Chapter Sixteen
She had been thrust into a wagon and carted over rutted roads for days. A man with as rough a face as his disposition stood guard, glaring at her, and sneering when she tried to speak. He reeked of sweat and onions and the smell made her nauseous. Someone had thrust a filthy blanket over her to help keep the cold at bay, but it too smelled like it had been well used by animals before it ended up here.
When they stopped along the way, an old man would step into the wagon and offer her water and stale bread, which she gratefully accepted. The old man refused to answer any of her whispered questions, merely bidding her to be quiet or suffer the consequences. Her throbbing head encouraged her to listen to his warning. Her head ached and dizziness came and went, leading her to believe she had a concussion. Forcing herself to stay awake or sleep only in short spurts was not too difficult, since the bouncing of the wagon was relentless.
Her hands had been bound in front of her and her ankles were tied together. A blindfold was tied around her head, blocking her vision. Her head still felt like it had been stuffed with cotton and now everything was dark. And terrifying.
Two men lifted her and carried her through a heavy door, then flung her down on a hard stone floor, her body twisted into a pretzel. Her energy sapped, she did not even try to resist.
“Yer certain she’s a Forbes.” The man who spoke had a voice that was unfamiliar to her ears.
“Aye. And she has set her sights on Daimh MacRae.”
But this voice. This one she distinctly recognized. Iona.
“It will tear him apart to have her gone,” the conniving girl said. “Ye should be able to get her weight in gold when you ask for a ransom. And get your revenge at the same time.”
Harper should never have underestimated Iona’s jealousy. She could only wonder where they had taken her. Knowing she had been unconscious from the moment she was out of sight of the castle gates and not able to tell if it was night or day, and being so unfamiliar with the area itself, Harper had no idea how far away she had been taken from Eilean Donan. She was only aware it had been days, which meant they could be anywhere.
So, they planned to hold her for ransom. But it was also for revenge, and she had no idea what that meant. She had watched enough crime TV to know that usually didn’t go very well for the kidnapped victim. But then, this was the sixteenth century and maybe there might be a different outcome. She could only hope.
Until the man spoke again.
“Or I may just send her back in pieces. It would serve them right for Corrichie. But the goal is to release Adam.”
Her blood chilled and panic nearly stopped her heart at their words.
“Or maybe do both? Secure Adam’s release and then send her back in pieces.” Iona again, laughing this time.
She was to be a means to get back a prisoner taken at Corrichie. If Harper ever found her way out of this, Iona would regret this betrayal. That vow kept Harper’s spirits up, even as she was lifted and taken down a flight of steps. Dropped onto another stone floor, she managed to roll, stopping only when she struck a hard wall. The sound of a creaking door and the finality of it snapping into place resonated in her bones. And the smell. Death and decay and wet earth. It was the dungeon, but whose and where?
By dragging her head across her shoulder, she managed to dislodge the cloth over her eyes enough to gauge her surroundings. It was a dungeon alright. The walls dripped with fetid moisture and the darkness was broken only by the tiniest sliver of light from a high slit of a window and some torches burning along the far wall. The mud floor oozed with only God knew what. And outside the bars, she could make out a rotting pile of wood off to the right. This was a place prisoners went to rot away and die.
She had been so stupid to trust Iona. No one saw her go except the guards and she had given them a plausible excuse. And thinking back, they hadn’t seen Iona at all. There was no way anyone would know where she was.
She was so cold. And wet. The skittering of creatures made it clear the rats were making plans for her. Scooting back into a corner, she brought her knees to her chest to stop the shivering.
A thought flitted briefly. Would Skye and Daimh think she had just up and left? No! Skye would check for the cloak and when she found it, she would know Harper was still in the sixteenth century. And she would reassure Daimh. But what good would it do? They would have no idea where to begin to look for her and she was terrified she would die here. And in a hideous way after being tortured. Cut up into pieces. Now she was shivering from fear as well as the freezing temperature.
No! She would not give up. A mantra she remembered screamed in her head: Everything will be okay in the end and if it’s not okay, it’s not the end. It’s not the end! It’s not the end!
