further. “He kidnapped me,” she continued. “I was ruined anyway. And you are one to talk. You betrayed me , Malcolm. Why would I want to marry you after witnessing what you did with that woman at the ball?”

“A woman Alexander Price hired for me to fuck, Sarah. A prostitute. A trap. She was bait, nothing more.”

“What?”

“Aha! You didn’t know that, did you?”

“No...” Tears pricked Sarah’s eyes, misting her vision, but she blinked them away. She supposed Alex had done such a thing to keep Malcolm ‘occupied’ whilst he kidnapped her. And to make sure she didn’t want to marry the despicable man. She understood why, but the fresh knowledge still stung.

She didn’t have time to dwell on her bruised feelings as Malcolm began to needle her again with sharp, hateful words. “And I wonder why you were out on the terrace, Sarah. Clearly Price was with you?—”

“How dare you!” Sarah cried. “I was looking for you! I did nothing wrong whereas you... You had a choice, Malcolm. You could have ignored that woman’s invitation. But you didn’t. You went with her and you—” She bit her lip unable to finish.

Malcolm snorted, nostrils flaring. “If you hadn’t been so bloody frigid, Sarah, I wouldn’t have had to look elsewhere. Except…maybe you’re not so cold after all.” He stroked her thigh again. “According to Miss Dobson, you willingly spread your legs for Alexander Price.”

“You’re vile,” Sarah spat. “Considering what you did to Alex’s family. His poor mother—” Oh, no. Sarah’s hand flew to her mouth, but it was too late. Oh, no, no, no.

“Whose family?” demanded Malcolm. “Whose mother? Alexander Price’s? But I never...” His brow plunged into a deep frown and his brown eyes blazed with bright sparks of anger. “ Fuck . I knew it.” His grip tightened on Sarah’s leg, bruising her. “Bloody Alexander MacIvor’s behind your kidnapping, isn’t he? I knew I should have gone back inside Blackloch after it had finished burning to make sure the bastard was dead... Shit.” He slammed his pistol against his thigh. “Fuck.”

Sarah’s stomach pitched and nausea writhed inside her. “Who is Alexander MacIvor?” she whispered. It was useless to pretend what she’d said wasn’t true, but she felt compelled to at least try and cast doubt.

“Don’t lie to me, Sarah.” Malcolm grabbed one of her wrists and squeezed hard enough that tears welled in her eyes. “Don’t you dare fucking lie.”

“What will you do? Shoot me?”

He squeezed her wrist harder and with such crushing force she cried out. “I could always break your wrist and then your fingers one by one,” he growled. “Then take you so hard you wouldn’t be able to sit on that horse for a week.” He eased up his grip a fraction so she could breathe again. “So what’s it to be, Sarah? The truth? Or shall we explore the alternative option? Is Alexander Price really Alexander MacIvor?”

Her heart had all but stopped beating. God forgive her for what she was about to say. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes he is.”

The rest of the journey passed by in a blur. Guilt tore at Sarah’s heart and all she could hear in her head, in time to the beat of her horse’s hooves was: I betrayed Alex. I betrayed Alex . I betrayed Alex.

It must have been late afternoon by the time Malcolm slowed their pace again. Sarah emerged from her daze as they entered a small village, not unlike Kinloch, on the edge of a picturesque loch.

“Welcome to Balloch,” Malcolm said, a note of pride evident in his voice. “Taymoor Castle is only two miles farther.”

If the circumstances had been different, Sarah might have commented on how lovely the village was, how beautiful the scenery. But the words wouldn’t come. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t quite swallow down the hard lump of despair lodged in her throat or draw enough breath.

Only two miles to Taymoor. Oh, heaven help me.

What would Malcolm do to her once they got there? Dark spots danced before Sarah’s eyes and she closed them, willing herself not to faint. As dire as her situation was right now, she really didn’t want to break her neck.

Then, quite unexpectedly, they stopped.

Sarah dared to open her eyes again. A neat gray stone kirk that was flanked by a pair of ancient yew trees stood before them.

Malcolm dismounted then tethered his horse and hers to a ring by the lychgate.

“You have business with the kirkman?” Sarah couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice or the note of incredulity.

“ We have business, my love .” Malcolm jerked at the knot securing her ankle to the stirrup.

“What sort of business?”

“Good God, Sarah. You can really be quite stupid sometimes.” Malcolm lifted her down and for a moment, Sarah’s stiff legs buckled beneath her. Her brutish former fiancé caught her beneath the arms. “Christ, don’t tell me I have to carry you,” he sniped.

“No.” Her gaze darted to the gravel path and the snow-shrouded gravestones either side of it. A few stray daffodils poked through the snow but they failed to brighten Sarah’s mood. The impending sense of doom settling over her was so heavy, it forced the air from her lungs, made her heart beat so loudly she could hear it pounding in her ears like a drum. She was caught in a quagmire and there was no possible way to escape. “N-No. I cannot do this. Not today, Malcolm.” Not ever.

Malcolm grabbed her by one arm and propelled her forward, underneath the gate and down the path, toward the kirk’s front door. The blade of his dirk pressed against her ribs the entire way. “You are my betrothed, Sarah Lambert. And you will marry me. Right, fucking, now.”