The Clan MacDougall Series (109 page)

Though she worried over how Wee William’s clan would treat them, Nora decided a roof over their heads was worth any impending ugliness or mistreatment. She was far too cold, tired, and hungry to care. At the moment, her feet were so cold that she could have stuck them in a roaring fire and it would still have taken a week for them to thaw.

The landscape was flat in spots, hilly in others and large black rocks jutted out at random places. Because the ground was far too sloppy and wet they sat upon rocks while they ate a very quick meal. They’d eaten the last of the bread the day before yesterday. Today they finished off the last of the dried beef and cheese. The men promised this would be their last meal out of doors for they would be at Castle Gregor in a few short hours.

Elise ate very little. Nora noticed her sunken eyes and pale skin. The child was not herself and had been sleeping most of the day.

Nora’s stomach tightened with worry and unease when she pressed the back of her hand to Elise’s forehead. “She’s burning up!” she exclaimed. Her eyes immediately went in search of Wee William.

He had been standing with Rowan and Tall Thomas when he heard Nora’s worried voice. With a purposeful stride, he reached Nora and Elise in short order. He, too, reached out to feel the child’s forehead and cheeks. Her skin was dry and hot, and her pupils were glassy.

“This is all my fault,” Nora whispered as she looked up at Wee William.

“Nay, lass!” Wee William argued. If anyone was to blame, it was Horace. Had the man owned an ounce of compassion, well, things would naturally be different.

Nora blamed herself. Had she been a better wife to Horace then he would have allowed her to keep the children. Mayhap, if she had tried harder, been nicer, done things differently. Her mind flittered to and fro to all the “what ifs” and “maybes” and they all circled back to the same place. “What ifs” and “could have beens” weren’t important at the moment. Elise was sick and it was Nora’s fault.

Wee William looked into Nora’s eyes, brimmed with tears of worry as well as exhaustion. He could not stand to see her so distressed.

He stood taller and headed toward the horses. “Mount up!” he called out to his men. “Elise is ill!”

The men did not wait for further instructions. As soon as Wee William’s words left his mouth, the men flew into action. They quickly packed away the meal things and were mounted in a matter of moments.

Wee William brought his horse to stand next to the rock where Nora sat cradling Elise in her arms. Nora shifted Elise around with one arm resting under her bottom, the other holding her small head against her shoulder. From atop his horse, Wee William bent slightly and scooped them up and sat them on his lap.

“She’ll be well soon enough, Nora,” he told her.

For the first time since she met Wee William, she doubted him.

Far too many children died from simple fevers. Malnourishment, cold and damp living conditions and lack of proper care, often made it quite difficult for a child to fight even the simplest of illnesses.

John and Elise had been living in a dank, dark, cold castle for a year. Their living conditions had been squalid and foul. And then they’d been stolen away in the middle of the night and carried halfway across the world, forced to sleep out of doors or in caves, with little more than cheese, dried beef and stale bread for nourishment for days. ’Twas no wonder Elise was ill.

Tears of remorse and self-reproach fell from Nora’s eyes. If anything happened to Elise, she would never forgive herself.

H
umiliation and outrage drove Horace Crawford and kept him warm despite the freezing air and snow. The sun had risen hours before he and his brothers finally made their way back to the cottage. With chattering teeth and frozen skin, they rushed into the cottage and began wrapping themselves in blankets.

Nigel made several attempts at starting a fire. His hands were trembling so much so, that he could not hold the tallow steady. While Nigel battled with the tallow, Donald went to the cupboard in search of the bottle of whiskey. He nearly fell into the opening in the floor that led to the cellar.

Frozen to the bone, angry beyond comprehension, Donald could not speak just yet. He found the whiskey and took a long drink. He made his way around the opening in the floor and across the room to where Horace sat on the bed huddled under the blankets. Donald climbed onto the edge of the bed and held the bottle out.

With shaking hands, Horace took the offered whiskey. He could barely keep the bottle to his lips and had to use both hands to keep from dropping it all together. Streams of whiskey trickled down the sides of his face as he drank greedily. Were he able to speak just yet, he would have been cursing at Nigel to hurry the hell up with the fire.

The three brothers sat clustered together on the bed, each lost in his own thoughts as they drank and stared at the fire Nigel had finally managed. It was quite some time and a full bottle of whiskey later, before any of them began to regain the feeling in their extremities. Exhausted from the long walk home in the snow and cold, the three men fell asleep in front of the warm fire.

Hours later, Nigel and Donald were awakened to the sound of Horace yelling and cursing.

Horace had awakened long before his brothers, still unable to figure out why the Highlanders had come into his home in the middle of the night. He could not begin to fathom why he and his brothers had been taken out into the middle of nowhere and left with no harm done to any of them other than injured pride and frozen skin.

He had gone to the cupboard in search of another bottle of whiskey when he discovered the table had been moved and the door to the cellar opened. Unable still to comprehend why the Highlanders had appeared, the open cellar door caused him more confusion than he wanted. Mayhap they had killed Nora and her body now lay dead in the cellar below. The thought of her dead, frozen corpse brought him nothing but a twinge of delight.

