16. The End of the Road
The End of the Road
Catriona wheeled her horse around, staring expectantly back at the gates.
I must have done better than I thought. There’s no sign of him!
Silence fell. People walked past, talking in low voices, flashing quick smiles, and bowing up at her.
Did he pass me on the road? Is he already here? No, impossible.
Spurring Strawberry forward, she called to one of the guards.
“Did Niall come through here a moment ago?”
The guard blinked up at her. “Nay, Lady Catriona. The last we saw of him was when he left with ye. Why do ye ask?”
A tendril of worry curled around her chest.
“No reason,” she answered lightly. “We were racing back. I’m sure he’ll be here at any moment.”
She just had time to see anxiety inch over the guard’s face before she trotted past him, spurring Strawberry into a canter.
She was two-thirds of the way back to the plateau when she understood, at last, that something had happened. Head been right behind her. Surely he would have overtaken her on the road, or at least she would have run into him.
Heart pounding with real terror, Catriona turned her horse around and began to trot back. She kept the horse at a slow pace, scanning the undergrowth beside the path for signs that a horse had torn through it.
What am I looking for? A body in the grass? An injured horse? What?
By the time she reached the Keep once more, her heart was in her mouth. Panic thrummed through her veins.
Something has happened. Something has happened.
The guard she’d spoken to at the gate hovered anxiously, waiting for her.
“He’s not been by, Lady,” he called in answer to her unspoken question.
Swallowing thickly—there was a lump in her throat that refused to go down—Catriona scrambled off Strawberry’s back. She threw the reins to a nearby stable boy and set off for the castle itself at a brisk jog.
I have to tell the Laird. A search party must be sent out. Something is wrong. Perhaps he got lost, or was injured, or…
Her brain conjured up all kinds of horrific possibilities.
No, no, no!
Laird MacLeod would know what to do. He might be a frail old man, but there was a quiet air of authority to him and the sense that he’d seen enough of life to put a decent plan together. At this time of day, Catriona guessed that he would be in his rooms for his midday rest.
She tapped on the door, waiting, heart thumping. A muffled voice inside told her to enter.
Pushing open the door, she hurried inside, already babbling.
“My Laird, Niall is missing. We went out for a ride, and I swear that he was just behind me, only—”
She faltered, taking in the scene before her.
Laird MacLeod had a soft, padded armchair set in front of the fire, with a footstool for his old legs. The fire blazed warmly, as always, and his furs were draped over the chair. Thick velvet curtains were pulled over the window, blocking out the light.
The chair itself was empty. Laird MacLeod half lay, half sat on the ground, breathing heavily. A tendril of blood crawled down from one nostril.
Kenneth knelt over him, the point of his dagger pressing against the old man’s throat.
“There are ye, Catriona,” he said pleasantly. “Close the door behind ye, will ye?”
She turned to run, only for the door to be slammed in her face. A trio of blank-faced men stood there, watching her impassively.
“What are ye doing?” she gasped. “He is threatening yer Laird!”
“Don’t bother with that,” Kenneth chuckled. “They are loyal to me. Look at me, lass. I am the one in charge here now.”
Catriona turned slowly, her fingers curling into fists at her sides. Her heart hammered. She felt sick.
“What have ye done?” she whispered.
Kenneth smiled broadly. Something like madness glimmered in his eyes. No, not madness. A madman couldn’t plan as impeccably and coldly as Kenneth had done.
“Niall is dead,” he whispered.
Catriona stiffened. “Ye are lying.”
“I am not. I shoved him off that cliff edge not even a minute after ye left. He’s dead. The only MacLeod heir left is me.”
She drew in a jagged breath, tensing every muscle to stay calm.
Niall? Dead? Impossible.
She dropped her gaze to Laird MacLeod’s face. His eyes were carefully blank, betraying no emotion at all. There were red pinpricks on his neck where Kenneth’s dagger had poked into his skin.
“It’s not true,” Catriona breathed.
Kenneth only laughed, a sharp, nasty laugh that echoed through the room. Her knees wobbled, threatening to buckle. To avoid toppling face-first to the ground, Catriona lowered herself into a crouch, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain her composure.
“I’m sorry, lass,” Laird MacLeod whispered, his voice deep and grating. “I know that ye cared for him.”
“Enough of this,” Kenneth snapped.
He leaned down, gripping the foxhead clasp that fastened the old laird’s cloak together. He tugged, jerking Laird MacLeod painfully forward. A tearing sound filled the air.
Standing up, Kenneth carefully fastened the clasp to his own chest, grinning broadly down at it.
“Laird MacLeod is too old and frail to continue much longer,” he announced.
“The council has known it for years. My uncle only insisted upon staying in his position because he hoped that my feckless cousin would grow up and take his place. Regretfully, that will not happen. I daresay we’ll find Niall’s twisted, broken body at the foot of the cliffs tomorrow, then my position will be secure. ”
“Ye won’t get away with this,” Catriona whispered, even though she could hear the hollowness of her own words.
Kenneth rolled his eyes. “Of course I will. I already have. And as for ye, lass, ye are unfortunately now a widow. But don’t fret, I have something planned for ye.”
Leaving the laird sprawled out on the floor, struggling to breathe, Kenneth stalked towards her, eyes narrowed.
“Ye are going to Laird Farrish,” he breathed. “That’ll seal the alliance. He can send ye to Fraser if he wants; I don’t much care. Ye are the cornerstone of our new treaty, Catriona. Congratulations.”
His eyes burned into her, alight with triumph. She hardly thought of what she did next, stepping forward and spitting deliberately into his face.
Kenneth gave a squawk of surprise, staggering backwards.
