My Daring Highlander (38 page)

All three drew their dirks, long
lethal daggers. “Put your clothes on, you whoreson,” the
black-haired one closest to him demanded.

Keegan slashed his sword at the knave,
but he dodged back. Keegan kicked him backward into his friends.
Within seconds, they righted themselves and were ready to charge
him again.

“You’re outnumbered, MacKay,” the
stout man with a gray beard said. “We have three more men
downstairs. Don’t force us to kill you. The chief said he’d spare
your life if you flee now and don’t look back.”

“Never.” Keegan knew a sword wasn’t
the best weapon for this small space, but his dirk was in its
scabbard on the floor by the bed.

He sent a quick glance at Rebbie,
seeing blood glistening on his head. “Is he alive?”

“Of course. Are you thinking we’re
daft enough to kill an earl? Nay, he’s to be Chief Murray’s
son-in-law.” The man gave him a nasty grin. “Nay matter how
well-hung you might be, MacKay, you’ll never marry that lady. We’re
dragging you out of here, dead or alive. Your choice.”

Three more men stuck their
heads in the door, leering and snickering.
Bastards!
Keegan wanted to slay them
all, but he doubted he could before they killed him or injured him
severely. He’d never gone up against six before.

Think, Keegan,
think
, he commanded himself. Damn! He felt
like he had wads of wool in his head.

“Very well. Allow me to dress.” ’Haps
he could buy himself some time if naught else.

“Dress, then. We’re
waiting.”

“Wait outside the door.”

“Ha. Do you take us for
fools?”

“Back away.” Keegan waved his sword
before the man’s face. “How do I ken you won’t kill me when I lower
my sword?”

“You don’t.” Graybeard
smirked.

A flick of Keegan’s wrist
sliced the man’s arm and he dropped his dirk. Cursing and scuffling
ensued. The three men who had been in the doorway invaded the room.
One of them tossed a doublet over Keegan’s sword blade and grabbed
it, while three others tackled Keegan to the floor. He had a quick
glimpse of Seona, wearing only a smock, bashing one on the head
with the wash basin, a
sgian dubh
in her other hand.

“Release him, you blackguards!” she
yelled.

Damn! He was so proud of
her.

One of the other men, brown-haired and
sporting a goatee, pulled her back, disarmed and restrained
her.

“Don’t hurt her, you whoreson!” Keegan
yelled, intending to kill him if he left one bruise.

“You’d best be worrying about whether
we’re going to hurt you,” Graybeard said as he bound Keegan’s hands
behind his back. When they dragged him to his feet and out the
door, he glanced back to see if Seona was hurt. She was crying but
appeared unharmed.

The man pushed her onto the bed,
followed the other men out, and closed the door. At the bottom of
the stairs, the two men dragging Keegan shoved him to the floor.
Pain shot through his limbs as his knee and left shoulder struck
the slate stone floor.

“Bastards!” he snarled.

When he glanced up, a pistol was
directed between his eyes and three swords were pointed at
him.

“Put these on, you heathen.” Graybeard
threw his clothes at him.

“Untie my hands and I
will.”

One of the men cut the rope
loose.

After rising to his feet, Keegan
slipped the shirt over his head, then eyed them while he belted the
plaid about his waist. All six of the men stood around him. Good,
they’d left Seona alone in the room with Rebbie. If he awoke, he’d
protect her and hopefully get her out of there. The bastards had
confiscated all his weapons, and he knew not where his sporran and
boots were.

“Outside, MacKay!” The man waved the
pistol toward the exit.

One of the men behind him pushed him
toward the door. He stumbled outside into the dim gray light. A
hint of dawn glowed at the horizon. How the hell was he going to
get back in there to rescue Seona? If her father found her and
Rebbie in the same room, he’d force them to wed. Even if she
already was.

***

When the chamber door
slammed, leaving Seona alone with Rebbie, knocked out, bleeding,
and half-clothed on the bed, she finished dressing.
Blast!
Her hands shook so
badly she could hardly belt her
arisaid
.

“Please don’t let them harm Keegan,”
she prayed, pulling on her slippers and the black cloak. She had to
help him escape her father’s barbaric minions.

“Laird Rebbinglen?” She shook his
muscular shoulder, but he didn’t make a sound. “Saints,” she
hissed. Was he alive? Placing her finger beneath his nose, she felt
his breath. Thanks be to God. How could she wake him?

She found the pitcher half-full of
cold water on a nearby table and poured it over his head, drenching
his black hair and the pillow. Stirring a bit, he moaned and
grimaced. He could have a bad head injury. If this was her father’s
idea of trying to get Rebbie to marry her, ’twas indeed a flawed
plan. She had to escape the room before they were discovered
together, then find Keegan. Rebbie was a strong, tough warrior, and
she had no doubt he would survive.

She grabbed Keegan’s dirk, sporran and
boots from the floor. Opening one of the window shutters, she
looked down in the early dawn light. ’Twas too far for her to jump.
She ran to the door, opened it a crack and peered out. The narrow
corridor and stairs were empty. Taking Keegan’s belongings, she
raced down the stairs into the empty tavern then peered out the
front door. Several men lingered in front of the building. She went
in search of a back door. Once she’d unbarred it, she crept out and
headed toward the corner.

A narrow close ran between the tavern
and the neighboring building. She slipped down it and hunched to
peep out. Men yelled encouragements and two blades clashed and
clanged. When a man moved aside, she saw that one of the warriors
involved in the sword dual was Keegan. Thank the saints he had a
weapon.

She held her breath and watched for
several moments. Keegan held his own and appeared the more skilled
swordsman, driving the other man back across the grassy field. But
then her father, practically running toward the tavern with four
more men, caught her eye. What on earth? They glanced at the men
fighting in the nearby field, then disappeared from sight, headed
toward the entry door. He probably hoped to find her and Rebbie
alone in the chamber. She smiled, glad he’d be
disappointed.

