Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (18 page)

At first, they walked slow enough that she was no longer in pain, she could deal with it being uncomfortable, but as soon as they hit open ground, and he urged the horse into a run, every lope had her ribs and belly slamming against the saddle, and the thick, hard pommel. Within a quarter hour, she was dry-heaving and grateful she’d not eaten even a tiny bite of the apple. At one point the pommel hit her so hard in the ribs, she cried out, tears free-flowing. It was very possible she’d just broken a rib, and thankfully, her mind decided it was a good time to shut down and she passed into unconsciousness.

When she woke, they were in an abandoned hovel. At least that’s what it appeared to be. ’Twas dark, but it was a small and smelled of mold. She noticed a hint of rotting vegetables and herbs still lingering in the air. If she had to guess, whoever had lived here before had been gone six months at least. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, but once they did, she could only make out various shapes. A hearth. A window. A door. Around the edges of the door, she could see that it was still light outside, but shut up tight, it was hard to see anything at all wherever it was they were. There was no fire, and no candles, only a few cracks of light around the entrance. She needed to find out where they were.
Fast
.

Owen’s shadow moved in the small slivers of light. He was across the room from her, but she couldn’t be sure what he was doing. Then she heard the telltale sound of teeth biting into a crunchy apple, a slurp as he tried to save the juice that free-flowed.

“Ye’re awake,” he stated, still chewing.

For a moment the sickening sweet scent of his apple mingled with the musty smell of the hovel. Would she ever be able to eat an apple again without thinking of him? Of her plight?

She didn’t answer him. Pain shot through her body. Ribs. Neck. Arms. Belly. Legs.

For a brief moment she wondered if he’d used her as a sparring dummy while she slept. He must have tossed her on the floor because that’s where she was now, curled up on her side. She could deal with the pain and hunger, that she was sure of, but she wasn’t sure she could survive whatever plans he had for her. She didn’t know what they were, but the way he treated her so unpleasantly, thus far, she had no reason to believe that he meant to keep her alive. But, she’d make herself useful, indispensable, well, she’d try to at least, she’d try, until they reached their destination.

He wanted something at Scorrybreac. But what? What could her family’s small castle and holding possibly give him? Even as evil as they were, she could understand the MacLeod’s desire for power as the motivation behind seizing her castle when she was a girl, but one man? With no ties to anyone but the church? Well, more like Satan… It made no sense.

All she had to do was make it that far. He had no idea that her sister lived there. And she intended to keep it that way. She just had to cooperate with him a little while longer, and he’d deliver her right to her sister without even realizing it.

“Eat.” He tossed something at her, and it landed near her head with a thud.

Numbly, she reached for whatever it was, grabbing hold of a crusty oatcake. She brought it to her lips. The scent was unappetizing, but she had to eat to keep up her strength, because she was definitely going to ask him to let her ride upright come the morning or whenever they left.

The oatcake was bland, no flavor, and dry. It stuck to the roof of her mouth, and only the odd sucking noises she was making to get it off seemed to make her wretched captor take note.

Something else landed near her head, thicker, heavier. “Drink.”

She grabbed hold of the waterskin, pulling the cork. The stench of liquor was overwhelming. It might not quench her thirst but it would certainly numb her brain.

As she predicted, the whiskey burned its way down her throat and into her belly where it quickly warmed, and sent deadening tingles throughout her body. She sighed and drank some more, and then some more.

As much as she wanted to finish her oatcake, or even save some of it for later, she knew that leaving a clue was better than leaving nothing at all. She broke off a piece and slid it silently behind her since Owen couldn’t see her well enough to know.

She tossed back the waterskin, her body now sufficiently warm and tingly, her brain slowing down her fervent thoughts. She needed to remain calm. To heal. To rest. To gather her strength.

“Sleep,” Owen ordered.

The man was only resorting to one-word orders and while she would normally want to argue with his ogre behavior, right now, she didn’t care. She was glad not to be in pain, and if she was going to get a few hours rest as a reprieve from his torment then she would thank her lucky stars.

