Captured by the Highlander (32 page)

* * *

The door to the officers’ quarters burst open, and five uniformed soldiers marched in with muskets at the ready. “Major Jack Curtis, you are under arrest.”

Curtis, who was seated at a table with four other officers, quickly stood. The others stood up as
well
,
all
of them startled by the commotion.

“What are the charges?” Curtis asked incredulously.

“Drunkenness and attempted rape.” They swarmed around him, confiscated his pistol and sword, and seized him by the arms.

“I demand to know the name of my accuser!”

“The Duke of Winslowe, on behalf of his niece, Lady Amelia Templeton. Tsk-tsk, Major. Trying to have your way with a noblewoman? Shame on you.”

They dragged him out of the room and escorted him roughly to the prison.

* * *

Sometime during the night, a surgeon entered Duncan’s
cell
, and after he was gone, Duncan dreamed of angels and his mother’s pearls and Amelia’s mossy green eyes. He felt her hands upon his wounds, healing his bones, and was vaguely aware of her softly kissing his forehead, washing his face with clean, warm water, and rising occasional y to keep the red soldiers from his door. He was alone, of course, chained to the
wall
. None of it was real. Amelia was not in the
cell
with him. She was somewhere else. But he slept soundly that night. And he felt no pain.

Amelia fought to stay calm and focused during the night as she paced in her room. She could not
allow
herself to give way to melancholy or helplessness. She could not
fall
into the trap of weeping or lamenting. If she
fell
apart, she would accomplish nothing.

Duncan was injured and imprisoned, but at least he was alive. It was something to be thankful for when the circumstances of his capture could have easily resulted in a different outcome.
all
was not lost. As long as he was alive, there was hope, and where there was hope, there was
still
a chance to save him.

Perhaps she could state his case to Colonel Worthington and explain how Duncan had always treated her
well
and how he had rescued her from Major Curtis’s abominable attack on the beach. They might consider those facts and offer some leniency in his sentencing. If they were not
willing
to release him of
all
charges, perhaps they would at least spare his life. Instead of the noose, he could be taken to the Tolbooth, and perhaps one day …

Al her thoughts seemed to be whirling about in her brain like dry leaves in a storm. She sat down on a chair, then immediately stood up again and paced.

Perhaps she should appeal to her uncle for help. She had already revealed what had happened with Major Curtis at the lake, and her uncle had taken steps against the major with great effectiveness. He was now in custody. But could she confess everything to her uncle and reveal Duncan’s identity?

No, she quickly decided. That would not be helpful. They might accuse her uncle of being a spy, for he had spent time at the castle. Some might even suggest he had col
l
uded in planning Richard’s death. She, too, could be charged with treason if her knowledge became known. How would that help anyone? It certainly wouldn’t help Duncan. Iain and Josephine would then be implicated, and Duncan would die a miserable death, knowing his family would suffer for his crimes.

She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples and squeezed her eyes shut. Forcing herself to breathe slowly, she decided it would be best to keep Duncan’s identity a secret, even if the Butcher was sentenced to death. If it did come to that, Iain would inherit the title, and perhaps they could stage the Earl of Moncrieffe’s death weeks later.…

Stop it, Amelia. Stop it!

Why was she even thinking such things?

She went to the bed and flopped down on her back. If only there were more time.
all
she had managed to do thus far was arrange for the surgeon to visit Duncan’s
cell
and give him some laudanum for the pain, and she was
still
torturing herself over her refusal to send for a priest, when that was
all
he had asked for. Just that one thing, so that he might repent for his sins before the final moment of judgment, and be forgiven and depart from this world with some feeling of peace.

She should not have denied him that.

She had been selfish and insensitive.

A moment later, she was standing at the foot of her bed, staring blankly at the
wall
. She did not even remember rising to her feet. She chewed on a thumbnail.

Did Iain know Duncan was here? Had he been alone in the cave when he was captured? Where were Fergus and Gawyn and Angus?

Again, she considered sending for a priest, when what she real y wanted to do was spirit Duncan out of there. To circumvent the time-consuming legalities that may or may not work in his favor, and act quickly and aggressively.

But how? He was a prisoner in an English garrison. He was locked in a
cell
, chained to a
wall
. She was not a ruthless, axe-bearing warrior who possessed the strength and
skill
to break out of such a place and abduct someone in the dead of night, as he had once done.

She could think of one man, however, who did possess those skil
l
s.

Her heart began to race. Was it even possible?

Yes, of course it was. It
had
to be.

But if she was going to do anything to help Duncan, she could not waste another minute deliberating it. She would have to decide on a plan and set it in motion straightaway.

