Highland Brides 03 - On Bended Knee (28 page)

In this direction, the forest grew thicker, and the cliffs were covered with overgrowth. This land was beautiful, so filled with variance… the meadows and hills and lochs and rivers… the majestic cliffs that stood like a proud grandfather, looking over his generations. But at this hour the night was black, and the mist was too thick to use the moon’s light. Her torch flickered and spat in protest of the damp night air, but Seana knew it would burn strong. The peat her father had used to fashion them made them burn long and bright.

She kept her ears perked for some sound of the child’s weeping, but heard naught at all.

There was no way anyone could fall into a pit so deep so as to be heard within the cairn… not from the cliffs above… certainly not without killing themselves. It was almost as though they were buried within the earth itself, and Seana had to believe there was some other way inside…

Resolved to find it, she searched furiously, her own troubles forgotten for the instant.

Later she could feel sorry for herself… later when she was alone and there was no one to see her…

“Where is he?” FitzSimon asked.

“In the forest,” his man replied. “Very near the place we’ve hidden the brat.”

FitzSimon’s thick brows collided. He leaned back within his chair, contemplating that fact. “He’s searching for her.”

“It would seem so, my lord.”

“Stupid bastard.” FitzSimon’s jaw worked in anger, though he continued to recline within his chair, his body relaxed with a languor born of arrogance. “Well, he’s wasted enough of my time,” he said, after a moment’s contemplation. “He might have reclaimed her easily enough had he simply found a way to return what is mine.”

“What would ye have us do, my lord?”

FitzSimon shook his head. “Stupid Scots bastard,” he said again, and lifted a hand to his face, clutching it in frustration. He sighed, resigned. “Kill him,” he ordered the man, and then added, “the girl as well.”

The man’s brows twitched. “My lord?” he said, uncertain he had heard correctly.

“Better yet,” FitzSimon said, noting the gesture and considering it a weakness. None of his men had better cower from their duties. “Bring Cameron and his brat sister to me,” he directed. “I want to see his face as he watches his sister die.”

The man swallowed visibly. “Aye, my lord,” he said, and nodded.

FitzSimon smiled, pleased with his man’s reaction.

It would serve all of his men to see the way betrayal would be met by him. It had been far too long since he’d made an example for them. Cameron might serve him well after all. As for Page, he would have to find another way to reclaim his traitor bitch of a daughter.

He nodded at the door, kicking his foot up on the chest before him. “Go get them,” he ordered the man. “And waste no time. I’m tired,” he said, though he was anything but. The prospect of what was to come washed away his boredom.

The man turned to go, and FitzSimon smiled.

Mayhap even, he would dare to send both heads upon embroidered pillows—his wedding gift to MacKinnon and his bride!

“Ungrateful bitch!” he said aloud, when the man had gone and he was alone. “Just like her gadamned mother!”

He fully intended to make her pay—until the bloody day she died!

The sound of weeping surprised him.

These woods were hardly the place where anyone wandered by night, and tonight above all.

Colin followed the sound, cautious in revealing himself because it didn’t sound like a woman’s sobs at all. He stood back in the shadows, trying to make out the figure seated upon the damp ground. The boy… it looked like a young lad… had his head cradled within his arms, and his arms upon his knees… but Colin didn’t recognize him, until the lad lifted his head, startled by the crunch of bracken beneath Colin’s feet.

“Cameron!” Colin exclaimed. “What the devil are ye doin’ here, lad?”

“Who’s there?” Cameron asked, squinting to see better. He quickly swiped the tears from his eyes.

“Colin Brodie.”

Cameron buried his head within his arms once more. “Go away!” he demanded.

Colin stepped out of the shadows, and stood before the boy, looking down on him curiously. “What the hell are ye doin’ out here in these woods, Cameron?”

“Same thing you’re doing here, ’tis my guess!” the boy answered acidly.

“Making a bloody fool of yourself, chasing a woman who does not want you?” Colin replied honestly.

Cameron peered up at him, his brows colliding.

Colin gave him a sheepish look.

Cameron arched a scornful brow. “I thought every woman wanted Colin Mac Brodie?”

Colin let it go, knowing the lad was distraught. At least he damned well better be distraught, because Colin’s mood was far more sour than the boy could have bargained for.

“I guess not.”

“Hmmph!” Cameron declared. “I dinna believe it! What?” he added bitterly. “Did Broc send you after me? Cause if he did, you can bloody well go’n tell him that I do not need a nursemaid!”

Colin lifted a brow at that. “Why would he send me to get you, Cameron?”

“Because I’m not stupid!” the boy spat up at him, his eyes shooting daggers. “I know he was following me. But he’s not as sly as he likes to think he is!”

Colin wasn’t in the mood to deal with sniveling little boys. “And you’re not quite the man you obviously think ye are, now are you?”

“Why you!” Cameron stood, his fists balled at his sides.

Colin lifted a brow. “Dinna even think it, lad, or you’ll be spitting teeth for a week.”

Cameron stood, shaking in his anger, though he did not move. He didn’t dare, Colin knew, for the boy was far from capable of taking Colin—not merely was he lacking in size, but in strength and skill.

