The noisy rattle of the rain drew his gaze to the clouds, and he winced when a splat landed on his forehead. The downpour came as no surprise. The skies had been threatening most of the morning. A bit of a hindrance, since it would slow his passage over the higher ground. But it would also hinder those conducting a search. He hiccupped again and patted his horse’s neck.

  Aye, sometimes fortune smiled upon the wicked. His hiding place, too, worked perfectly for his new plan. The lass could scream till her throat bled, but no one would ever hear her. He wondered how much she was worth. A fair bit, for sure. He silently congratulated his success. Seems he’d discovered the Templar gold after all.

  And it had almost been too easy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ruaidri stepped into his private chamber, closed the door, and leaned against it, daring to hope he might feel the familiar sense of peace that usually greeted him in this place. Or a semblance of it, at least.

  A foolish hope. Peace, of any sort, eluded him completely.

  A single candle burned atop the table, its miserly light scattering the darkness, but not scattering it enough for Ruaidri. He wandered over to the shuttered window and tugged the shutter open. Dismal afternoon light wandered in, as did a burst of brackish air. The candle flame flickered in protest for a moment before snuffing out in a hapless swirl of smoke.

  Ruaidri gazed out across the courtyard, his view marred by the persistent rain, though his brain barely registered it anyway. His sight was turned inward. Reflecting. Regretting. He’d hated to leave Father Iain behind, but feared a hasty journey on horseback would have proven to be too much for the injured man.

  Instead, he’d ridden hard and fast, back to the castle to make more secure arrangements. Even now, Gabriel, Duncan, and Hammett were preparing to return to the church with a wagon, better suited for transporting an invalid.

  As for Morag…

  The news of her abduction had initially been greeted, as expected, with shock and disbelief, and then outrage. Yet, in all the sharing of distress and fury, not one person had regarded Ruaidri with accusatory eyes. Not one had questioned his actions that day, or made him feel in any way responsible.

  He felt responsible, nonetheless.

  As he continued to gaze, unseeing, out of the window, he cursed his negligence for the thousandth time. Trapped between remorse and rage, he hardly knew where to put himself. His suspicion of the culprit’s identity remained, chafing his nerves raw. He’d spoken of it to no one. At least, not yet.

  “May God keep you, lass,” he whispered. “Stay strong.”

  Heaving a sigh, he stepped away from the window and dropped into a chair at the table just as Ewan entered. “The wagon’s almost ready to go,” he said, giving Ruaidri a discerning look as he straddled a chair. “How are you faring?”

  Ruaidri gave a half-shrug. “Wishing I could turn back time,” he said. “But all we can do now is wait. And pray.”

  “’Twould also be helpful if you stopped blaming yourself.”

  Ruaidri shot a scowl at his brother. “I’m the one to blame, Ewan.”

  Ewan barely suppressed a sigh. “Duncan insists on taking a couple of dogs along in hope of picking up a trail. And I’m wondering if we should dispatch a search patrol. They can ask around. Find out if anyone has seen anything unusual.”

  “Aye, do it, but tell them to be discreet. In any case, I warrant we’ll hear from whoever has her soon enough. This is the start of a game, Ewan, and we’ve yet to learn how this whoreson wants to play it. I only know it’s us against him, with Morag in the middle. She’s at his mercy, which will be dictated by how we respond. We cannae make any real moves till he makes his.”

  “And if Duncan finds a trail?”

  “Then we’ll have a direction, at least, though I cannae imagine the kidnapper would be careless enough to leave one. And again, we have to be careful. He has the upper hand right now. I’ll no’ risk Morag’s safety by doing something rash.”

  Ewan grunted. “What I cannae fathom is what led him to believe the church is hiding some kind of Templar treasure. Do you think someone here might have been gossiping?”

  Ruaidri shook his head and looked down at an imagined spot on the table. “I dinnae think anyone here is responsible.”

  Ewan fell silent and Ruaidri waited, anticipating a question. It came.

  “What are you no’ telling me, Ruaidri?”