She would travel to Moncrieffe Castle at first light. Once she got there, she would enlist Iain’s help to find Angus, and then she would say and do whatever it took to set aside their differences and unite in this one common goal—to save Duncan’s life.

* * *

Angus MacDonald rode across the drawbridge at Kinloch Castle and dismounted. He had left this place in high spirits not long ago, after the unexpected arrival of Richard Bennett’s head in a bag. For days, Angus had celebrated with his father, the chief, and the warriors of his clan. Feeling jubilant, Angus had raised a glass and spoken in honor of the great Butcher of the Highlands, a noble and courageous Scot.

Angus had not known, however, that a few days later Duncan would disappoint him so absolutely and choose a woman—
an Englishwoman
—over his desire to fight for Scottish freedom.

Nor had he imagined that he, Angus Bradach MacDonald, would ever be capable of such malice and treachery.

He laid a hand on his gut, which had been churning since daybreak. He felt as if he’d eaten a plate of rancid meat but knew it was not so simple as that. This was not something he could purge. It was something very ugly that would
follow
him through the rest of his life and deep down into the fiery depths of his grave.

He walked to the stables, delivered his horse to a groom, and strode to the great
hall
, which was silent and empty.

There was a grim sort of gloom in the air. The celebrations were over.

He looked up at the MacDonald heraldry hanging from the stone
wall
s—the crests and banners and tapestries. He was proud of his ancestry, devoted to his clan, and had made a vow to himself two days ago: that no woman would ever exert such influence over him as that woman had exerted over Duncan.

Angus was a warrior—loyal to clan and country. He would be chief here one day, and for that reason, such blind passion could have no place in his life. He would take a wife, of course, in order to produce an heir—but by God, she would know her place. And she would most assuredly be Scottish.

He turned and looked at the cross, carved deep into the stone of the hearth, and stood for a long time, staring at it, until a noise caused him to look up. A
small
bird was trapped inside the
hall
. It flew around the rafters and fluttered desperately in the highest peak of the ceiling.

Angus looked down at the floor and felt suddenly as if he were sinking through the stones. He had been so angry with Duncan. But what had he done?

He knelt down on both knees, cupped his hands together, and bowed his head. “Merciful God,” he whispered, “I pray for your forgiveness, and for the strength to endure the shame of my sins.”

Then he heard the scrape of a sword at the back of the room and turned to see the dark glimmer of wrath in his father’s eyes. His father, his chief, the man he revered more than any other …

He knew.

And he, unlike God, would not merciful.

* * *

Amelia stepped out of her uncle’s coach and looked up at the massive stone façade of Moncrieffe Castle. The wind was gusting and whipping at her skirts. Her hat ribbons flew wildly around her face. She reached up to hold the hat in place and tried not to think about where Duncan was at that moment, or what torture he might be enduring, as she hurried from the coach to the castle entrance. Instead, she rehearsed her speech in her mind. She had much to accomplish here today, and she could not afford any emotional outbursts or thoughts about possible
catastrophes. She could not
allow
herself to become distracted from what had to be done.

The housekeeper met her in the entrance
hall
. She spoke awkwardly. “Lady Amelia, we were not expecting you. The earl is not at home. His Lairdship left for Edinburgh yesterday.”

Amelia managed a courteous smile. “Edinburgh? On important business, no doubt. In that case, please inform his brother that I have arrived.”

The housekeeper curtsied and hurried from the
hall
.

A short time later, Amelia was shown into the gal
l
ery. She walked through the door expecting to meet with Iain and Josephine but found herself staring also at Fergus and Gawyn. They stood before the fireplace, wide-eyed and surprised to see her.

“Gentlemen.” She removed her gloves. “I am pleased to find you both here. Something terrible has happened. I came as quickly as I could.”

“Aye, we know
all
about it,” Fergus said with a note of contempt.

She looked curiously at Iain. “You know?”

He nodded, and Gawyn approached. “Lady Amelia, I’m pleased to see you as
well
. Did you come from the fort? Did you see Duncan? Is he alive?”

“Yes, he
still
lives.”

There was a clear exhalation of relief in the room.

Josephine rose from her chair, came forward, and embraced Amelia, who was
still
trying to understand what
all
of this meant. They knew. Were they already planning how to extract Duncan from the prison?

“I thought you’d be halfway to England by now,” Josephine said.

Amelia held her close. “No. I couldn’t leave.” She stepped back and held both of Josephine’s hands in her own. “I’ve been at the fort for days, not knowing if I did the right thing by leaving here. Then last night there was a terrible commotion in the compound, and my uncle told me they had captured the Butcher. I was beside myself with despair. I didn’t know what to do, so I came here straightaway.”