Cautiously, Horace had crept down the ladder and much to his disappointment he did not find his wife dead. But the flicker of the candle he held had shown him something
was
amiss. He moved the ladder to the side and crouched low. That was when he had discovered the stone lying on the ground and a sizable hole in the wall. Curiosity took hold and he warily poked his hand inside it and felt around. Nothing.

He had paced around the cellar for a few moments before the cold air began to seep in. His mind was racing as he made his way back up the ladder. He lowered the door and scooted the table back over it.

Why? What had they wanted?
He kept repeating the questions over and over in his mind. What on earth could they have wanted? What had been hidden in the cellar?

And what of Nora? Where the bloody hell was she? He went to the trunk at the end of his bed and saw that her belongings were missing.

Firth.
The whore had taken the opportunity to run away again. Ungrateful wench!

Ever so slowly Horace began to piece things together.

Highlanders.
He had heard many rumors over the past year that told of his stepsister, Aishlinn, running away to the Highlands. It was also told that the Highlanders she had found refuge with, had killed the former Earl of Penrith. Other rumors said that Aishlinn, too, was dead. He hoped the latter were true. The stupid wench had been far more trouble than she had been worth.

Until that moment, Horace had ignored the rumors. He had brushed them off as stories told by mindless idiots with nothing better to do with their time.

Horace was of the opinion that Aishlinn was a dimwitted fool of a woman, with no more sense than God gave a rock. He could hardly believe she had survived the beating the earl had given her, let alone had the ability to roam around the countryside or to find a home in Scotland.

But the appearance of all those Highlanders now made him seriously doubt his previous thoughts on that subject. It was the only thing that made sense at the moment. Aishlinn still lived.

The more he thought on it, the more he believed it to be true, and the angrier he became. Something had been hidden in the cellar. But what?

It had to be something of great value for he couldn’t imagine a group of Highlanders traveling in this weather to burst into his home in the middle of the night for sheer amusement. Aye, they were greedy bastards, every last Scot. Gluttonous fools as well. Nay,
it,
whatever
it
was, had to have been worth a significant amount of coin.

His mind raced at the possibilities. Aishlinn’s grandfather
had
been a very wealthy Englishmen, that much he knew from the stories his father, Broc, had told him. Could it be possible that for years, Aishlinn had kept some valuable treasure hidden away? If so, why hadn’t she used them to leave long before he’d traded her to Castle Firth?

Aye, it was a very distinct possibility that the stupid girl hadn’t realized she owned a treasure or anything of value. Mayhap, she had discussed it with the Scots and discovered the value of it by happenstance. And greedy bastards that they were, they decided to descend upon his home to take it!

Clarity began to bloom. His heart raced as his anger steadily boiled. All these years and untold treasures had been underfoot! By rights, it was
his
treasure. Whatever it was, it belonged to him. He’d put a roof over Aishlinn’s head. He had fed her. She owed him.

Before he realized it, he was pacing back and forth, his mind conjuring up all sorts of possibilities as to what had lain under his nose all these years. It couldn’t be coin, for even Aishlinn was smart enough to know the value of silver or gold. Nay, it had to be something significant, yet small enough to fit in the hole below. Something so valuable that it would make Highlanders come for it.

The more his mind raced, the angrier he became until he could contain it no longer. He let out a furious yell that jolted his brothers from their sleep.

When he was finished, he was covered in sweat and so furious that his heart pounded in his chest. Something inside him, something dark and menacing, told Horace that he had to do two things.

One, he must find out what the hidden treasure was and two, he must exact his revenge on both Aishlinn and Nora. Aishlinn for being so stupid that she had hidden something of great value from him and Nora for leaving him embarrassed and humiliated.

As his brothers sat quietly watching him, a plan began to form in his mind. No matter what the cost, no matter what trials he must go through, he
would
find the two women who had caused him untold pain. And he would get even with both.

W
ee William and his men rode like the devil was chasing them to reach Castle Gregor. Not much was said among them, save for the frequent inquiries by the men as to how Elise fared. Daniel and David raced ahead to let their clan know that they had returned, bringing with them people in need of their help.

By the time Wee William, Nora, Elise and the others arrived, the castle was a whirlwind of motion. At the top of the stairs leading up and into the castle, stood Isobel, the chief’s wife. Next to her was Mary, the castle’s cook and healer. Neither of them looked happy.

Mary, her long white hair pulled away from her face and into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, was wiping her hands on her apron. She studied the group as it came bounding into the courtyard.

“What do ye suppose Wee William has go’ himself into?” Mary asked Isobel.

“I canna begin to guess, Mary,” Isobel answered as she tucked a loose bit of her black hair behind her ear. “I hope that whatever ails this child, it willna spread to anyone else.”

Mary nodded her head in agreement before crossing herself.

Daniel appeared from behind Isobel and Mary, and came running down the stairs and straight to Wee William and Nora. Wee William brought his horse to an abrupt stop. The horse snorted and huffed and shook its head, jangling leather and bit.

Daniel did not wait for Nora or Wee William to dismount before grabbing Elise from Nora’s arms and running back into the castle. Mary was right behind him, shouting out orders in Gaelic.