They had mentioned revenge for Corrichie. Harper took a deep breath and tried to remember what Skye had told her about that. It was a battle. And the clans, including the MacKenzies and MacRaes, banded together to fight for Queen Mary under William 7th Lord of Forbes. It happened near Aberdeen. The clans had battled the Gordons and afterward, one of the Gordons had died suddenly, perhaps from heart failure, and another had been executed after the resounding defeat. But one more had been captured. That was no doubt the Adam they spoke of. No wonder her captor wanted to assure himself she was a Forbes. And to add insult to injury, after the battle, Lord Forbes would have been awarded Gordon lands by the Queen which would have further infuriated the losing Gordons. So if they could get their kinsman back and punish the Forbes in the process…
A sickening acknowledgement of this history made it clear to Harper she was doomed.
It was so unfair. She had finally accepted time travel as a reality and found true love in Daimh after a lifetime of dreaming of a decent man to love her, only to have it snatched away so cruelly. The best she could hope for was a quick death.
***
Daimh was losing his mind. He had searched every inch of the castle and grounds. He verbally abused the guards who did not stop her from leaving the night before, but instead opened the gate for her. He restrained himself from beating the careless men to death. Did they not think something was amiss? The fools! Conall and Errol, Ian’s brother-in-law, had gone to Dornie and knocked on every door, but no one had seen her last night. So where had she gone? And why?
And where was Iona? Instinct gnawed at him, reminding him again that she desired him. Could her jealousy have led her to harm Harper?
The members of the clan gathered in the great hall, frustration evident in their expressions. Lady Skye’s eyes were red from crying and Ian was trying to comfort as well as lead a more thorough search.
Ian directed himself to Daimh. “Ye said she told the guards she had to tend a sick child.”
“Aye,” he responded, “and nay there no sick bairn in the village. Conall and Errol questioned everyone. No one sent for her for any reason. It was a lie to get her to leave the confines of the castle.”
Errol spoke up then. “We found fresh cart tracks on the other side of the loch leading west. And there was evidence of at least two men walking just out of sight of the castle walls.”
“If they meant to take Harper, they would have had to carry her. She would not go with strange men without protest, would she?” Daimh looked to Skye for confirmation.
“Nay. Knowing her, she would have fought like a demon. Unless…” Skye’s voice broke as she sobbed with the realization Harper had to have been knocked out.
“She is a strong lass. She will be fine.” Ian said, comforting his wife. “Is anyone else missing?” he demanded.
“Iona,” Daimh spat, his eyes narrowing with fury. “If that lass has done aught to hurt Harper…”
“Could she have been taken, too?” Conall asked.
Daimh forced himself to inhale to exact some calm. “I think it was she that arranged this.”
“That is a rough accusation,” Errol responded.
“Aye, but the facts support it,” Daimh answered. “Harper was the only one seen leaving, which means she was lured out of the grounds somehow. It would be possible for someone to cling to the walls and slip out behind her without being seen. Two sets of small footprints led away from the castle, one set verra close to the wall. Then, only one set joined with those of the men. Why would another conceal themselves unless there was some evil motive?” Daimh dragged his fingers through his hair in anger.
“And it is Iona that is missing, ye said?” This from Ian.
“Aye. Her mother said she has been gone since last night. Or mayhap verra early this morn.”
“But why would Iona do such a thing?” Conall asked.
Skye stepped up then. “Seriously? Were the actions of Davina so distant that ye cannot remember what jealousy will do to an unscrupulous woman? Iona has had her cap set for Daimh for as long as I’ve been here. But when he preferred Harper…” She let the last words speak for themselves.
“But who and why would anyone help her?” Conall asked.
“Did the Gordons not just suffer at the hands of the Forbes, as well as the other clans. And is Harper not a Forbes?” Ian asked.
“Gordon lands are in Aberdeenshire,” Errol stated. “And Adam Gordon is still being held captive.”
“Then we must plan another assault on the damnable Gordons. And I hae no doubt the Forbes will join us to save one of their own.” Daimh was feeling more positive. He was a man of action and putting a plan in motion helped quell some of his rage into positive energy.
“Aye,” Ian responded, “but we must wait for affirmation it is the Gordons who have her.”
“Who else would it be?” Daimh demanded.
“We do not know for certain, but I am convinced whoever is responsible will show their hand soon enough.”
***
Meager light from the torches cast deep shadows upon the bleak stone walls, punctuating how alone and lost she was. Panic gave way to forced calm, which would retreat again into brutal terror.
