Chapter 25
“I, Isabella MacGahan, take you to be my husband.” Though it was shock to hear them in her own voice, the words had come out, just as she’d been instructed to say them. She hadn’t choked on them or forgotten a single one.
Assembled in the great hall before as many of the castle inhabitants as they’d been able to quickly round up, Malcolm MacDowylt had spoken his own vow only moments before.
Numbly Isa noted that neither Roland nor Agneys were among the onlookers. Nor Robbie.
“It is done.” Patrick’s words were greeted by a few scattered “Huzzahs,” but for the most part, the spectators seemed more confused than anything else.
Exactly how Isa felt.
The marriage, though irregular, was binding in every way. They’d given their vows in the present tense.
Though she had never really believed she would wed, when she’d allowed herself to dream of a wedding day, she certainly hadn’t imagined it as this quick, detached business transaction.
Once she’d agreed to MacDowylt’s demands, his man had escorted her to her bedchamber.
She’d hardly had enough time to wash her hands and face before there’d been a knock at her door.
They’d whisked her downstairs and into the great hall, still wearing the same filthy, smoke-streaked gown she’d donned that morning, as if they feared she’d change her mind if she had any time to think on it. A few mumbled words and it was over.
She was married.
Now Malcolm and Patrick ignored her completely, discussing the need for new fortifications as they led her up the stairs and toward her bedchamber.
Her husband. She had a husband.
Isa could hardly believe what had happened, feeling almost as if she were walking through a dream.
At the entrance to her room, they stopped, and Malcolm entered the room ahead of her, holding her door open. He still spoke to his brother as he waited for her to pass inside.
“And what of MacQuarrie?” she interrupted. “Will you allow me to see him now?”
Another of those annoyingly inscrutable looks passed between the brothers.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. He’ll have to remain in the holding cell where Roland placed him for now.”
Malcolm stepped out of her room, pulling the door to shut it behind him, but Isa jammed her foot into the opening.
“What?” he asked, frowning in irritation as he stepped back into the room.
“I’ve held to my end of our bargain, MacDowylt. I’ve given you my vows. Now it’s time for you to keep to yers and allow me to take MacQuarrie and leave here.”
Isa took it as a bad sign when Patrick backed away, giving them a measure of privacy.
“I’d ask you to consider my current situation, Isabella.” Malcolm took her hand, leading her over to a chair by the fire. Only when she sat down did he continue. “As the new laird of the castle, I canna very well allow my wife to go running off around the countryside with another man.”
“But we had an agreement.” He had no right to do this!
“I agreed to nothing. You offered to wed in return for my allowing you to leave with MacQuarrie. I told you I’d consider yer words.
Under the circumstances, I found yer terms unacceptable.
Therefore, I decided we would proceed under my terms instead.
” Hands clasped behind his back, he strolled to the door.
He’d tricked her?
“Yer terms? You gave no terms.”
“But I did. I told you we must wed and that is what we did. That you chose to believe anything else is no fault of mine. I did say that you were far too trusting.”
Isa opened and closed her mouth soundlessly, her mind trying to catch up with the helpless frustration she felt.
“You let me go through with that . . . that sham of a marriage believing you’d let us go, and you without the slightest intention of doing so?”
“It’s no a sham, Isabella, as well you ken. It’s legal and binding what you’ve done. What we’ve done. And now, as laird, I’ve matters requiring my attention. Good day, madam.”
Isa ran across the room but arrived there too late. He’d already shut the door and dropped the brand-new outer bar into place.
“Damn you, Malcolm MacDowylt!” she screamed, dropping her forehead against the wood.
Wait.
What had he said about Robbie? That he’d have to remain in the holding cell where Roland had placed him?
Castle MacGahan had no holding cells. Where could . . .
No!
Surely not even Roland would have tossed Robbie down into that horrible, long-abandoned dungeon.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again in hell, MacQuarrie.”
Robert replayed Lardiner’s parting taunt over and over in his mind as he tried to form his next logical move.
Cold, hard stone bit into his back and head where he leaned against the wall, but he didn’t change his position.
Roland hadn’t bothered with a ladder. His men had simply pushed Robert into the hole.
Thank the saints for all the training Coryell Enterprises had put him through.
He’d tucked for the fall by sheer instinct, dropping like a stone.
When he finally managed to stand, he’d reached up, unable to feel anything above him with his fingers, which told him the depth was well over seven feet.
After that, just finding the wall in the infinite black of this hole had taken all his energy.
All he could manage for the moment was to breathe through the pain in his chest and the one in his heart.
Fear, despair, frustration. He recognized their ugly feel. Not fear for himself but for Isa. Despair over his inability to protect her. Frustration that the wound in his chest had weakened his body and sapped the strength he’d needed to fight these bastards off.
From his perspective, this was hell.
It seemed clear from Lardiner’s comment that they intended to leave him in this hole until he rotted.
The memory of the castles he’d toured a couple of years ago with Jessie came back to him.
There’d been one place where the proprietor had handed them a flashlight to look down through a metal grate into the dungeon below, pointing out the bones that had been unearthed there.
They’d laughed at the time, making some joke about gullible tourists and cow bones.
It didn’t seem so funny now, considering that it would be his bones illuminated in the dull glare of tourists’ flashlights in seven hundred years.
Enough!
He couldn’t let himself sink into that trap. It would be all too easy to simply give up. He wouldn’t allow that. Instead he needed to keep his mind active, focusing on the facts at hand.
The stench of ammonia stung his nostrils, but whether it came from prior occupants or too many rats he couldn’t say, and didn’t really care.
He did care that Isa was somewhere above him in the castle, likely in danger. The thought of her alone, grieving for poor Jamie, tore at his heart.
If he’d only taken the boy with him to hunt for Isa, he’d still be alive.
If he’d paid closer attention to what Isa was up to instead of blindly accepting her word, they might have gotten away before Lardiner’s men arrived.
If he’d simply forced her to leave that first day . . .
“If, if, if,” he muttered, his own voice echoing back to him in the darkness more reassuring than the sound of his labored breathing. Clutching his hand to his side, he scooted into a less uncomfortable position.
He hadn’t done any of those things and now they all paid the price for his lack of action. That was the bottom line.
And all that mattered? Figuring out how he’d get out of here and find Isa before it was too late.
Both of which he fully intended to do, just as soon as he could gather his strength.
Malcolm MacDowylt stared into the fire, an untouched cup of fine Scots whisky at his left hand.
His mind must be clear this night if his plans were to meet with success.
Though he’d claimed his right as laird this afternoon when he and Isabella had exchanged their vows, much remained to be done to clear that path in fact.
There were too many small details any one of which could slip through his fingers at any moment.
“Colm?” Patrick stepped inside the laird’s solar, a satisfied grin covering his face. “All’s in readiness as you ordered.”
“Yer certain the lad overheard you? And that the men understand their instructions?”
“Aye, it’s all as you said.”
“I want the men leaving no stone unturned here. I need to learn every dirty secret these walls have to share. Do they ken how important their task is?”
“Yer men are well aware of their assignments.” Patrick shook his head and pulled the door wide open, making no attempt to hide his irritation. “For the love of Freya, Colm, show some trust.”
His brother was right. They each had their own tasks to accomplish this night. Pat had carried out the first part of their plan and now it was his turn.