But how could she get to Keegan and
help him? He was barefoot and needed his boots. He might also need
his dirk. But if she ran out there, she’d distract him, and her
father’s men would seize her. She had to slip further away and
somehow draw Keegan’s attention when he wasn’t engaged in a sword
fight. She raced along the alley again, then behind the buildings.
Dawn was growing lighter.

She sensed someone behind her a second
before they grabbed her around the waist. Terror clawed through
her. She screamed, but a big, rough hand clamped over her mouth,
muffling the sound.

Who the devil was it? One
of Keegan’s men or her father’s? She couldn’t turn her head enough
to see him but one thing was certain… he had stinking breath, like
rotten cabbage. She kicked, driving her heels against his shins.
Keegan’s dirk came to mind.
Nay!
She had dropped it. But she still had her own
knife strapped to her forearm. What if he was one of the MacKay or
MacKenzie guards? She didn’t want to stab one of them.

The man carried her, running toward a
row of bushes at the edge of the village. From the corner of her
eye, she saw the man had long gray hair.

McMurdo?
Her blood froze within her veins.
I have to stab him!

“We have your sister,” McMurdo said,
his voice gruff and raspy in her ear.

“Talia?” she tried to say, but the
word came out muffled. How could they have abducted her
sister?

“Come quietly, and we’ll let your
sister go free. I have proof.”

Proof?
How had he or Haldane captured her sister? Had they snatched
her from Rebbie and Fraser once they’d brought her from the
attic?

Keeping his hand over her mouth, he
dug through his clothing and pulled out a piece of white linen
cloth. “See?” He held it in front of her eyes.

She blinked, trying to clear her
tear-blurred vision. The handkerchief’s monogram was the initials
TEM. Talia Elizabeth Murray. Seona remembered the day Talia had
embroidered it in deep red. Nausea rose within her. How had this
happened? Had Talia lost her handkerchief and these outlaws found
it? If so, would they have known it was hers? She didn’t recall
that Haldane knew her sister’s name. On the off chance McMurdo was
telling the truth, she had to do what he said and help
Talia.

“Do you agree?” the man rasped in her
ear.

Seona nodded as hard as she
could.

“Make no sounds or we’ll kill your
sister.”

She nodded again, trying to make him
understand she’d do anything to keep her sister safe.

He uncovered her mouth but
retained a hold on her arm. She glared at him.
Saints!
He was an alarming sight
close up—scars and pock marks mottled his wrinkled face. His hair,
brows and short beard were gray, his teeth jagged and half gone.
His eyes were black as midnight in Hades, and looking into them
chilled her to the core of her soul. He was a murderer, an
assassin, his soul as evil as the devil’s own.

“Where is my sister?” she
asked.

He pointed. “Over there. Stay low and
come with me.” Hunched, they crept through the bushes toward the
forest. Her heart thudded hard. ’Haps she was an idiot for going
with him, but she had to free Talia.

Once they entered the trees, McMurdo
guided her behind a clump of boulders where several men lurked,
some sitting on the ground, others bent and peering between the
boulders toward the village.

Haldane stood, his feral green eyes
riveted on her with great interest—nay—obsession. He smiled, and
her whole body froze.

“McMurdo, you’re getting every damn
thing I promised you and more.” Haldane rushed forward and grabbed
her shoulders. He looked different now, less like a lad and more
like a man, with the short red beard furring the lower half of his
face.

“Where is my sister?” she asked
him.

“Seona!” the female shout came from
behind another boulder.

“Shut up, wench!” an unseen man
said.

Seona bolted toward the sound of her
sister’s voice and found her lying on the ground, her hands and
feet bound. Seona knelt beside her. “Are you hurt?”

Talia shook her head, tears streaming
from her eyes.

“Untie her at once,” Seona ordered the
man.

“I’ll release her.” Haldane waited
behind her. “But you must agree to come with me peacefully. No
fighting. And you must agree to marry me.”

Chapter Thirty

Chief Murray climbed the stairs inside
the tavern as fast as his legs would carry him, the local minister
and constable following him, along with two of his men who had
assured him everything was set up as it should be.

At the top of the stairs, he strode
toward the chamber door. It sickened him to think his own daughter
was inside and had lain with that MacKay bastard. He flung open the
door to find Rebbinglen sprawled unmoving on the bed. He wore
naught but trews. A gash on his head bled on the sheets. And his
dark hair was wet.

“Is this the earl?” Constable Winfred
asked, his rounded jowls jiggling.

“He’s injured,” Reverend Lang said in
a shocked and concerned tone.

Murray glanced around the room and
under the bed. “Where is my daughter?” he thundered.

Rebbinglen groaned and lifted a hand
toward his head.

Murray cursed under his breath. He was
supposed to find his daughter in this bedchamber with Rebbinglen in
a very compromising position. If the minister and the constable had
seen the two in bed together, they’d have no choice but to marry.
But Seona was nowhere to be found. Never had he wanted so badly to
strangle her.

“Did no one guard this room?” he asked
his men.

The two dolts looked at him with
blank, wide-eyed stares.

“Did you see my daughter in this room
with Rebbinglen?”

They both nodded. “Aye, she was
here.”

But they hadn’t made sure she stayed
there until he and the witnesses arrived.

“Idiots!” He backhanded the one
closest to him. “Find my daughter! Now!”

“Aye, m’laird.” They hastened from the
room.

“Pray pardon, Reverend Lang, Constable
Winfred,” Murray said. “My men said they found the two of them
together here, but my daughter has slunk away, leaving her lover to
fend for himself.”