Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
Kirk
I lie sprawled on our bed in the flat Gretchen and I share, with my eyes shut, satisfied in every way imaginable.
After our epic shag in a moving car---my Porsche no, less---I needed a good dèan dùsal.
Cannae wait to confound Gretchen with that Gaelic term.
"Dèan dùsal" means to have a kip. Americans like Gretchen call it a nap.
My fiancée had insisted on having a shower.
That leaves me alone in our bed with the scent of her cream still wafting around me.
My lass is the most ardent lover I've ever had.
Oh aye, she makes me feel as tall as Beann Dealgach.
I slide off the bed and rummage about in our shared dresser until I find something to wear. The top two drawers belong to Gretchen, while I settled for the two lower ones. That arrangement seemed gallant and fitting. Gretchen kissed my cheek when I told her so.
Once I'm dressed, I suddenly realize the shower isn't running. A quick peek into the bog proves she isn't in there. I frown at the emptiness, puzzled by her vanishing act.
"Gretchen?" I call out, scuffling back into the bedroom.
This flat isn't that big, so where could she have gone?
I check the kitchen, then the living room.
Still no sign of her. Worry begins to niggle at me.
After that bollocks with Dougal, I've been more protective than usual.
Can anyone blame me? I didnae like the way he looked at her during the Highland Games.
That's when I notice the folded note on the coffee table, propped by my car keys. I snatch up the note, instantly recognizing Gretchen's graceful handwriting. Gone to get us some lunch. Back in 20. You were sleeping so peacefully I didn't want to wake you. Love you, Tarzan.
Aye, "Tarzan" is her new nickname for me. I dinnae mind.
I blow out the breath I'd held. My overprotective instincts are getting out of hand, but with good reason.
Dougal is like a shadow hanging over our happiness.
The man is a genuine threat. And he's still out there somewhere, plotting his revenge against me and Tam for foiling his operation.
The thought of him coming after Gretchen chills me to the bone.
I pace the room. Twenty minutes. Plenty of time for a quick trip to the shops and back. But my mind keeps conjuring scenarios---Dougal lurking outside our building, following her down the street, or worse.
"Get a grip, man," I mutter to myself.
I check my mobile. No messages. I consider texting her but don't want to seem like an overprotective ersehole. She's a grown woman and perfectly capable of buying lunch without my hovering.
After another ten minutes, I grab my car keys and head for the door.
Then my mobile rings. Number unknown.
Everything inside me goes cold, and I clench my keys in my fist. Something must have happened to Gretchen. I can feel it in my bones, in my soul. I accept the call. "Who is this?"
"Lost your beloved, have ye, Balfour? Or maybe she left you for someone else---like me."
"Dougal, ye bloody bastard. Where is she?" I snarl into the phone, my grip so tight I'm afraid I might crush the device. "If ye've laid a finger on her---"
"Tsk, tsk," Dougal interrupts, his voice calm and mocking. "Such aggression, Kirk. Is that any way to speak to an old friend?"
I'm already moving, shoving my wallet into my back pocket as I bolt out the door. "We were never friends, ye psychotic bastard. Tell me where Gretchen is. Now."
"She's enjoying my hospitality. Gretchen is quite a bonnie lass, with hazel eyes that are so expressive when she's frightened."
"Let her go, Dougal."
I hear the bastard's laughter through the mobile phone, and I my hands are trembling with rage. I nearly drop the mobile as I rush down the stairs, taking them three at a time.
"What do ye want, MacWraith?" I demand. "Name your price."
"You're so direct, Balfour. That's what I like about you. As for what I want, it's quite simple."
"Then tell me now because I'm feargach enough to strangle ye through the phone line."
"I want you to suffer as I have suffered. To feel the helplessness of having everything you value stripped away."
I slam my fist into the wall with a loud crack. "You fucking lunatic! Where is she?"
Dougal sniggers in the most evil way. "You've given me what I wanted. Thank you, Balfour."
I burst through the building's front door onto the street, scanning frantically in both directions. "Let me speak to her. Now. If you've laid one finger on her---"
"Afraid the lass is a bit...indisposed at the moment."
"If ye've hurt her, I swear on my life I will hunt ye down and make ye wish ye'd never been born." I'm already jumping into my Porsche. The engine roars to life, an extension of my fury.
"Dramatic as ever." Dougal snickers, his voice infuriatingly calm.
"Let me be clear, Balfour. You will come alone to Cairntorran Manor.
You know the place, I assume, after your moronic siege at my home.
You have two hours. If you involve the police or your brothers, well.
..let's just say your lovely fiancée won't be returning to plan that wedding you're so excited about. "
My knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. "How do I know she's even alive?"
