Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Kenneth waited in the chapel with Callum and Father Mulcahy.
The thrill of anticipation that had carried him through the morning had begun to fade.
Selene should have been here by now. He told himself she was merely delaying, fussing over her gown, perhaps allowing Maureen and Elsie to make unnecessary adjustments to her hair or veil.
It seemed she did not share his concerns.
But then, of course, he had not informed her of Aidan’s imminent threat.
Shifting his weight, he glanced yet again toward the chapel doors. He resisted the urge to pace. It would not do to appear unsettled – not there, not then.
He turned sharply as hurried footsteps suddenly echoed outside on the cobblestones. The chapel doors swung open and Maureen and Elsie entered, breathless and pale. Their eyes darted about the chapel, confusion plainly written on their faces. Unease stirred sharply in Kenneth’s chest.
Where is Selene?
Gathering his cloak, he hastened down the aisle to meet them.
“What is it?” he demanded urgently, keeping his voice low. “Why is Selene nae with ye?”
Maureen sucked in a breath and exchanged an anxious glance with Elsie, before replying.
She explained how they had been summoned to the dining hall.
“Thinking there must be some trouble with our decorations,” she went on. “We left Selene in her chamber tae wait fer our return.”
“And?”
“Nay one knew of any such summons. Nay decorations were amiss. Puzzled, we hastened back tae the chamber, but Selene was nae there.”
A chill crept up his spine. They had searched the solar, then the corridors, then hurried back again to the dining hall, their confusion mounting with every unanswered question.
At last, with no other explanation left to them, they had assumed Selene must already be in the chapel.
Kenneth’s gaze flicked instinctively toward the altar where his bride should have been standing.
Of course, she was not there.
Something was amiss. The unease that had been coiling in his chest tightened, hard and cold, as he turned back toward Callum and Father Mulcahy. Selene was not merely late. Something had gone terribly wrong.
Callum was beside him, calm, as ever. “Let us look fer her again.”
They raced back to the keep and moved swiftly through every place she might have been.
Kenneth told himself she might have fallen, that she might have taken ill, or suffered some sudden spell that had left her disoriented.
Such thoughts were easier to bear than the alternatives pressing at the edges of his mind.
The search widened – the solar, the walled garden, the infirmary. Along the way, servants were questioned but no one had seen her pass.
It was in the kitchens that they came across young Jamie.
The boy was crouched behind a long trestle table, his thin shoulders hunched, his face ashen beneath a smear of soot. He looked no older than twelve, his hands were shaking so violently that he could scarcely keep them clasped. When Kenneth approached, the lad flinched as though he would be struck.
Maureen stopped short, recognition dawning in her eyes. She turned to Kenneth. “That’s the lad who came with the message that sent us tae the dining hall.”
Kenneth’s fierce gaze fixed on the boy and he lowered himself to Jamie’s level.
“Ye will tell me exactly what ye did,” he ground out, “and who it was who told ye tae dae it.”
Jamie’s lip trembled. At first he shook his head, words failing him, but under Kenneth’s unrelenting presence, the truth spilled out in a rush.
“It was a man… near the stables, this morning.” The boy’s voice shook. “He came up tae me and said he would give me gold pieces if I did what he asked.”
Kenneth growled. “Did ye ken this man’s name?
Jamie shook his head. “He gave me a coin and said all I was tae dae was deliver two messages. The first tae the two younger ladies, then another message fer the other lady.”
Kenneth struggled to quiet his impatience with the lad. “What was this message tae the third lady?”
“They said they were organizing a surprise and that there’d be nay trouble fer me. I was tae lead her outside, nay farther than the postern gate. That was all. I didnae mean nay harm.”
Kenneth’s jaw clenched as the lad continued. As instructed, he had led Selene out into the snow beyond the gate, and then, suddenly fearful, he had fled. He did not know what had happened after that.
Kenneth was already on his feet. There was no more to be learned. He rushed toward the postern gate, Callum a step behind, their breath fogging in the chill air.
The snow told a tale that words could not.
Several sets of footprints marked the ground, their pattern uneven and chaotic. One set veered sharply, heels dug deep as though someone had resisted being dragged forward. The signs of struggle were unmistakable.
Kenneth stared down at the disturbed snow, the truth settling with brutal clarity.