  Ruaidri met his brother’s gaze. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “Everything you know,” Ewan repeated, narrowing his eyes. “Aye, maybe you have. But what is it you suspect? There’s something else simmering in that brain of yours. Dinnae deny it.”

  “Well, I pray I’m wrong, but I cannae shift the feeling that…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Christ. It pains me even to say it.”

  “To say what? Do you have a culprit in mind?”

  Ruaidri gave a grim smile. “Aye, I do.”

  “Who?”

  “Alastair MacAulay.”

  Ewan gasped. “What? Och, nay, brother, why would you think that? ’Tis nae possible. The whoreson is long dead.”

  “His body was never found.”

  “Aye, but…” Ewan shook his head. “It’s been nigh on a year since he went missing. If he was still alive, he’d have shown up long before now.”

  “Not necessarily,” Ruaidri countered. “Do I have to remind you what he did and what motivated it? If no’ for Cristie’s courage I’d be dead, and no one, other than his henchman, would have known the truth of it. In saving me, the lass exposed Alastair’s depravity to all and sundry. I’m guessing he didnae die in the mountains. I reckon he simply went to ground and took his evil motivation with him, because he knew if he returned to Dunraven, he’d have to face a reckoning.”

  “And a final one,” Ewan mumbled, “rapidly settled by me.”

  “If not by you, then someone else. Which makes me think he’s simply been biding his time, and has recently crawled out from whatever hole he’s been hiding in. And somehow, in the meantime, he discovered the location of the church and went there looking for the Templar gold.” Ruaidri pressed his fingers to his temples and heaved a sigh. “I dinnae believe he planned to take Morag, however. I think our visit this morning was just a tragic coincidence, one that gave him an advantage he could never have foreseen. I was negligent, Ewan. I left our sister unprotected. May God forgive me, I gave her to this bastard.”

  “And had I been there instead of you, my actions would have mirrored yours,” Ewan replied, his tone softened. “The glen has forever been a sanctuary, the last place to expect any kind of evil. And if it’s any consolation at all, your visit likely saved Father Iain’s life.”

  “That’s if the poor man still lives.” Ruaidri shoved his chair back and wandered to the window once more. “Christ knows, I hated leaving him, but I reckoned he wasnae up to sitting astride a horse.”

  “You did what you had to do.” Ewan moved to Ruaidri’s side. “He’ll yet live. Gabriel will tend to him, and you’re right, he’ll be more comfortable in the wagon. Cease flagellating yourself.”

  “I cannae help it.” Ruaidri shook his head. “Morag’s safety was—is—my responsibility. I can only pray that she isnae harmed. I also pray that I’m wrong about it being MacAulay. The thought of her in the clutches of that devil…” He uttered a quiet curse. “Of any devil, sickens me to the core.”

  Ewan grunted. “Better the devil we know, perhaps.”

  “Aye, perhaps,” Ruaidri straightened his shoulders and turned to face his brother once more. “For now, all we can do is wait and see what he wants. But I swear before God, no matter the outcome of this, I’ll track the bastard down and kill him. If it takes the rest of my life.”

  “We found a couple of hoofprints at the edge of the trees.” Duncan slid from the saddle, looking rather as though he taken a tumble into the loch, as did the two saturated hounds at his side. “I reckon they belonged to an unshod horse of a decent size, but the trail disappeared when we got deeper into the woods. If it was our man, then it seems to imply he travelled along the northern shore of the loch, though I cannae imagine why. There’s no way out of the glen at that end. He’d have to either retrace his steps or follow the shore all the way around till he got back here, and I saw no sign that he did either of those things. ‘Tis as if he just vanished.”

  “Maybe he went over the mountains,” Ruaidri said, watching as Niall closed the castle gates. It was now late afternoon, the light already fading into dusk. There had been no sign, and no news of any kind. Then again, it was unreasonable to expect a ransom demand so soon. But the waiting, the not knowing, was torture. Over and over, Ruaidri cursed what he saw as his negligence.

  “The mountains, Laird?” A dubious expression settled on Duncan’s face. “A man would have to be beyond daft to attempt that, especially on a day like today.”

