Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)(111)
He'd spent a few restless hours before the fire, before giving up on sleep and deciding to try to clear his thoughts in the sea. But the clarity he'd hoped to find in the icy waters had eluded him.
I have a son. It was still difficult to comprehend. But what the hell was he going to do about it? Make him a bastard? He better than anyone knew what that was like. He'd come to terms with his birth, but it hadn't been easy. Could he foist that kind of black mark on his son?
Why hadn't she told him earlier? Because she didn't trust you. Why should she? You left her.
He shook off the annoying voice. He didn't want to see her side, his anger was still too damn raw.
He turned the corner around the empty market stalls and the inn came into view. As always, he scanned his surroundings. Something was wrong: The Gordon guardsman he'd left was not in position.
Senses honed, he realized it was too quiet. Too still.
He looked down at the muddy ground and saw the unmistakable signs of footprints coming from all directions around the building. A score of men—at least. He suspected there were others positioned in and around the building, hidden in the backdrop of trees. Too many for the handful of men he had with him, particularly since Leif had left early this morning to scout the castle. He took a few steps back out of view, but they'd already seen him. His skin prickled with the sensation of being watched.
It was a trap. One in which he would not be caught.
Then he remembered. He swore, dread settling low in his belly. Jeannie. He'd left her alone, and in doing so had given them the perfect weapon. His muscles flared and fists clenched. If they hurt her, touched her in any way, they would not see another sunrise. He didn't care if there was an entire army in there.
His eyes darted to the second floor window, not seeing any movement. He tried not to let it alarm him, but she had to have heard the noise below when the men rushed in. If she wasn't in her room, it meant she was—
A muffled woman's scream tore through the morning air, turning his blood to ice.
Without hesitation he ran.
About twenty feet from the door, the loud shot of musket fire pierced the quiet morning air.
Colin couldn't believe it. It had been almost too easy—well, except for the big Irishman. His men had taken the inn with nary a shot fired, a dirk had taken care of the sole guardsman outside, and the other men had been virtually helpless while they slept, only to discover that neither his brother nor Lady Jean Gordon were here. His fury was nearly uncontrollable, buoyed by fear that they'd found something.
The wounded Irishman and the four Gordon guardsmen had been bound and gathered in a group on the floor. The innkeeper, his wife, and his young daughter had also been brought to him. “Where are they?” he demanded of the big man.
Blood was gushing from the Irishman's nose and cheek where his face had been smashed by the butt of a musket, but he smiled and asked, “Who?”
Colin barely contained his irritation. Only his desire to catch his brother prevented him from ordering the man killed instantly. “The outlaw Duncan Dubh.”
The burly red-haired man shrugged. “I don't know any outlaws.”
Colin put the barrel of his pistol right under the man's chin. “Are you sure about that?”
The big man didn't flinch. “Aye.”
He could see it in his ruddy face—this man would never betray his leader. Colin was about to pull the trigger when out of the corner of his eye he noticed the young maid open her mouth.
His gaze narrowed on her. “Do you have something to say? Do you know where the outlaw and the woman are?”
The girl looked scared enough to crap herself. “I …”
“Bring her to me.”
She screamed when his men grabbed her. “They're n-not h-here,” she said, her words barely intelligible behind the frightened sobs. “We didn't know he was an outlaw. We don't want no trouble. I saw the black-haired man leave a while ago, heading toward the harbor. I heard them arguing last night and I was concerned about the lady so I went to check on her. She left not long after he did—”
Her words were cut off by the sound of a gunshot.
Colin supposed it was too much to hope that someone else might have done his job for him.
Jeannie's heart raced to near bursting as she urged the pony faster. The wind ripped through her hair and pounded against her cheeks. Tears streamed from her eyes, but she hardly noticed. All she could think of was getting back to the village. She couldn't wait to find Duncan and tell him what she'd discovered.
Refusing to back down, she'd confronted the old woman with what she'd learned. A few pointed questions was all it had taken and like a dam that had been waiting to break, the whole sordid story had come pouring out.
Davy shouted something that sounded like “be careful” just before she caught sight of a man plunging out from the trees on the right side of the path, cutting her off. She was forced to rein in her mount to avoid colliding with him or veering off the path into the trees and bracken.
It all happened so fast it took her a moment to realize it was Duncan's man Leif. In the best of circumstances the Norseman made her uneasy, but with the glacial look on his face right now he made her blood run as cold as his ice-blue eyes. He was an incredibly attractive man, if you could get past the fearsome expression, which she'd yet to do. Hard, emotionless, scary: that about summed him up.