Page 87 of Kilted Abduction
Magnus nodded and got to his feet. “All right,” he said. “Get some rest, braither. Ye look weary. And ye’re goin’ tae need yer strength.”
“Aye. Ye’re nae wrong,” he said. “Ye should get some rest tae, Magnus. We all need tae be on our game.”
Magnus nodded and headed out of the salon, his mind spinning and his belly tight. The fight was coming, and he feared they were not ready for it. They had been spending more time on getting Dunvegan ready for Yule than for the coming fight and he felt they were woefully unprepared. They would need to call in their men-at-arms from the far corners of their lands, which would take time, time Magnus was not sure they had.
After the encounter at Fairfax’s camp in the valley, he feared they would accelerate their plans. He had posted scouts who would report the army’s movements and for a body of men that size it would take some time to get to Dunvegan, but he was keenly aware of the sand slipping through the hourglass. Time was running short.
Magnus rounded a corner then took the flight of stairs up to the floor where Ciara’s bedchamber was. He wanted to talk to her and hopefully start convincing her of the necessity that she travel with the villagers into the Highlands. He knew this was going to take longer than any other preparation they had to make, so he wanted to start that process early.
When he reached the landing, he frowned and looked around. The guards he’d had stationed on the floor were nowhere to be seen. Knowing some of the men were fond of the mulled wine on cold nights, he shook his head, the anger inside of him flaring. He would give them a striping unlike any they’d ever had for leaving their post.
Irritated, Magnus turned and was about to head down to Ciara’s chamber with something on the stone floor caught his attention.
“What the bleedin’ hell?”
On the floor at his feet was a small crimson pool with several drops spattered on the stone around it. His stomach turning over inside of him, he knelt down and put his finger into the small puddle then looked at his fingertips. His heart immediately leaped into his throat as he looked at the blood on the tips of his fingers.
Magnus sprinted down the corridor and threw open the doors to Ciara’s chambers and let out a howl of rage. The room had been turned upside down and things were scattered everywhere. She had obviously put up a fight, but the room was empty. Ciara was gone. Taken.
Swallowing the lump in his throat and fighting to gain control of his emotions, Magnus turned and ran back down the corridor then pounded down the stairs, running back toward his brother’s salon. The door slammed into the wall behind it with a resounding crash as he threw it open and stepped inside. Domhnall jumped to his feet.
“What is it, braither?” he asked.
“Intruders,” Magnus cried. “She’s been taken.”
Domhnall’s face blanched then darkened as rage boiled within him. “Rally the men. We’re under bleedin’ attack.”
CHAPTER 46
Her head full of mulled wine and a smile upon her lips, Ciara walked to her bedchamber. Despite all the terrible things happening around them and the looming threat of attack, she couldn’t help but feel a happiness in her heart that she had not often felt before in her life. Magnus made her feel things she never dared hope she’d feel in her lifetime.
She stepped into her bedchamber and closed the door behind her. The moment she did that, her skin broke out in gooseflesh and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Something was wrong. She wheeled around to see two figures emerge from the shadows, dressed in black from head to toe and wearing masks over their heads that revealed only their eyes. She didn’t know the men, nor were they wearing any identifying sigils.
It didn’t matter though. She knew who they were. “Damned cowards.”
The two masked figures rushed forward and Ciara reached for the dagger she usually wore on her hip. Her fingers brushed nothing but cloth though. She realized quickly she hadn’t put her dagger on her belt after her bath.
“Bollocks,” she muttered.
Ciara launched herself at the two men, throwing wild punches. The first man grunted as her first connected with his jaw and he staggered backward. She opened her mouth to scream, to sound the alarm and warn the MacLeods they were under attack, but a man grabbed her from behind, clamping his hand over her mouth. His other hand snaked around her waist and he held her tightly as the first man righted himself and approached her.
Her eyes widened when she saw the shackles he pulled from the bag on his hip, and she struggled in her captor’s grasp. She writhed and wriggled, desperate to break his grasp. He held her tightly though, so she drove her head backward and into the man’s face. She heard a muffled grunt as his nose crumpled beneath the blow. It did the trick as his hold on her loosened but as she turned to run, his fist connected with her jaw and she staggered backward.
Ciara reeled, her head spun, and her mouth was filled with the coppery taste of her own blood. She went down hard on her backside as her vision wavered. Knowing if she didn’t move, she was going to be taken, Ciara staggered to her feet again as the second man stepped forward. The breath exploded from her lungs as he drove his fist into her midsection and Ciara fell again, landing on all fours as she tried desperately to catch herbreath. Croaking and unable to cry out, the man kicked her in the side, sending her sprawling onto the stone floor.
“Be careful with her,” the man in black hissed, his voice clipped and short. “Do not damage her. We were warned to keep from damaging her.”
“She attacked us!”
“She’s a woman. Just put the bloody shackles on her.”
Ciara’s vision wavered as she lay on the stone, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper as she tried to draw a breath. The man stood over her, his eyes narrowed as he glared at her like he’d enjoy nothing more than to spend a little more time beating her. But he did as he was told and put the iron shackles around her wrist, then a gag over her mouth and a rough woolen sack over her head to prevent her from seeing.
Once they had her trussed up, the first man picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She was still struggling to breathe and unable to muster more than a creaking whisper as they slipped out of her bedchamber. She tried to struggle, which earned her another slap upside the head hard enough to take the fight out of her. Frustrated, angry, and terrified, Ciara lay slumped over the man’s shoulder as limp as a wet rag.
The men knew the layout of the castle well, for they were able to move down the corridors without being seen or raising an alarm. It was as if they had been there before. It made her think about the attack on the castle and she wondered if it had all been apretext for gaining the knowledge they needed to slip in and out unseen. It made sense.
The two men carried her out of a passageway and through the darkness of the night to the stables. The sack over her head rode up enough to allow Ciara to see the bodies of two stable workers she recognized. A sharp pang of guilt and sadness immediately pierced her heart. The man slung her over the back of the horse like a sack of grain then mounted up behind her.