  “You’re right.” Ruaidri’s smile held no humour. “But I think it’s safe to assume we’re no’ dealing with a sane character. Who did you leave at the church?”

  “Brody. Though he’s none too happy about it. How’s Father Iain?”

  “Complaining about being brought back here, but resting, at least,” Ruaidri replied. “Thank you for your efforts, Duncan. I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll do anything you ask of me, Laird.” The man’s eyes teared up. “And I swear, if I ever get my hands on the bastard who did this, I’ll rip him apart.”

  “If I get to him first, there’ll be naught left for anyone else.” Ruaidri looked down at the water puddling around Duncan’s feet. “Go and dry yourself off, man, afore you catch your death. And see to those dogs as well.”

  After Duncan left, Ruaidri wandered over to the gatehouse, climbed the stairs, and gazed inland, across the vast, darkening landscape. “Where are you, lass?” he murmured, the only response being the familiar whisper of wind and sea.

  Morag was out there somewhere, terrified, injured, at the mercy of evil. And there was nothing Ruaidri could do. Nothing anyone could do. They had no choice but to wait.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Morag fought against the darkness. It surrounded her, suffocating and thick, the sensation made worse by a vicious throb of pain in her skull. Was she trapped in some terrible dream? Or, God have mercy, fighting some devilish sickness? As awareness approached, it brought more confusion with it. Her body was moving as if being carried, and she recognized the movement as that of a horse, unsaddled, its flesh warm against her thighs. And someone was seated with her, behind her. Holding her in place.

  What had happened?

  Her eyes fluttered open, taking a few moments to focus. The horse carrying her was near black, its ears twitching as it plodded along, its arched neck draped with a coarse black mane. They were travelling through a forest, dense and dismal, the trees threaded together with a thin grey mist. Other than the soft rhythmic thud of the horse’s hooves, not a sound disturbed the damp air.

  It had to be a dream. Or a feverish nightmare. She drew a soft breath. “Where…?”

  No sooner had the word scraped over her throat than the arm circling her ribs tightened. Morag tried to move her hands only to discover her wrists were bound, a realization that sent a jolt of fear through her sluggish mind.

  She let out a cry and twisted around, a move she regretted a moment later as pain and dizziness forced her to close her eyes. But not before she’d seen the cloaked cowled figure seated behind her. A man undoubtedly, his eyes shadowed ‘neath the folds of his hood, mouth and nose covered with a strip of black cloth.

  She strained against the arm that held her. “Who are you? Let me go, you—”

  “Dinnae struggle, lass,” he said, his gravelly voice muffled by the cloth. “’Twill serve no purpose.”

  She looked down at her belt, seeking her dirk, but the scabbard was empty. Teeth gritted, she squirmed, though with little effect. “Whoreson! Let me go!”

  The arm holding her tightened further, and the heat of masked breath brushed past her right ear. “Be still, or I swear I’ll bind your feet as well and throw you over the horse like a sack. I’ll no’ tell you again.”

  Morag cringed. His breath, permeating the covering over his mouth, stank of stale wine. His body didn’t smell too sweet, either. Rancid, like sour milk.

  “Well, whatever this is about, you’ll no’ get away with it.” She cursed the slight tremble in her voice. “Do you ken who I am?”

  A growl, or perhaps a laugh, came from the depths of his throat. “Aye, Morag MacKellar, I ken who you are.”

  She closed her eyes once more, silently cursing the fierce pain in her head. “Then tell me who you are and what you want from me.”

  “You’ll find out who I am soon enough.” There followed a brief pause. “And I want naught from you, lass,” he added, in little more than a whisper, “not anymore.”

  Not anymore? What does he mean?

  Struggling to think clearly, Morag attempted to make sense of her situation. What had led up to it? How had this man managed to capture her? Where had she been and what had she been doing?

  It came back in a rush.

  The church! She’d been at the Templar church with Ruaidri. He’d gone inside to look for Father Iain. She’d wandered off to gather some white heather to place on her grandfather’s tomb. There’d been a noise behind her. Someone approaching. Ruaidri, she’d assumed, not bothering to look. And then…

  Gingerly, she moved her head from side to side, wincing at the pain. “You hit me.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Who are you?”