Kirstin curled up beneath the blanket, ignoring the stench, and closed her eyes tight. But instead of sleep, her thoughts raced and she couldn’t seem to relax enough to slumber. Her eyes kept popping open and she imagined Owen looming above her, stinking of drink and demanding she submit to him. Every time she opened her eyes, the light behind the door faded a little more. He made no sounds. Appeared to be in slumber himself.

But still she could not make herself sleep. Where was Gregor? Donna? Had they found out she was missing yet?

All she could think about was whether or not she was bringing danger right to her family’s door. Would Brenna forgive her for leading an enemy to her sanctuary? Lord knows they’d been through enough. Owen was obviously unstable and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt someone to get what he wanted.

Well, she couldn’t let that happen. Wouldn’t let him hurt her family. When the gates were opened, and they were through, she’d warn Brenna and Gabriel that Owen was their enemy. To beware. She’d jump from the horse, risk breaking her leg and run.

They’d help her, and take
him
down.

She hoped.

She prayed.

Nay, she had to be confident or else Owen would win, and no matter what, he could not win.

Never.

Chapter Nineteen

Outside the abbey walls, sitting amongst his men on wooden logs, and sharpening his sword with a whetstone, Gregor brooded. The rhythmic movement and sound was hypnotizing. While he worked until his blade no longer held any nicks, and was sharp enough to slice through armor, he replayed the conversation he’d had with Kirstin over and over in his mind.

She’d been acting so strange. Shaky. Fearful.

Sadness crept over him. She was different than he remembered. Not her usual self. The Kay he knew had been happy, joyful, full of life and thirsty for excitement and adventure. This one was sad most of the time, barely smiled. There should have been lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth showing how much she smiled, but there were none. How long had it been since she was truly happy? He knew he was part to blame for her lack of joy, and he wholeheartedly felt responsible for bringing that happiness back into her life. Was determined to. But the way she’d acted the hour before… It was… unusual.

When she’d sobbed against him, when they’d nearly made love, those had been real, gut-wrenching emotions.

The conversation they’d just had was bizarre and left him feeling completely confused. ’Twas as though she
wanted
him to see that something was off, and piece together some clue. But even that sounded like he was reaching.

And what could she have possibly wanted? He ran through her words, again.

Listen to everything
…

If he were to believe that she’d wanted him to read between her spoken words, there seemed to be some sort of cryptic message hidden within.

I am not
free…

And then the most disconcerting of all, she’d brought up a nefarious creature sneaking into the walls—

Gregor dropped the whetstone and jumped to his feet, sword-hilt gripped tight in his fist. His men stopped what they were doing to stare up at him curiously.

There was no reason for her to have brought up someone sneaking in. A nefarious creature. It made no sense. He’d not even been thinking along those terms, he’d simply been concerned for her sudden clumsiness that caused her to fall on a knife. And who wouldn’t be?

Kay wasn’t clumsy.

He’d thought maybe she wasn’t getting enough sleep, or food to eat, or that she was simply overwhelmed, but the idea of someone sneaking into the abbey to do her harm had not crossed his mind until she said it.

And maybe that was the reason
for
her saying it.

Now he couldn’t get it out of his mind.

Dammit, he should have picked up on that sooner!

“Collin, have ye seen anyone odd coming in or out of the castle?”

The warrior shook his head. “A merchant delivery the day afore last, but we checked his wagon and he came right back out.”

“No other messengers?”

“Nay, my laird. Just us and the Warriors of God.” Under his breath Collin muttered, “Stinking warriors think they are above everyone else, might as well be wearing white robes and calling themselves disciples.”

White robes
.

The Saint!

Was it possible the bastard assassin had already infiltrated the abbey right under their noses? Was that who Kirstin was afraid of? Did the bastard cut her neck?

“Where is Sir John?” Gregor demanded.

“Last I heard he was speaking with the abbot.”

Gregor reluctantly tucked his sword back into his scabbard, leaving it with his men outside the walls as they’d been asked to do. Thank goodness his dagger was clean and sharp, because the way the hair on the back of his neck was prickling, he had a fair idea that there was trouble amiss, and he might have need to use it.

