Chapter 7 #13
Ella’s first thought upon finding herself hurled up onto the horse was: oh, this is mad.
How many times can I be dragged off by a man on a horse in less than a sennight?
Only this time, she was afraid, and angry.
She was being taken away from Tulloch Castle, where her duty lay.
And from Ceann, who, although he had yet to say a kind word to her, had her stomach all tied up in knots…
Would he come for her? Would he care? She could hold onto that hope.
If he thought she had escaped from Tulloch, he might just be angry enough to come after her.
He would probably even think she had killed the man outside the library door.
A man who had obviously been ordered to guard her.
She had not been alone after all when she had tried the study door.
Thank God it was locked, I would have been caught. Not that it matters now…
She struggled surreptitiously yet again to free her wrists, but the rope held tight.
Well, she wouldn’t be jumping off a speeding horse anyway, nor would she be single-handedly defeating the three rough-looking men that surrounded her.
She would have to bide her time and hope for a chance to escape.
She closed her eyes and let her fury fill her, giving her courage and strength.
Where could they be taking her? And why? Did someone know who she really was?
Ceann knew something was wrong the moment he rode through the gates, and a guard rushed to meet him, followed closely by Maggie. And he had a sinking feeling the something wrong had to do with Ella.
“What happened?” He struggled to keep his tone even.
“Taken, Laird,” the man rasped. It was then that Ceann saw that the guard was wounded, blood staining the front of his tunic. Maggie was pulling at him and fretting, trying to hold a rag to his wound, but he held her at bay, determined to first do his duty to his laird.
“Who was taken?” Ceann asked, though he already knew. “The lass?”
“Aye, and her guard gravely injured”.
“Who took her?” Ceann could feel the rage rising in his chest, his body tightening, preparing to fight. To protect. To avenge.
“I don’t know. They left me for dead. I climbed to the wall… saw... three men on horseback go into the wood… rode… east”. He paused to gasp for breath. “I don’t know how they got her out of the castle… they… just appeared…”
The tunnel. He knew it with a dead certainty. Someone knew of the tunnel under the wall… How could that be? “Go, man, let Maggie tend you…” A sudden horrible thought crossed his mind. “Wait…”
The wounded guard turned, wincing as he did so.
“The lass… she lives? Was she hurt?” He braced himself for the answer, wondering why he cared so much. If she was mortally wounded, it would solve the problem of what to do with her. But the thought of her harmed in any way made his stomach clench.
“Aye, she lives. When last I saw her, she was bound… and they… carried her off.”
Ceann felt a wave of something suspiciously like relief wash over him.
She was alive, and she apparently she did not go willingly.
But who would have taken her? The answer might have been easy if he knew who she was, but he didn’t.
To the east lay his uncle’s small estate, but not much else for miles.
Could his uncle’s men have taken her? No, that didn’t make sense.
All he knew was that he had to get her back, needed to get to the bottom of this damned mystery so that he could get on with other things, like…
Well, all other thought could come later.
He called to his captain, Gregor. Then he raised his sword high in the air and shouted to his men.
“We ride! We’ll find who dares to attack my men on my own lands, aye, within my own walls!”
A cheer rose as the men, eager for battle for any reason at all, hurried to collect their weapons and mount their horses for the second time that day.
They were ready in no time; the countless drills Ceann had put them through had prepared then well for such swift action.
They rode hard to the east, the thunder of hooves drowning out all other sound.
But it could not drown out Ceann’s thoughts.
He could not understand the rage and panic rising in his chest. The rage, aye, he knew rage, had lived in it for longer than he wanted to think about.
But what was this feeling of loss, and of fear?
For a lass he barely knew? Those were not things he was familiar with, because in his mind, he had nothing to fear, nothing to lose, except his position as laird.
Not since the day when he had finally accepted the truth of what his father had done to him.
It was on that day that he lost everything else.