  He still didn’t answer.

  She huffed. “Well, whoever you are, you willnae get away with this.”

  His chest rose and fell, but he remained silent.

  “I mean it,” she said. “My brothers will find you and—”

  Snarling, he gave her a sudden hard squeeze that pushed the air from her lungs. “You should ken, lass, that I have nae qualms about beating a woman into silence, so if you value that pretty face of yours, I suggest you shut your mouth. When next you speak, ’twill be at my bidding. Understood?” His covered lips brushed over the shell of her ear, making her flinch. “You may say ‘aye’.”

  Morag tried to shrug him away. “Did you harm my bro—?”

  With a snarl, he grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head backwards, making her yelp. “God’s bollocks, lass. Are you deaf or just witless? But nay, I didnae harm him. I had no cause to go anywhere near the whoreson. I had you and needed naught else. Now, shut your gob till I give you permission to speak.”

  He released his grip on her hair, causing her head to jerk forward, the resulting burst of pain blinding her for a moment. Blinking back tears, she gave silent thanks to God. At least Ruaidri hadn’t been harmed. She didn’t dare ask about Father Iain for fear of riling her captor further, but she sent up a quick prayer for his wellbeing.

  Then, she focused once again on her situation. Where were they? And in what direction were they travelling? Moving only her eyes, she studied her surroundings, seeing nothing that gave her answers. It didn’t help that the grey skies obscured time and direction. She regarded the surrounding trees, specifically the moss on the trunks, which tended to prefer the north side, away from the sun. Though the mist hid much of the detail, she noticed a definite pattern and calculated they were travelling south. Or maybe southeast, since they seemed to be inland from the coast. Not that it really mattered, she supposed. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious or how far they’d gone. And she didn’t dare ask.

  The meaning behind the man’s earlier response taunted her, however. Not anymore. The statement implied he knew her, and had once wanted something from her. Almost immediately, a name from the recent past emerged from the fog in her brain. She held her breath. Nay. It cannae be him. Not after all this time. She opened her mouth to ask and then closed it again, remembering his threat. If her suspicions about his identity were correct, the threat had not been an idle one.

  For now, she had no choice but to submit and cooperate. Any attempt to escape would be futile. In her current state, she’d not get very far. Her head continued to throb. Nauseated and dizzy, she doubted she could even stand unaided.

  For a while, they travelled in silence, going deeper into the forest, deeper into the gloom, though the mist had cleared somewhat. The pain in Morag’s head had become a dull ache, and the desire to sleep dragged at her eyelids. Then the horse shied suddenly, startling her awake.

  “Calm yourself,” her captor muttered.

  “Go to Hell,” she snapped, unable to stop herself.

  “I was talking to the horse.” He placed his lips close to her ear again. “And even if I wasnae, I didnae give you permission to speak.”

  Morag failed to suppress a flare of rage. “I beg your pardon, Laird MacAulay.”

  His body flinched, a reaction that confirmed Morag’s worst fear. She bit down against a thrust of absolute dismay. Alastair MacAulay, alive! May God help me.

  A low chuckle emanated from him as he lifted a hand from the reins. She felt rather than saw him tug the cloth from his face.

  “Well, lass, I have to give you credit for recognizing me,” he said, his voice now unhindered, “considering you’ve thought me dead for nigh on a year.”

  “Do I have permission to respond?”

  “Aye.”

  “I prayed you were dead. It sickens me to learn otherwise.” She scoffed. “’Twill be remedied, though. My brothers will find you and dispatch you for good. I guarantee it.”

  “If they dinnae do as I say, ’tis finding you they’ll be concerned about.”

  She ignored the threat as a sudden thought pushed its way into her mind. “Did you hurt Father Iain?”

  He snorted. “I didnae have to. The clumsy prick fell over his own feet and knocked himself out.”

  “Dear God,” she murmured,

  He heaved what sounded like a contented sigh. “I tell you, my lady, I cannae wait to be proved right.”

 

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