He sprinted toward the gate, calling for it to be opened.

Once inside, he ran through the cloister and back to Kirstin’s room. Donna was standing in the middle turning in a circle, an odd expression on her face. When she spotted Gregor, she jumped.

“Where is Kirstin?” he asked.

“She’s gone. I have looked everywhere, and I’ve asked many. No one has seen her. She has simply vanished. And taken most of the apples. I think.”

Gregor’s heart skipped a beat and he was brought back to nearly a decade before where the same thing had happened—minus the apples. Well, dammit, he was not going to let her simply vanish, especially since he was certain this time around, she was in trouble. “Have ye any idea where she could have gone? Or if there was someone who might have wanted to take her somewhere?”

Donna shook her head, her hands coming to her face. “I fear something is wrong.”

“Why? What do ye know?” He resisted the urge to shake the information from her.

She pointed to an apple by the brazier and another under the table. “When I came back to find out if she was feeling better, I found an apple tossed by the door. ’Twas odd, because the apples should have been in the basket. But ye see there is only one. It was like she was trying to leave a message. Kirstin, no matter how sick, would never leave things out of place. I watched her organize the apples myself so that they were just so.”

Another cryptic message, like the one she’d been trying to share with him when he’d come.

Had her assailant been in the room the whole time? Gregor ran his hand over his face, finding it hard not to gouge his own skin. Kristin’s wincing. The sudden jerking. Whoever it was, had been there, hurting her, right before his own damned eyes! Bloody hell, he was a fool.

“She’s in trouble,” Gregor stated, a fierce frown on his face as he stared at the apples on the floor.

“Aye.” Donna’s voice shook. “But what kind of trouble?”

“I think someone has taken her.”

“But why? The only man who’d want to do that is dead.”

Gregor looked up sharply. “What? Who?”

“The old Laird MacLeod. He abducted her sister fifteen years ago, and planned to take Kirstin, too, but her cousin took her to Nèamh Abbey where she was safe.”

“Her cousin—Fingall?”

“Aye.”

That explained some things. Fingall, must have been on the run which was why he’d kept so quiet over the years about his past. He’d shown his loyalty time and again and had worked damned hard to prove himself an asset to Gregor and the men. But still, Gregor had known both Fingall and Kirstin for a decade, and neither of them had mentioned their violent past.

“Was there anything of value that Kirstin carried with her here to Melrose?”

Donna shrugged, still looking perplexed at the spilled apples. “Naught but a missive for Mother Frances.”

“When did she give Mother Frances the missive? Do ye know what it contained?”

Donna shook her head, bending to pick up one piece of fruit. “She’s not yet given it to her, and I dinna know. It was sealed with wax. Kirstin showed me where she kept it in her satchel.”

“Let me see.”

Donna returned the apple to the basket then pivoted toward one of the cots. She tugged the satchel from beneath the bed, but when she opened it, the bag was empty. “’Tis gone,” she whispered.

Gregor had an idea that whatever was in that missive contained information that was important enough to get Kirstin abducted. If they were dealing with The Saint, then it had to be more enticing than a king’s ransom for men who associated with the Bruce—including the Bruce himself. For certainly, if The Saint had been inside the abbey, he could have attempted to abduct the Bruce himself.

Dammit! He had to make sure his sovereign was not also missing.

“I need ye to find, Fingall,” Gregor said. “I’m going to locate the Bruce.”

Donna nodded emphatically. “What should I tell him?”

“Tell him to meet me with the men outside.”

“Aye, my laird.” Donna sounded so lost. He truly felt sorry for her. Kirstin had been her companion, her friend, and probably a mentor, too. The poor lass must be terrified.

Gregor patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “I’ll find her.”

“Ye will?” She looked so hopeful, as hopeful as he felt inside.

“Aye. Ye have my word.”

Donna’s lower lip trembled, and she picked up the other apple, putting it in the basket.