Face twisted in disgust, he drew his hand across his face, wiping away the saliva, and stepped forward again. His hand whipped out, palm cracking across her cheek.
The blow was harder than she had expected. Her head rocked back, pain exploding through her face. She staggered, losing her balance. Abruptly, the world shifted around her, and she found herself sprawled out on the floor, new bruises surely solidifying on her hip and side.
“Enough, Kenneth!” Laird MacLeod shouted, groping for his cane, which lay just out of reach. He grabbed the handle and began desperately trying to lever himself up.
“Leave the lass alone. Stop this madness! Why are ye doing this to me? Have ye forgotten what I have done for ye? I raised ye as my own. I loved ye, trained ye. I was proud of ye! I used to tell folks I had two sons, not just one. And now ye turn on me this way? Come now, lad. It’s not too late. All of this can be forgiven.”
Kenneth stared down at him, eyes shadowed. “Even Niall?”
Pain passed over Laird MacLeod’s face.
“All can be forgiven,” he whispered stubbornly. “If ye just stop.”
Catriona pushed herself up into a sitting position, shaking her head numbly and trying to regain her bearings.
Did Laird MacLeod really mean to forgive Kenneth, or was it a ploy to get his guard down?
Judging by the wary look on Kenneth’s face, he was trying to figure out exactly the same. At last, Kenneth snorted, shaking his head.
“I’m not an old fool like ye, Uncle. Ye will stay here in yer rooms, under lock and key.
Make trouble or try to escape, and I’ll throw ye in the deepest dungeon and see how long ye last. As for ye, lassie, ye will have the same treatment.
Cause trouble, and I’ll have ye bound and gagged and left on the floor of yer own room,” he added with a sneer, turning his back.
Soldiers seized Catriona by the arms, hauling her to her feet, and dragged her unceremoniously away.
They’d boarded up the window of her room. Rough planks had been nailed across the window, letting in bare chinks of light. Catriona spent a few wasted minutes trying to pry them off, in hopes of either climbing out or signaling someone. All she got was sore fingertips.
Anything that could have been made into a weapon had been stripped from her room, as well as most of the furniture. A low fire burned, giving her a little warmth, but she was painfully aware that there was hardly any firewood. A stub of a candle filled the room with a weak light.
Dead. Dead. Niall is dead.
She said it over and over to herself, trying to make herself believe it.
Impossible.
A hollow seemed to have formed in her heart, a concave spot that ached when she breathed in. Sitting on the rug by the weak fire, she drew her knees to her chest, resting her forehead on top.
I wish I had never come here. I wish I didn’t know him. Then perhaps it wouldn’t hurt so much.
Footsteps shuffled past the door, pausing outside. She stiffened.
Kenneth?
A shuffling came from outside, then a furtive, whispered, pssst.
“Who is it? Go away if Kenneth sent ye,” Catriona hissed.
“He did not send me. Niall did.”
Her heart leaped. “Sukie.”
“The very same, lassie. Here, come up to the door, quick.”
Catriona scrambled eagerly across the floor, kneeling in front of the door.
“Are ye going to let me out?” she breathed.
“Can’t. The key has been taken, and I can’t lay my hands on it.
But look, I have a letter here for ye. And I’ve brought paper.
Ye will find a pen and ink in one of those drawers in here.
Read the note, and then scribble something down.
I can get a message out for ye. It’s up to ye to know who ye should write to. ”
There was a rustling, then a white, folded piece of paper slipped underneath the door.
“Destroy it once ye have read it,” Sukie added. “And be quick. I don’t know how long I can loiter out here without being noticed.”
Catriona grabbed the letter with shaking fingers and unfolded it. When she read the first sentence, a sob tried to fight its way out of her throat, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep it down.
Dear Catriona,
If you are reading this, my love, I am probably dead. I am writing this the day before our wedding. If anything happens to me, Sukie will give it to you and offer what help she can.
You must find yer family, Catriona. Do what you must to get free. You are stronger than the Keep, stronger than the Lairds, stronger than all the hate that fills the Highlands right now. You are stronger than my name, too.
So, you must survive. You will survive.
And know this, I loved you, lass. I loved you long before I knew how to fight for you.
All my heart goes with you,
Niall
Hot tears welled up in her eyes, sliding down her cheeks. Catriona closed her eyes, pressing her hand against her mouth.
“Did ye read it?” Sukie whispered through the door.
Catriona nodded wordlessly before remembering, foolishly, that the other woman couldn’t see her.
“Aye. I did.”
“Then write, quickly. I hear footsteps. Do nae be too long.”
Swallowing down the agony of her feelings, Catriona hurried over to the desk. Sure enough, there were a few sheets of paper and a little ink. The quill was a bad one and blotted horribly, but there was nothing to be done about that. Her heart hammered as she thought wildly.
Who? Who do I write to? Who will come to save me?
Niall’s letter echoed in the back of her mind.
He loved me. He knew this might happen. He must have known that Kenneth might do something terrible.
He loved me, and I lost him.
She gave a choked sob. A tear fell off the end of her chin and splashed onto one of the precious sheets of paper, blurring the words she’d already written.
That hardened her.
No. I’ll not sob over my letters. I’ll not send begging, tearstained letters out.
Sucking in a breath, she crumpled the ruined letter and tossed it onto the fire, starting a second letter straight away.
This time, she wrote with purpose. Only a few lines were needed.
She blew on the ink to dry it, then folded the paper into a tight little envelope.
She hurried back over to the door and pushed the paper underneath.
“Sukie?”
“Got it,” came Sukie’s hissed reply. “Someone is definitely coming, lass, I have to go or else we’ve both had it. Quickly, where should I send it?”
“Send it to my sister,” Catriona whispered back. “Send it to Keep Cunningham. Give it to Alyth.”