The Devil in Plaid(50)

“Only that she had to leave the keep, but she did not tell me where she was going or why,” Esme answered.

“She told ye nothing else?”

Esme shook her head.

Jamie was relieved to know that the nature of their plan was not known to the maids. “Yer lady is inside the MacKenzie keep. She was taken by one of the guards.”

“Ye must get her back,” Abby cried.

Jamie put out a calming hand. “I intend to, but ye must say nothing, not to anyone. Do ye understand? Yer lady’s safety depends upon yer silence.”

Esme’s face hardened. “I pray ye march swiftly upon the MacKenzie and show no mercy.”

Jamie’s nostrils flared. “I promise ye, Esme. I will bring our lady home.”





Chapter Thirty


When Fiona had journeyed to Clan MacKenzie to spend time with Adam and his family, she had always looked for the high tower from the road. It was the tallest point of the MacKenzie stronghold. Whenever she glimpsed the banner waving from the high turret, Fiona knew their journey was nearly at an end. But Fiona never could have imagined that the tower, which had once been a beacon of hope, would one day become her prison.

She paced the narrow circumference. There was no casement. One day had passed or could it have been two? She knew not the hour or even whether it was day or night. She had the light of one fat candle by which to see. She felt purposeful and helpless all at the same time.

On several occasions, she had questioned her sanity—she had surrendered herself to another clan. Now, she was leagues from Jamie and all she held dear.

Her heart started to race, but she shook her head against the doubt that once more invaded her thoughts.

Clan MacKenzie was not her enemy.

Ranulf and his gang of brutal mercenaries—they alone deserved her scorn, and thankfully, they did not know she was so close at hand.

She imagined Ranulf moving beneath her, somewhere in the keep, planning his dominance over the region; all the while, those he would suppress had their own scheme—one that would unite the clans against him.

“I hope,” she said out loud.

Several hours had passed since Tormod had checked on her. She’d already finished the dried meat and bannock he had brought earlier. Her stomach growled, confirming the passing of time.

Just then a quiet knock sounded at the door. A breath later, it swung wide. She scurried away, pressing her back against the wall as a figure, wearing a black cloak with the hood pulled low, walked into the small room.

“Do not be afraid, my lady,” the intruder said, the instant before he pulled his hood back. “’Tis I, Thomas!”

Relief claimed Fiona as she looked upon the familiar face of Abby’s suitor. “Thomas, ye gave me such a fright. I’ve never been so relieved! Is it over then? Have we won? Where’s Jamie?”

“We have, indeed, won,” Thomas smiled and took her hand. “Jamie is awaiting ye downstairs. I will take ye to him.”

Fiona followed Thomas. She had to keep herself from running. She wanted so much to feel Jamie’s strong arms around her and to know that all was well, although another part of her was nervous. No doubt, he would be livid with her for taking such a risk. But, she also knew no matter how angry she made him, he would never hurt her. Still, she hated the idea of disappointing him or causing him worry, but since they had won, she knew he would be quick to forgive her.

Thomas wound through the corridor and led her to the MacKenzie solar—a circular room with doors set at each of the four directions. She rushed inside but stopped short when the tall man in front of her turned. Cold, black eyes locked with hers.

“Boo!”

A scream tore from her lips. She turned around and ran straight into Thomas’s hard chest. “’Tis Ranulf MacKenzie, Thomas. Run!”

“Quickly, Thomas, run!” Ranulf mimicked her. Then he reached for her, grabbing her arm. “Ye’ve no place to run, Lady MacLeod. And Thomas is no longer here.”

She struggled to escape the villain’s biting fingers but couldn’t break free. Her gaze darted around the room, which was crowded with MacKenzie warriors. All but two wore the telltale black leather jerkins, bearing Ranulf’s fierce crest. Another figure lay on the floor, wrapped in a MacKenzie plaid, but she could not see his face.

“Thomas, please help me,” she cried. She locked eyes with the lad.

He looked away, his face impassive, as he walked further into the room, turning his back to her.

“Thomas!” she cried.

Ranulf grabbed her other arm and jerked her around to face him. “There is no Thomas, just my bastard son, Fergus,” he snarled, his gaze roaming over her body. He reached out and palmed her breast.

“Get yer hands off me,” she gritted, pushing against his hard chest. But he did not budge, his body as solid as the walls holding her captive. She glanced at Thomas, but he did not look at her, nor did his expression reveal his thoughts.

“Is it true?” she cried, although she knew the answer. The lad’s resemblance to Ranulf was undeniable.

She wanted to rail at him. How could he betray her? But she needed to stay calm. Panicking would only steer her toward error, and right now, she had to focus on staying alive.

“Such a beauty,” Ranulf said, stroking his finger down her cheek. “Jamie MacLeod is a lucky man, or at least, he might have been, if I wasn’t going to kill him myself.”