“Donna,” Gregor gave her a piercing stare. “For your safety, and that of Kirstin’s, not a word of this to anyone, even Fingall. Simply tell him to come outside.”

“Aye, my laird. I promise.” She crossed herself. “Do ye think Kirstin is all right? I could not bear it if something happened to her. She is so kind and sweet and… and…” Donna started to blubber.

There wasn’t time for more consoling. As much as he didn’t want to, Gregor had to be stern with the young nun. “Pull yourself together. Kirstin needs ye to be strong.”

She pressed her lips flat and straightened, nodding. “All right. I will be strong for her.”

“Go now. Find Fingall.”

Gregor did not wait to see her go; instead, he took off at a jog toward the Bruce’s war office. He entered without knocking to find Sir John with him. Rage immediately flooded his veins and it took every ounce of his control not to charge the man.

“Ye bloody bastard, get away from my king,” Gregor shouted. He pulled out his dagger, holding it parallel to the floor, ready to attack should John make any sudden or wrong moves.

“Buchanan, stand down,” the Bruce was saying at the same time John said, “I fear I am correct.”

“What in bloody hell does that mean?” Gregor asked Sir John.

“My vassal, Sir Owen, is missing. His position at the postern gate was empty, save for a single, pristine, apple. There is evidence of a scuffle.”

Gregor saw red, and he ground his teeth.
An apple
! Kirstin had been dragged through the postern gate with no one the wiser! “Ye traitor,” Gregor growled, lunging forward.

He grabbed John by the front of his leather-studded hauberk and jammed the dagger close to his neck.

John shook his head. “’Tis not I, I swear it on the graves of my forebears. I am loyal to the Bruce, to Scotland, even to ye, Laird Buchanan. If I am found to be not then I’d gladly hand ye my own blade to run me through.”

His words were spoken with such conviction, truth filling his eyes, that it was hard not believe him. Gregor narrowed his eyes studying John, and then let go, taking a step back. The man sank to his knees, hand over his heart as he glanced up at the Bruce.

“I swear to ye, my liege, I am ever at your service. As I am avowed to the church to protect its people, its relics and its places of worship, I am also avowed to my rightful King of Scotland, Robert the Bruce.”

Bruce nodded, then glanced at Gregor. “Do ye believe him?”

Gregor turned back to John, seeing the man’s position of supplication. The earnestness in his gaze. There appeared to be no falsities in his stance, his demeanor. But there was also the possibility that he dropped to his knees in order to save his own life. However, that seemed entirely out of character for the man, who’d been more than willing to pick a fight with Gregor. Though Gregor had only known him a few days, he’d proven to be a confident, arrogant man, and quite capable as a warrior, too. Gregor blew out a displeased breath. “I do. I’m sorry for having put my dagger to your throat.”

The Bruce, satisfied, held out his hand to the man. “Sir John, rise. Tell Buchanan what ye have told me.”

John rose to his full height and faced Gregor. “Sir Owen came to me some weeks ago. He traveled alone and was an ordained Warrior of God, had papers to prove it. He said he’d been sent to join my squadron just before we set out for Melrose.”

Gregor took in all the information, then asked, “Could he have known in advance that ye were headed to Melrose?”

“’Tis possible.” John shrugged. “I suppose many could have known. Our Bishop had received a missive from Mother Aileen at Nèamh the week prior requesting our escort for two of her nuns.”

Gregor grunted. “What else?”

“He got along well with all of my men, but there were things I’ve been suspicious of, such as when we were traveling. He did not warn one of my men about a rabbit hole in the ground, though one of the others saw Owen’s horse nearly fall into it before. That warrior, Alec, spoke to me about it privately, concerned about what he’d seen. As a result, my warrior, Bain, was injured, a broken leg, and we had to leave him in the care of others at a nearby village. Then, there was a matter at an inn we stayed at with Sister Kirstin and Sister Donna. Owen insisted we were no longer welcome and we had to leave in the middle of the night. We never got a straight answer about why, but I did see a large English garrison had arrived, and was glad for the warning. Now that I think back on it, I wonder if that garrison had been coming for him.”