“How is he?” Iain asked with concern. “What have they done to him?”

“Do they know his identity?” Fergus asked.

Amelia shook her head. “No one knows who he is, at least not yet. But he is not
well
, Iain. He was badly beaten, which is a mixed blessing, I suppose. It’s why he is unrecognizable.”

Josephine stepped back and covered her mouth with a hand. “Poor Duncan.”

“They’ll hang him, I suppose,” Iain said.

“Yes,” Amelia replied. “That is their intention, which is why I came so quickly. We must get him out of there somehow, and the sooner the better.”

Fergus circled around the table. “You think it’s an easy thing to do, lass—to break a Scottish rebel out of an English prison?”

She met his gaze directly. “Duncan managed to break in and carry me out on his back. Perhaps we can do the same for him.”

Fergus scoffed. “You’re lighter than a daisy. He’s heavier than an ox, and chained up besides.”

“He may be able to walk,” she argued, refusing to be daunted. “His worst wounds are on his hands and face.”

“There’s
still
the wee issue of getting him free of the prison,” Fergus said. “The place is crawling with redcoats, and with the notorious Butcher as a captive, I suspect they have their watch doubled or tripled.”

Amelia took a deep breath. “Yes. I realize it
will
be difficult.

But as I said before, Duncan managed to get in quietly.”

In fact, he had slit a few throats to get inside. He had been ruthless. There had been no mercy. Was she
willing
to condone such methods to save his life?

“Where is Angus?” she asked. “Would he be
willing
to take such a risk? I could give him instructions and
tell
him exactly where Duncan is being held, and I have, in my trunks, three red uniforms that might be useful. I took them from the laundry before I left this morning. I doubt they’ve been missed yet.”

A heavy silence descended upon the room. They
all
exchanged troubled glances.

“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Angus? Don’t
tell
me … has he been captured, too?”

“Nay, lass, he wasn’t captured, but something did indeed happen to him,” Gawyn said, “and we’re
all
still
recovering from the shock of it.”

She frowned. “Tel me.”

“He turned on us, lass. He’s the one who told the English soldiers where Duncan would be.”

She felt the blood drain from her face. “I beg your pardon?

Are you sure? No, it cannot be true. Angus hates the English.

Why would he do such a thing?”

“It’s unforgivable,” Gawyn said.

“He’ll rot in
hell
,” Iain added.

“But are you sure it was him?” Amelia asked. “Perhaps you are mistaken.”

“Always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt,” Iain said. “I admire that in you, Amelia, but in this case there can be no doubt of it. He’s the only one besides me who knew where Duncan would be that night. Angus was supposed to bring Fergus and Gawyn to meet him in the cave, to discuss the future of the Butcher’s campaign, but he went to the English soldiers instead. A boy who was spying for us saw him there, and rode hard to
tell
his father, but it was too late.”

“But why would Angus do that?”

“He was angry with Duncan. He believed his actions were a betrayal to Scotland.”

“Because he proposed to me,” Amelia finished for Iain—

once again feeling as if this was
all
her fault. “But I broke off our engagement,” she told them. “I had already left him. By
all
accounts, it was over, and he
killed
Richard, which is exactly what Angus wanted.”

“Aye, but Duncan was going to give up his crusade as the Butcher,” Iain told her. “He didn’t want to fight any longer, at least not with his axe.”

She took a moment to ponder this news. “He was truly going to give it up?”

Josephine nodded. “Aye, Amelia. He couldn’t live with any more blood on his hands. He told Angus he was going to retire the Butcher for good.”

Amelia bowed her head in sorrow for
all
the pain he was forced to endure because of her, especial y now, when he was England’s prisoner, tortured and sentenced to death.

She sat down on a chair, then lifted her gaze and looked pleadingly at Iain. “We have to get him out of there.

Everything he did, he did to protect others and fight for their safety and freedom. He cannot die. He deserves a chance to live.”

“But how, Amelia? How do we get him out?”

Her thoughts returned to the one thing he had asked of her. “Al he wanted,” she said, “was to speak to a priest. He wanted to confess his sins before he died. I denied him that, because I could not bear to give up hope that I could save him. But I think it’s time I respected his wishes.”

“That’s very kind of you, Lady Amelia,” Gawyn said, “but it does not bring him back to us.”

“No,” she said, “but I believe if we can get a priest into his
cell
, we may be able to deliver him to a safe haven, without ever hurting a single soul.”