Harper guessed she had been in this hellhole for two days. No one had entered her cell , not to release her bindings, nor to bring food or water or to empty the chamber pot. Her arms and legs had gone numb from the bindings, her mouth as dry as if filled with desert sand and her ribs ached. Her breathing was not impeded, and so she hoped no bones had been broken. At least she was able to see once she managed to remove the cloth from her face and her eyes had adjusted. But the damp, miserable cold was so permeating she could not stop the shivering.
Remembering the threes of survival—three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food—did not help her state of mind. Her time was running out. Chances are they did not wish her to die from dehydration. And that faith kept her gaze on the bars of her cage, praying for someone to bring her water. Hypothermia might end her before she could be rescued, but she had heard it was not an unpleasant way to die. But then, was there a pleasant way?
With too much time to think, she went through the stages of grief: anger, denial, bargaining with God, sadness, depression. Refusing to progress to acceptance, she intended to hold on as long as possible. Maybe, by some miracle, Daimh and Skye would figure out that Iona had betrayed her, and they would determine where she had been kidnapped. After all, this entire journey was fanciful, so she may as well pretend it would be okay, right?
This was all her fault. If she hadn’t been so insecure, so gullible, she never would have followed Iona. Here she was, Harper the pragmatist, who failed to use logic before giving in to her feelings of inadequacy. Beating herself up now was useless. She had to concentrate on using any advantage to get out of this mess. She was not a helpless female. She had hundreds of years of knowledge and a brain. If she remembered who she was, she might just be able to figure something out.
One thing was unfortunately becoming more and more certain. She was going to die here, alone, cold, hungry. And she knew Skye would bear the guilt. That thought made her sadder than anything. None of this was Skye’s fault. Harper’s best friend had found a painting at an estate sale and decided it was possible to travel through time to find the subject of her obsession. She had been right. That Harper chose to follow her was Harper’s choice. And ending up here? Well, Harper had no one to blame but herself.
And Daimh. Such a wonderful man. Her heart ached for his suffering, knowing he loved her and would miss her as much as she now missed him. And he, too, would lay blame at his own feet for failing her. If only cell phones existed, she could text them, let them know they weren’t to blame. Ah, but the irony would be no service in this pit.
Footsteps in the corridor sent her pulse into overdrive. Were they coming to kill her now? Before the thought could coalesce into pure terror, a small figure appeared at the bars. The girl looked to be in her late teens, all angles and bones. Her hair hung to her waist, a lifeless tangle of what might have been red or blonde, but it was hard to tell in the dim light. Her left eye was swollen nearly shut and she limped as she walked. And a ragged scar stretched from the corner of her right eye to her chin. In her hands, she carried a bowl and a set of keys hung from a belt around her tiny waist, tugging at the fabric of a dress two sizes too large.
“I am Fenella. I am to be yer keeper. I hae water and if I open the door and ye try to push past me, the guard at the top of the steps will end your life. There is no escape. And if ye happen to get away from me, even though the man will stop ye, they will kill me as well. Do ye ken?”
Harper nodded. If this slip of a girl would continue to visit, there would be a better opportunity to get away, especially if she gained her trust. Harper had to find out more about the place where she was being held. Maybe even discover a secret passage or an escape route. Today they would be expecting her to try to run, but hopefully after a little time, they would relax the guard and she would have a much better chance at leaving here alive. Especially if this girl could help.
“I will stay at the back of the cell,” Harper said. It was not easy to maneuver with her hands and feet tied, but she managed to inch her way further backward on her bottom.
Moving slowly and nearly tipping over twice, she made it to the far wall, then watched as the girl fumbled with the keys and finally opened the door. It creaked in protest but swung wide enough to let her inside. She placed the bowl on the ground and quickly backed out, closed the entry, and clicked the lock into place.
“Will you stay with me for a bit?” Harper asked.
“Nay. But I will bring ye bread this night.” And she scurried away.
Harper scooted over to the bowl and was thrilled to see it filled with clear water. Lifting the vessel carefully with both hands, she was able to bring it to her mouth. Pacing herself so she did not drink too quickly and throw it up. She swallowed gratefully even as it left odd aftertaste on her tongue. Darkness edged her vision as she realized her mistake and, unable to fight whatever they had put into the water, she sank back to the floor.