Page 64 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
When the soldier kicked the door open and the whirling wind and rain nearly blinded her, she was forced into the yard and instantly was drenched. Water assaulted her eyes and she could barely see three feet in front of her as she was resolutely marched towards a bailey. Her feet slipped in thick mud and she nearly capsized into the filth but she was hauled into the building, nevertheless.
Freezing and hacking up water, she was pushed down a stairwell where soon enough she had to feel her way through the darkness. When she emerged through an open door, she found herself in a circular room. It was rather small and made of stone, with dry rushes on the floor and a tiny square of a window above—it was the dungeon and her knees gave way.
Crumbling into a ball, she clutched at the wet dress and began to shiver. It was dark, she was soaking wet and the chances of her living to see the next few days was slim if cold came in and met her wet skin. She’d die of consumption.
As the man moved off, she begged, “Help me, please, I-I’m innocent. Naything ye were t-told was t-t-true.” Grabbing at her clothes she asked, “Can ye g-give me a dry dress, a b-blanket…a sheet, something. I-I’ll die here if I’m to stay with this cold.”
The man paused and she could see conflict twist his face. Then, he nodded, undid his belt and tugged his red tunic off to hand it to her. “Here. Use this for tonight. I’ll see what I can dae for ye on the morrow, or if I’m nay stationed to ye, I’ll tell whoever is, what is to be done.”
“Y-ye believe me then?” She asked with trembling hope while taking the thick tunic.
He did not reply to her question, “Just remember what I said.”
With that, he was gone. Violet did quick work of her sodding dress and smock, using them to dry off the water on her body and hair before placing them underneath her. Swiftly, she donned the open-armed tunic and sighed in somewhat a relief. At least she would not die of consumption.
But then, in the cold darkness and hearing the loud rumbles of thunder rattle the stones, she began to wonder how things had taken such an ugly turn. How did Mister MacFerson, the calm, quiet, usually jovial man she thought she had known, turned into the beast she had nearly been overpowered by?
What had happened between being at peace with the man, then being thrown into a dungeon? What had caused him to try to lure her into bed with him? What had made him turn from calling Ethan his ‘nephew’ to ‘boy’? And why did he not show the smallest sign of worry for his brother or his newly missing nephew?
As the thoughts tumbled in and around her head, she tried to piece it all together but did not get far. Then, she remembered how her father had said—and kept insisting—that the villain might be closer to them than any of them could believe. A thought that was quickly followed by the boy from the village describing the man who had paid him to write the note as thin and slender, and had to grab at her chest in cold, icy, horror.
“Dear God,” she uttered in cold disbelief with a disturbed shake of her head, “Can anyone but the Devil himself be so cruel!”
23
Gazing at the arching ridge of the mountain before him, Ethan felt insignificant. Rubbing the ears of the antsy horse, to soothe it, he looked around for the pass that would take him to the cave. The storm last evening had stalled his movement for hours past dawn. It was not just the rain that had stopped him but also the swollen rivers and streams he had to pass through, causing him to have stalled for almost three-quarters of a day.
He quickly spotted the pass and stirred his horse towards it. With every trot of his horse, he prayed that his hunch was right about where he and Violet’s fathers were. If not, he still had to apologize to Violet but had to make up for it more if he did not come back with the men. Circling a heap of rocks that were camouflaged to the hidden entrance to the cave, he paused as doubt ramped up inside him.
Please, let me be right.
He spotted a single large lattice made of wooden slats that was laid on the rock wall like discarded trash, but he knew that behind it was the hideaway. Sliding from the saddle, he went to it and grasped the damp boards and called out before lifting them out of the way.
“Dinnae be alarmed, it’s me, Ethan,” he said loudly.
With a quick heave, he had the lattice to the side, against scrub brush, and ducked under the low-hanging rock ledge. He did not have to move much further, as his father barreled out from an adjoint cave and gave him a tight hug.
“I kent ye’d figure it out,” his father said, rumbly voice with heavy pride. His eyes, however, were tired and his face a mass of embedded lines. Ethan shifted to see Mister O’Cain join them.
He sagged in relief, “Why…” he shot a look between the two, “…did ye run? Was it to draw the murderer away from the castle?”
“Aye,” his father nodded. “We’ve set the soldiers to look for anyone who would be out of place or who suddenly went missing from the castle. That person, or god forbid, persons, would be taken immediately. Then when a notice was sent to us by the Commander, we’d come back.”
Rubbing his face, Ethan sighed, “A good plan and all, but it failed. Uncle called me and Violet back the second-day ye two went missing. I ken he kent ye were taken by the murderer and I’d be next. I wasnae sure ye would be here, so I left without a word to Violet, an act I’ll be paying for when I get back.”
“Paying for?” The Laird shot him a narrowed-eyed look. “Why?
“I dinnae ken it is a smart move for a man to suddenly disappear on the lady he asked to marry him,” Ethan said dryly, then faced Mister O’Cain. “I was fixing to ask ye but by the time I was sure, we werenae exactly in yer vicinity. With that said, Mister O’Cain, may I have yer daughter’s hand in marriage?”
The investigator chuckled, “Nay worries, Master MacFerson, I approve, and even if I dinnae, she’d had chosen ye anyway.”
Warmth bloomed in his chest as he turned to his father, and said, “Faither, I ken its best fer ye to come back with me to calm Uncle’s worries. I ken he’s getting frantic with yer absence.”
Snorting, the Laird huffed, “Callum hasnae the disposition to keep calm in times like this. He has all that book-smarts and can strategize expeditions to lands undiscovered, but he cannae hold himself together when times of crises come about. He kens he is so brilliant and all, but when it comes to practical things, he had nay fortitude for it. Me brother cannae even stomach the sight of blood, like ye when ye were younger.”
Tempted to laugh, Ethan shook his head, “I ken it runs in the family.”
“Yegrew out of it,” his father harrumphed. “Killed yer first rabbit at eleven and grew from there. Me brother, however, is a lost cause.” Turning to the investigator, he asked, “Well, what dae ye ken, O’Cain? Are we leaving or nae?”