***
Though she lost track of time, it surely could not have been more than a few hours of hard riding before they came to a stone manor house, not nearly as grand as the keep at Tulloch, but certainly no crofter’s hut either.
She was pulled roughly from the horse and led up the stone steps to the door of the manor.
Her hands were still tied, and her wrists ached and stung where the rope had chaffed her skin, but she barely noticed; she was far more concerned with whatever fate awaited her within.
She still did not even know why she had been taken, but somehow she had not expected to be brought to a fine house.
The door was opened and she was shoved unceremoniously inside.
Looking up, she saw seated in front of her on a small dais an older man, perhaps fifty by the gray in his hair and lines on his face, finely dressed, and…
bearing an undeniable resemblance to Ceann.
She looked twice, but it was definitely there.
The same blue-green eyes, the same strong angles of cheek and jaw.
But Ceann’s father was dead, or he wouldn’t now be laird. Would he?
“Lass, it is a pleasure to welcome you to my home.” The man spoke, but his voice was not warm and dark and honeyed like Ceann’s.
No, there was something in the way he spoke that made her blood run cold and cold fear run down her spine.
He rose from his seat, and clasping his hands behind his back, took a few threatening steps toward her.
“Your name, lass?” he demanded.
She answered him only with an icy stare.
“Her name’s Ella, milord”, said the man at her side, the one who had kidnapped her. “I heard her called such whilst I waited to take her.” She shot the man an angry glare.
“Ella, a lovely name for a lovely lass”, said the one who looked like Ceann, but there was no sincerity in his words. Something about him made her very skin crawl. “Tell me lass, what are you to my nephew? His betrothed? His new leman, perhaps?”
Ella’s thoughts raced to catch up. Nephew. This man was Ceann’s uncle? He hadn’t mentioned an uncle living so close by, but then she’d known him only a few short days, and he hardly spoke to her if he could help it.
“Answer me!” he said sharply, rising from his chair.
She tilted her chin up bravely, refusing to be intimidated, though inside she trembled. She could feel the evil of this man, cold and hard, pressing against her skin. “Neither. I am only his guest”, she said as insolently as she could manage while afraid for her life.
He narrowed his eyes at her dangerously, clearly not satisfied with her answer.
“Morag!” he bellowed, not taking his eyes from Ella.
A woman hurried forward from the group of waiting servants behind them, her eyes never leaving the floor.
So different from the cheerful servants at Tulloch, Ella thought.
These people looked as cowed and nervous as any she’d ever seen.
“Yes, milord?”
“Show our guest to her chamber and let her… freshen up. Perhaps she needs some time to consider the dire circumstances that come with her lies. See that she joins me later for supper.” The maid bobbed her head and motioned to Ella to follow her as she headed for the stone stairs at the side of the hall.
As she began to climb, she heard the voice of her captor calling for her to be guarded at all times. Guest he says! Not likely.
She was shown to a room that she had to admit was much nicer than most prisoners were probably allotted.
There were rugs on the floor, and a bed with a thick mattress and velvet bed curtains.
A few tapestries adorned the walls. It was not unlike her room at Tulloch, though considerably smaller.
And instead of a feeling of loneliness and waiting, this room gave her a feeling of oppression and dread.
A maid came in with a basin and a steaming ewer of water, which she placed on a table along with a cake of soap and a linen cloth.
She was then left alone. Déjà vu, all over again.
How much she wanted to be back at Tulloch right now!
As soon as she heard the latch click, she drew a shaky breath and immediately started searching the room.
Either for a makeshift weapon, or a way out, she didn’t care.
Her hands shook as she sifted through a trunk of linens.
Finding no potential weapons, Ella went to the chamber’s single window.
She peered out cautiously, and was disappointed to see the room was at least thirty feet up, perhaps closer to forty.
Still, if she were to tie all of those linens together…
It was her only option so far, and she would damned well do it if it meant getting away from here in one piece.