Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
S omething didn’t sit right with Blaine. Something clawed at him, nagging him from the very depths of his gut. It was as if something was wrong, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but knew to be true.
It had to be his decision to leave like that, without fighting for Kathleen. That was what unsettled him, the thought that he could have done something to at least try and prevent the heartbreak that would follow and torment him for the rest of his life.
He had to go back to Castle Stalker and at least attempt to talk to her. He would never be able to live with himself if he gave up on their love so easily. Once, he had told himself he would fight for her, for them, no matter what it took, and now it was time for him to prove it .
He was in the middle of the woods when he decided to turn his horse around and head right back to Castle Stalker. Even if in the end, it turned out that Kathleen didn’t want to even see him, he had to try again. He had to give it his all or he would live with the regret for the rest of his life.
Pushing his horse to its limits, Blaine rushed through the country, the trees whizzing by in a blur of green. When he made it to the castle, though, what he found was not what he had left behind.
There was a tension in the air, thick enough to cut with a sword. The moment he stepped foot in the castle grounds, he was met with a sense of unease, and the first thing he noticed was that the soldiers were mobilizing.
Could it be that Clan Campbell had already attacked? There seemed to be no damage, no signs of battle and destruction. Perhaps the Campbells were much closer, though, and Laird Stewart was sending all his men out to defend the keep.
Blaine looked for a guard who knew him, and found a man to whom he had spoken before. He approached him, stepping in his way as the other rushed to gather weapons and hand them out to his fellow soldiers, and when the guard saw him, he gave him a look of surprise.
“Mr. Farquharson,” he said. “Ye’re back? ”
“Aye,” said Blaine. “What’s wrong here? Did the Campbells make a move?”
“Och aye,” said the man. “Laird Stewart is sendin’ everyone out.”
“Why?”
“It’s Miss Mackintosh,” said the man, and Blaine’s blood ran cold, fear freezing him from the inside.
Kathleen? Did somethin’ happen tae Kathleen?
“Laird Stewart,” he demanded. “Where is he?”
“In his study, I think,” said the guard. “He asked that he nae be disturbed.”
Well, he’ll have tae be.
“Thank ye,” Blaine said and quickly spun on his heel, running inside the keep. No one tried to stop him. He must have looked like a mad man, dashing around the corridors like that, but if anyone thought it strange, they didn’t comment on it. After all, servants and soldiers alike were too busy preparing for battle, and no one batted an eye as he rushed past them and towards the laird’s study.
Once there, he didn’t bother knocking on the door. He only threw it open, much to the surprise of the people inside—the laird himself, Fenella, Bran, Ilyssa, and some members of the laird’s council. All of them turned to stare at him in shock as he clutched at the door handle, panting to catch his breath, his chest heaving with every gulp of air he took.
“What… what happened?” he asked. “Where is Kathleen?”
“Ye’re back?” Laird Stewart asked, half-standing from his chair.
“Kathleen,” Blaine insisted. Perhaps he appeared terribly rude to them all, but this was not the time for him to waste any moment exchanging pleasantries. “Tell me what happened tae her.”
“She left the castle,” Ilyssa said, stepping forward from where she had been standing near the window, gazing at the world outside. “I can only assume tae find ye. An’ a messenger brought this…”
As Ilyssa spoke, Laird Stewart passed a piece of paper to one of the councilmembers, who in turn, passed it to Blaine. It was a short, succinct message; nothing more than a request for gold in exchange for Kathleen’s life, signed and sealed by Laird Campbell himself.
“How dae we ken this is real?” Blaine asked. “How dae we ken he has her?”
“Well, she’s nae here,” Bran said through gritted teeth. For a moment, he sat in the same armchair Blaine had occupied earlier that day, still and silent, but then he slammed his hand down on the desk, sending every item on the surface rattling—and everyone in the room jumping with surprise. He pushed himself off the chair and stomped over to Blaine, who said nothing but stood firm, meeting the man’s gaze with as much defiance as he could muster. “It’s all yer fault. If it hadnae been fer ye, naething would have happened!”
“Bran, calm yerself,” Ilyssa said, approaching her husband to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Ye ken how Kathleen is. If she puts her mind tae somethin’…”
“If it wasnae fer him, she wouldnae have left like this!” Bran pointed out, and Blaine couldn’t even disagree with that. He had played a big part in this, that much was true. He had been the cause of all her distress, and he had very likely been the reason why she had left the castle in the first place. Had he stayed, had he tried harder to connect with her, then she wouldn’t have fallen into Campbell hands. “An’ now he’s back! Why are ye back? What are ye daein’ here? ”
Blaine didn’t know if it was wise to admit the truth—that he was back to speak to Kathleen and attempt a reconciliation. And yet, he did so anyway.
“I’m here fer Kathleen,” he said calmly, holding his head high. “I wish tae see her.”
“Get out,” he said, and his tone was so calm that it shook Blaine more than any shout could. “Get out afore I truly kill ye.”
“Bran—” Laird Stewart tried, but Bran shook his head.
“I dinnae wish tae hear it!” he roared. “Why must I show any sort o’ understandin’? Why must I forgive this man after everythin’ he’s done tae me lassie? Daes any o’ ye understand what this means?” he asked, as he snatched the note from Blaine’s hand, holding the paper up in the air for everyone to see. “Daes any o’ ye understand that me daughter is out there, held by me greatest enemy? Dae ye imagine how scared she must be? How alone? Did ye ever think about that?”