Selene had not wandered off.
She had been taken.
He turned from the trampled snow and bellowed for the alarm to be sounded. Moments later, the bells’ urgent clangor spilled across the grounds, shattering what remained of the morning’s calm.
Together with Callum he raced to the barracks to rouse the soldiers. Orders followed in swift succession – gates to be watched, horses readied, men armed.
Kenneth ran for the stables, his boots slipping on the icy stones as he went.
Arkan greeted him with a sharp toss of his head as if sensing the urgency in his master’s stride.
Kenneth swung into the saddle and hauled the reins tight, keeping his hands steady despite the fury pounding through his veins.
Halvard was there, as was Callum, both already armed, their expressions grimly resolute. A handful of the best soldiers followed. Kenneth spurred Arkan forward, and they thundered out of the gate at a gallop, hooves striking sparks from the frozen ground.
The trail was not difficult to follow. Footprints had scored the snow beyond the walls, leading away from the postern gate and into the sheltering line of trees. The marks grew deeper and more erratic as they went. The signs of struggle reassured him that Selene had been taken alive.
He leaned low over Arkan’s neck, urging him faster, his eyes never leaving the trail through the snow.
They rode through the woods where branches clawed at their cloaks and the air smelled of damp earth and pine. Beyond the trees, the sea rose and fell, its hollow roar echoing along the shoreline.
Kenneth’s heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a brutal reminder of what was at stake.
He raged at the men who had dared lay their hands on Selene, at the boy who had been used to draw her out, and at himself for hiding the truth of danger so that she went, unwitting, through the postern gate into Aidan’s hands.
Beneath the heat of his rage lay an icy fear, one he refused to name, driving him onward with merciless force.
He would find her.
And when he did, God help the men who had taken her.
They saw the thin, grey plume of smoke rising above the line of the dunes, before they saw the men.
Sending up a silent prayer that this time the men had not left their encampment, Kenneth reined Arkan to a halt and lifted a hand, signaling the others to stop. The riders silently gathered behind him.
Kenneth studied the shoreline ahead and the sweep of scrub and rock that could conceal far more than it revealed. Even from that distance he sensed the imbalance of numbers. There were too many tracks heading toward the direction of the campfire.
A moment’s grim calculation told him they were seriously outnumbered.
He understood then what that was.
Selene was the bait. Aidan would be counting on Kenneth’s pursuit. He had set his trap, now it lay open, its jaws ready to snap shut.
Kenneth’s gaze hardened as he considered their options. Surprise was their only weapon, a slim, chance, but better than surrendering the ground altogether. If they could strike fast and fracture the enemy’s line before it was fully formed, they might prevail.
He leaned toward Halvard and Callum, keeping his voice low.
He gave the order to spread out, dividing their small force, sending half along the rocks to the left while he led the others along the rise to the right, with Halvard’s men taking the rear.
They would come in from both sides, hit hard without warning, creating confusion where they could not match strength.
The men nodded, understanding without need of further explanation.
Kenneth cast one last glance toward the smoke curling into the darkening sky, then shouldered his loaded flintlock.
There was no element of surprise after all.
Aidan’s men had been waiting, weapons primed, fingers steady on triggers.
The first shot split the air with a deafening crack, followed instantly by another, then several more in quick succession.
Flame flared from the muzzles of flintlocks hidden among the scrub and trees, and the sharp stench of powder slammed into Kenneth’s nostrils.
Arkan screamed and reared as a musket ball tore past.
“Down!” someone shouted, the warning swallowed by gunfire.
Kenneth drove Arkan forward regardless, urging him through the chaos as musket balls tore into the earth around them, spitting dirt and stone. As shots rang out again and again, one of his men went down hard to the left, pitched backward from the saddle with a cry that was cut short.
Then the muskets were spent.
Steel rang as bayonets were fixed with practiced efficiency, and the distance between hunter and hunted vanished.
Kenneth drew his sword and charged, the world narrowing to movement and sound — the roar of blood in his ears, the scream of metal on metal, the guttural shouts of men throwing themselves into the fray.
Smoke rolled through the trees, turning the battlefield into a shifting maze of shadow and flame. Figures loomed and vanished within it, friend and foe indistinguishable.