I hear a rustling sound, and then...
"Kirk?" Gretchen's voice is shaky but unmistakable. "Kirk? Don't come here. It's a trap---"
Her voice cuts off abruptly, replaced by the sound of a struggle and a pained cry that makes my teeth gnash and my blood pressure skyrocket. "Dougal, ye malicious ersehole---"
"Two hours, Balfour," Dougal warns, making a ticktock sound. "Come alone, or she dies."
The call disconnects.
"FUCK!" I slam my palm against the steering wheel, the pain barely registering through my panic. My Gretchen. My beautiful, fierce, wonderful Gretchen in the hands of that monster.
I peel away from the curb, tires screeching as I accelerate down the street.
My mind races faster than the car, and I'm trying to formulate a plan.
Cairntorran Manor is nearly an hour's drive from Loch Fairbairn.
The former stone fortress, which was transformed into a genteel manor house decades ago, lies perched on a remote hillside that Dougal owns.
Despite having been to the manor only once, during our mission to rescue Kenny, I feel as if I know it like the back of my hand.
The bastard has been hiding at Cairntorran all this time, right under our noses.
I need help, but Dougal's threat rings in my ears.
If I ring Tam or the constables, Gretchen might die.
But going in alone is suicide, which is exactly what Dougal wants.
I take the turn onto the main road, pushing the Porsche faster than I should.
I need to think clearly, but all I can see is Gretchen's face and the fear in her voice.
To get her back, I need help from someone Dougal would never expect.
MacWraith might've ordered me to come alone, but the special forces ally I'm thinking of knows how to handle a bastard like Dougal. It's a chance I must take.
I fumble with my mobile, dialing the number before I can second-guess myself. My ally picks up on the second ring.
"Listen carefully," I instruct, my voice barely controlled. "Dougal has Gretchen. He's got her at Cairntorran. I need your help urgently. The mission will be dangerous."
The response comes back right away---and affirmatively.
Gretchen, I'm coming for you. Hold on.
I drive far too fast down the Highland roads. The Porsche's engine screams as I push it to its limits. The beautiful landscape that normally fills me with peace now blurs past me like a mocking reminder of how quickly happiness can be snatched away.
"Hold on, mo chridhe." I know Gretchen can't hear me, but I need to speak the words aloud anyway. "I'm coming for ye, lass."
When I eventually turn onto the gravel track that leads to Cairntorran Manor, I see Keltie Ralston is already waiting at the agreed meeting point---a weathered stone bridge that crosses over a narrow ravine about a mile from Dougal's fortress.
This is a different spot than where we participated in Operation Tartan Glory.
The sight relief rushes through me, though it does nothing to quell the rage and fear churning in my gut.
I pull the Porsche to a stop, the tires crunching on gravel.
Keltie straightens from where she's been leaning against her own vehicle, a rugged Land Rover that's seen better days.
Her expression is grim, but her gaze is sharp and alert, the eyes of a woman who's faced danger before and come out the other side.
"Talk to me," Keltie says without preamble as I approach. "What's the situation?"
"Dougal has Gretchen. The deamhan wants me to come alone, but that's a death sentence for both of us. I need someone who knows what they're doing." The words pour out of me rapid-fire as I pace in front of her. "We must come up with a plan quickly."
Keltie nods, her expression hardening. She's ex-SAS, one of the most lethal operatives I've ever met. More importantly, she's a woman---and Dougal won't be expecting that. He's a sexist pig, aye, but mostly he's a depraved piece of shite.
"You know the layout of the manor," I remind her, as if she needs reminding.
Keltie took part in Operation Tartan Glory, after all.
"I need you to go in there in stealth mode and find where Dougal is hiding Gretchen while I disable any security he might still have.
It's also possible some of his thugs might have returned to the manor and are resurrecting at least one of Dougal's enterprises. "
Keltie nods. "I understand."
After a five-minute conversation, we're ready to go. Operation Celtic Liberty is now underway.
I check my watch. "We've got just over an hour left before Dougal's deadline. Enough time to get in position."
Keltie hands me a small earpiece. "Channel three. Keep it open."
I slip the device into my ear, grateful for her foresight. "I'll approach from the main entrance. Make it look like I'm following his instructions. Once I have his attention, you go find Gretchen."
"And then?" Keltie asks.
"Then we end this. For good."
We part ways, with Keltie disappearing into the trees that surround Cairntorran while I return to my Porsche. The drive to the manor's main gates is short but feels like an eternity.
No one steals my woman and gets away with it.
Dougal MacWraith will pay for what he's done---even if I have to kill him to get her back.