Chapter 39
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
N iamh had no idea how long they traveled, or how far. When she regained consciousness, it was to discover that her captors had bound her hands and tied a sturdy blindfold about her face. She was blind, and even sound was muted by the thick cloth.
She’d originally awoken to find herself slung over the withers of a horse, like a carry-sack. However, the motion had made her nauseous, and she promptly vomited on the man who held her. Since then, she’d been tied into a saddle, more or less upright, while the horses raced on toward an unseen destination.
Once or twice, they stopped to rest their horses and drink. Niamh was tempted to spit the water they offered her in their faces, but she knew that would only lead her to being thirsty, and she didn’t want to risk that. The same was true of the food. The bland travel rations made her stomach churn, but she forced herself to keep it down. With no idea what the men who’d taken her captive wanted from her, she dared not waste any chance to eat or drink. She needed to keep her strength.
There was no opportunity for escape now, but there might be later. She had to be as ready as she could be for that moment.
Eventually, the sound of the hoofbeats changed. They were no longer traveling over untamed moors, but on a road. A short time later, the sound changed again, and she realized they were riding across stone. The sound echoed oddly as well.
It sounds like a courtyard.
If it was a courtyard, then there was a good chance they’d arrived at their destination, wherever that was.
Two of the men all but dragged her from the saddle. She was shoved roughly forward, stubbing her toes on stairs as she was hauled into a building - a keep or a castle - and down a dim hall.
Words were spoken, then she was dragged in another direction and down another set of stairs, longer this time. A door creaked open, and she was shoved forward. She stumbled a bit and fell to her knees. A rough hand locked a shackle around one of her ankles, then the blindfold was yanked away.
Niamh blinked in the dim light. She was, as she’d guessed, in a cell. By the smell of it and the look of the moldering straw in one corner, it hadn’t been tended to in a very long time.
A single torch provided light, but that was enough for her to see the face of the man who stood before her.
He was tall, easily a match for Alistair in height, with dark hair cut short around a lean, almost snake-like face. A scar cut across his jaw, and another through the eyebrow on the other side. His thin mouth was twisted in a sneer, his dark eyes cruel and proud.
She might have guessed who he was even without his torc of rank, simply by the look in his eyes and the words he spoke. “So, ye are the little slip who has captured Alistair MacDuff’s attention, are ye?” He bent and grabbed her chin in a bruising grip. “Nae much, but then, when one marries for gold and alliances, I suppose one tak’s what one can get.”
Niamh swallowed hard, trying not to show how the words had stung. “And ye are?”
“I am Laird Fergus MacTavish.” His expression was cold, and his smile was vicious, tainted with hatred to the point it seemed a madman’s smile. “And I am the man who will destroy yer husband.”
“Ye… why?”
“Why nae?” He sneered. “Yer husband has been a thorn in my side fer years, even afore he became a laird. His father was weak, and I could have conquered him easily. But he sired strong sons, and they’ve defied me and thwarted me ambitions fer power time and time again. ‘Tis unacceptable.”
Niamh swallowed. “And what has that tae dae with me?”
Fergus MacTavish laughed, and it was a cold, ugly sound, like the voice of a demon. “Alistair is a warrior born, but his heart is his weakness. I want tae destroy him, and I want him tae suffer, and the best way tae accomplish that is tae make him watch, helpless, as I tak’ everyone he’s ever loved from him. And when he is drowning in despair, helpless in his rage and grief, then will I watch the light fade from his eyes as he destroys himself. And, if I am feeling merciful, I may offer him the knife tae cut his throat with.”
Niamh shuddered in horror. “Ye… ye’re… a monster.”
“So ye would say.” Fergus MacTavish laughed again. “But ye’re his woman, and such words from one o’ Alistair’s playthings mean less than curses on the wind tae me.”
“Then ye plan tae kill me?” Niamh swallowed hard, to hide the terror that thought caused her.
“Soon enough. But only when Alistair arrives tae save ye. ‘Tis me one regret, that I’ve never been able tae watch him, the look on his face, when he loses those he loves, or when they’re in danger, and he realizes how helpless he is tae protect them. This time, I wish tae see it.”
“This time?”
“Aye.” MacTavish sneered at her. “Did he tell ye? That I killed his first beloved, and his faither?” He bent close. “I did, fer all I made it appear that bandits had done the deed. I killed them, and I watched the light fade from their eyes. I killed his father first and made her watch. She was so frail, so frightened. I let me men play with her, afore I delivered the final blow. But alas if I’d stayed tae see Alistair’s face, he would have had proof ‘twas me. He might have actually convinced others among the Highland lairds tae ally with him. I didnae want that, so I left the bodies fer him tae find.”
Niamh fought down her own fear, listening as he continued, pleased to boast.
“I had hoped tae poison ye at the wedding. He would have been devastated tae realize he couldnae protect ye, nae even in his own stronghold. It might have even broken him. His braither is too loyal tae claim his lairdship afore Alistair dies, so he would be too easy tae destroy. A pity ye realized something was wrong.”
He sneered at her again. “I dae hope ye and Alistair liked me little gift. I couldnae leave a failure tae live. Nae as if she mattered, she was naething but a foundling.”
The casual way he spoke of murdering a child made Niamh’s stomach churn violently. This time, she made no effort to restrain it. She doubled over and threw up everything in her stomach. It wasn’t much, but she at least had the satisfaction of watching Fergus MacTavish jerk back with a snarl.
The blow to her face was much less pleasant, but as she nursed the bruise, she heard the scuff of his boots on stone, followed by the closing of the door. Once he was gone, she breathed a sigh of relief. She wanted no more of his poisonous words.
And she wanted to give him no opportunity to realize the truth, the truth she’d begun to guess on the long ride, nibbling on her bland travel rations.
While Fergus MacTavish would guess it was a woman’s ‘delicate disposition’, most likely, but Niamh feared her illness came from another source entirely.
She had been so tired recently, so sensitive to certain foods and smells. So easily nauseated. The first day or so, she’d thought it no more than a passing illness. But now…
She had not had her moon cycle on time. She should have had it two or three days before, shortly after she and Alistair had begun to be fully intimate.
Her hand went to her stomach, a gesture that might be seen as seeking comfort after being sick, but which held another meaning to her.
If Catriona’s advice and wisdom were correct, then there was a very good chance she was carrying Alistair’s child.
If that was the case, she dared not let Fergus MacTavish even suspect it. He would take far too much delight in forcing her to lose the babe, or worse, cutting it from her in front of Alistair. She would not let that happen.
She had no idea if Alistair even knew where she was, if he was searching for her, or perhaps now riding to her rescue. But until she saw him again, she would do everything in her power to protect the precious life she suspected she now carried.
A child. She’d feared it so long, but now that the possibility was real, now that she might actually be with child, she could only think one thing.
Me sweet bairn, if truly ye exist as a new life within me, I promise ye I will dae everything in me power tae ensure yer safety. I will give ye the best chance o’ living that I can.