Fenella held back a sob at those words about her dear friend. Tears glimmered in Ilyssa’s eyes as she listened to her husband’s words. She drew her bottom lip between her teeth, trying to stop those tears from falling, as Bran threw himself back on the armchair, sagging in its embrace .
He was a broken man; Blaine couldn’t fault him for any of his words, not when the most precious thing he had in his life had been snatched from him so cruelly and so suddenly. He was only a father who feared for his child. He was only a man who wanted his daughter back safe.
“I’ll bring her back,” Blaine promised. “Ye have me word.”
“I dinnae need ye tae bring her back,” said Bran without sparing him another glance. “I’ll bring her back meself.”
“With all due respect, ye hired me once tae protect her, an’ I never once failed,” Blaine reminded him. “I’ve never failed a mission. Ye ken that. I am the best there is at what I dae.”
“He’s right, Bran,” said Laird Stewart. “Blaine could be o’ great use tae us.”
Bran remained silent for a long time—long enough for Blaine to get impatient, but he refrained from talking. If Bran insisted, then Blaine would go out there on his own anyway, searching for Kathleen. It didn’t matter to him either way; he was not going to sit back and wait for anyone else to save her when he could do it himself.
Earlier that day, Laird Stewart had claimed Blaine couldn’t fight the entire Campbell army on his own. And yet, Blaine was prepared to do so if needed—if only to make sure Kathleen was safe.
“Fine,” said Bran in the end. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to deflate, the fatigue of the past few hours catching up to him. “Fine. If this is what ye all want, let him help. But if ye so much as touch her again, I’ll kill ye too.”
As Bran turned to look at Blaine, their gazes meeting from across the room, he knew the threat to be true.
Kathleen struggled to open her eyes. Her lids felt heavy and her temples were pounding in time with her heartbeat, her ears buzzing so loudly that it made her splitting headache worse. It was cold and dark where she was, and when she tried to move, she found that her entire body was numb.
No, not only numb; she was also restrained, incapable of moving her arms or her legs.
Her eyes flew open in a panic, adrenaline kicking in and overriding everything else. Her breath came in short, panicked puffs as she looked around her, trying to make sense of her surroundings and remember what had happened. Memories came back to her in a flash, a flood of them pouring into her mind until she remembered it all—how she had left the castle to find Blaine, how she had come across Laird Campbell and his men, how he had rendered her unconscious so he could use her for ransom.
Now, as she looked around her, she realized she was in a clearing along with an army of Campbell men. Her wrists were tied behind her back, the skin rubbed raw from the rope, and her ankles were bound together with another length of it. The night’s chill had seeped into her bones and she couldn’t help but shiver, as no one had taken the time to so much as drape a cloak or a blanket over her.
She had always thought that if she ended up as an enemy clan’s hostage, they would at least have the decency to show her some respect.
Shifting to sit a little straighter, Kathleen felt the rough scrape of a tree trunk against her back. She cursed quietly under her breath. No matter how much Laird Campbell hated her clan, it was no excuse for him to treat a lady like this, but she had the suspicion that all her protest would go unheard even if she voiced them.
The only comfort she had was the thought that Laird Campbell couldn’t kill her, not if he wanted the gold. Surely, her father and Laird Stewart were already on their way there to save her.
Or perhaps her father would kill her himself after learning what she had done .
“Well, look who’s awake.”
It was a strange voice, one Kathleen didn’t recognize, but when she looked up, she recognized the face from a portrait. It was none other than Rory Campbell, Laird Campbell’s son, who resemble him as much in appearance as in personality. He, too, was tall and broad, towering over Kathleen as he stood in front of her, his bulk obscuring the glow of the fire the soldiers had built. Kathleen didn’t flinch as he approached, though; she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
“Can ye untie me, please?” Kathleen asked, in the most polite yet firm tone she could muster. “I cannae feel me arms. Or me legs. Or anythin’, actually. An’ I’m cold an’ hungry an’ I must relieve meself, so if ye’d be so kind?—”
“Where, exactly, dae ye think ye are?” Rory asked her, cutting her off sharply. “Ye’re a prisoner here. This isnae a castle. We’re nae yer servants.”
“I am a lady an’ ye will treat me as such!” Kathleen reminded him, her entire body jerking as she tried in vain to stand on her feet. It didn’t help her case that she sitting so uselessly on the ground. If she wanted to be assertive, she had to get out of those ropes. “What is the matter with ye Campbells? The least ye can dae after bringin’ me here an’ holdin’ me hostage is tae treat me with some respect! ”
Rory looked at her with a confused frown, but before he could speak, his father stepped in, silencing him with a dismissive wave. He glanced back at Kathleen one last time, then turned and strode toward a cluster of their soldiers.
Laird Campbell fixed his stare on Kathleen. She noticed how much older he looked than her father — though they were likely the same age. It was as if cruelty had aged him faster. “Are ye always like this, lass?” He asked.
“Like what?”
“So… foolish.”
She’d never mastered the art of holding her tongue. It was her greatest weakness — always speaking when silence would serve her better.
She was about to answer back when the shouting began.
The Campbell soldiers scattered, scrambling as enemies burst from the trees, attacking from all sides. A war horn blared, its sharp cry slicing through the stillness of the forest. The first clash of swords followed, a deafening ring like iron bells .
Laird Campbell's eyes burned with hatred. But whatever revenge he’d planned, he had to let go. War had come, and he had no choice but to defend himself.