Page 82 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
Davina hurried across to the gate which, to her astonishment, she found wide open. Looking out she expected to see Ranald Dunbar or his guards nearby, but the place was deserted. She stepped through the gate, her heartbeat hitching faster. Something was wrong. Where were the men?
“Feather?” she called.
And, finally, then came an answering meow from the direction of the slipway. There, at least, was a single torch lighting the way. Girding up her skirts, Davina rushed through the gate and along the path to the slipway. The meows were louder and more urgent, as if something was causing Feather pain.
On reaching the slipway she was horrified to make out the figure of a man in the dim light. He was holding something in his hand, suspended over the water at the edge of the jetty.
“Feather!”
Davina screamed and rushed toward the man, he turned, flinging Feather over the slipway. Fortunately, she did not end up submerged, but landed on the edge of on the boards, half in the water. She clung on tightly, meowing loudly.
As Davina hauled the tiny scrap to safety, the man grabbed her, his rough hand covering her mouth.
She struggled to free herself, biting down hard on his finger and at the same time letting out a series of loud, high-pitched scream that took every scrap of air in her lungs. Grunting in pain, the man slapped her face, hard, sending her reeling back.
“That’s enough from ye.”
He shoved her toward a dinghy where another man waited, oars in his hand, and while she struggled, kicking out, landing a blow to his shin, the man’s grip tightened and he flung her roughly into the small boat. He seized a length of cloth and wound it across her face while the waiting man passed him a length of twine. She struck out at him wildly, but he brushed her aside as if she was nothing more than an annoying insect. Within moments he had secured her hands, while the other man plied his oars, taking them into the bay.
To her horror, despite the darkness, she made out the shape of a birlinn waiting in offshore waters.
She knew that vessel. They were taking her to Murchadh MacKinnon’s ship.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Everard smiled to himself as the torchlight on the slipway came into view. He’d enjoyed an ale in the tavern at Castlebay with Maxwell and Aileen, as they went over the story Laird Dùghall had told.
“Once word leaks out that Dùghall is Davina’s true faither and that he’s journeyed tae Barra in search of her, I daresay it will reach the ears of Laird Murchadh.”
“Aye. Mayhap he’s suspected fer years that Dùghall is the man. Most likely there were servants who alerted him tae the lad’s presence while he was absent. But, given that Laird Dùghall was in France fer a long time, there was nay way Murchadh could have confronted him.”
Everard nodded. “Och, braither. There’s bad blood between those two. I’d guess that once he discovers the truth about the man who faithered Davina, he will have it in his mind tae take revenge.”
Aileen shivered. “As a lass, I can only say that me heart goes out tae the Lady Sorcha. Already forced tae leave the lad she loved tae marry that beast. I dinnae blame her fer taking just one last night in the arms of her true love.”
Maxwell snorted. “I didnae ken ye were such a soft-hearted romantic, me love.”
She huffed. “Have ye forgotten our own story? How ye enticed me away from the Laird Sutherland and made me yers?”
He shook his head, his eyes softening as he gazed at her.
“And,” added Everard, “If I remember rightly, Sutherland would have never given up until ye both were dead.”
Everard swilled the last of his ale. “This talk has made me uneasy. I feel the need tae be back at the castle as soon as possible.” He got to his feet, slapped his brother on the back, raised Aileen’s hand to his lips and, with a curt “Goodnight” strode to the door and headed into the darkness.
Hurrying to his boat, Everard’s anxious thoughts took him back to one of the last times he’d been here. That day MacKinnon had captured and almost drowned Davina. He broke into a run, his steps echoing through the cobbled streets. Suddenly fearful, he grasped the hilt of his claymore, needing to hasten back to the castle.
As he pulled on his oars to come alongside the castle slipway, he was surprised to see Dùghall standing in the dim light, his sword in his hand. Everard’s heart sank. He knew at once some dire event had occurred.
As he pulled up at the dock, Dùghall raced across to meet him.
“What is it, me laird?”
“Thank the lord ye’re here. I was just contemplating some method tae take me across the bay.” He jumped into Everard’s boat struggling to catch his breath.
“Davina went in search of her cat and soon after I heard a scream. I kent at once it was her and ran out. I followed the sound of a struggle coming from the slipway, but I was too late tae stop the men from taking her in a smaller craft. Me guess is they’re heading fer the birlinn out there”
“By Christ, where?” Everard followed Dùghall’s pointing finger, making out the distant shape of a ship. There was no sign of the smaller boat.