“What the hell are ye weeping over, Cameron?”

“’Tis none o’ your concern!”

Cameron’s face was taut with anger, but Colin could see far more in the lad’s eyes. There was fear there, as well—and not fear of Colin. He was wary, aye, and smart enough to know when not to wield his fists, but afraid of Colin, nay.

And yet, there
was
fear in those eyes of his.

“I want to help,” Colin offered, “but I cannot if ye willna allow it.”

He lunged at Colin suddenly, arms flailing, and Colin growled in disgust. He stopped the lad in one swift motion, restraining him with an arm about his neck.

Cameron made a choking sound, and Colin squeezed a bit harder, not intending to hurt him but wanting Cameron to understand his predicament.

“You’re lucky I like Broc so well,” he told Cameron, his tone fraught with warning. “Because I’m in a verra verra bad mood!”

Cameron made another choking sound, his hands trying in vain to pry Colin’s arm from around his neck. Colin dropped him to the ground.

“Now,” he prompted once more, “what the hell are ye doin’ out here?”

Cameron fell to his knees in a fit of coughing, and Colin frowned at him. He had hardly held him so tightly that he should be behaving so. And then he broke into sobs suddenly, and Colin stood there awkwardly, uncertain what to do.

“Bloody hell! Why are ye weeping like an auld woman, Cameron?”

Cameron shook his head, sobbing in earnest now, and Colin wasn’t certain what to say.

“Och!” Colin exclaimed, and fell to his knees beside Cameron. “What is it, lad?”

Cameron peered up at him, the red in his eyes visible even in the darkness. “’Tis Constance,” he relented, tears pouring down his cheeks. “My little sister.”

A shudder went through Colin at the fearful look in his eyes.

“FitzSimon,” Cameron added, and Colin saw his lip quiver at the mention of the man’s name… a lip that was only now beginning to heal from the looks of it.

“FitzSimon?” Colin blinked in confusion. “Iain’s wife?”

“Nay,” Cameron said, and swallowed his tears, his throat bobbing with the effort. “Her rotten Sassenach bastard father!”

Colin still did not understand, and Cameron told him everything then—from Cameron’s part in a plan to return FitzSimon his daughter, to FitzSimon’s betrayal… taking his sister, killing Broc’s dog. The tale left him reeling. Not even his own encounter with Montgomerie had been so cold.

“Gadamn bastard,” Colin whispered. He placed a hand upon Cameron’s shoulder.

“I have been searching for her all night!” Cameron told him. “I have watched them and they come here to feed her. I know she is here somewhere, but I cannot find her. I must find her, Colin!”

“Och, I know, lad.”

Cameron swiped at his face again, drying his tears. “You did not see Merry,” he said, and couldn’t help himself. He began to weep again. “Rotten bastards!”

Colin nodded, and shook him by the shoulder. “Does Broc know?”

Cameron shook his head, once again wiping away his tears. “Nay. I didna have the heart to tell him… and they said they would kill Constance if I spoke a word of it. I could not take the chance.”

“It’s time he should know,” Colin told the boy. “Do this for me, lad… go’n tell Iain. I know where Broc is and I shall tell him myself and together we’ll find Constance.” He patted Cameron’s shoulder. “I swear to God we will find her. Now get yourself up, and be strong for Constance.”

Cameron nodded and rose from his knees, and Colin did as well. “I swear if he has harmed her…”

“Dinna even think it,” Colin told him. “Go get Iain, and I’ll go after Broc.”

“Nay! I’m coming with you!” he said. But Colin didn’t waste time arguing. He turned around and hurried back to the cairn.

It was getting cold, the wind was blowing hard, and she hadn’t heard a thing from Broc.

Seana didn’t know how long they’d been searching, but as of yet, she’d found naught, and she was beginning to feel there was naught to be found. She listened closely for the sound of weeping, but the only sound to reach her ears was the soft howl of the wind through the ancient stones.

It was on nights such as this that one had to believe in banshees and ghosts, Seana thought—a weeping child who could not be found… the wind shrieking like a banshee calling her lover to his death. These were not the sort of nights one wandered about. It was the sort of night one locked one’s doors and hid beneath heavy blankets. It was the sort of night one forgot it was summer.

But Seana didn’t believe in ghosts and she wasn’t mad. She knew what she’d heard. There
was
a child out there who needed help, and that kept her searching.

At last, her perseverance rewarded her. She heard the child’s sobs before she found the cave opening.

“Hallooo!” she called out. Before going in, she shouted for Broc. But the weeping became more frantic, and Seana didn’t wait to see if Broc had heard her. She went in after the child, carrying the torch before her. Its light cast dancing shadows along the ancient walls, making eerie shadows leap out at her. The cave was small, but very deep, and Seana hurried through the passage, thinking it must run perpendicular to the cairn.

“Och, God!” she exclaimed, spying the child at the end of the passage. Her heart twisted to see her. She was bound, her little hands behind her back, her feet as well, and her mouth, too, though the cloth had worked itself free just a bit. Seana set the torch against the wall, willing it to remain upright, and untied the muzzle first. It was soaked from tears and saliva, and the little girl shook with fear as Seana moved to untie her hands.