Page 70 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
“Funny seeing ye here, Master MacFerson,” a calm voice said from behind him. “I was of the notion that Mister MacFerson had gotten rid of ye too.”
Standing, Ethan said, “If I have me way, he won’t be putting anyone else away. Happy to see ye, MacTyre, but why is it funny? I ken what me uncle did to all of ye and I am nae in agreement.”
The seasoned soldier took off his cloak and hung it over his arm, “I’m happy that ye have our best interests at heart but that isnae what I meant. I was trying to find ye actually, for the past couple days but I am barred from entering the castle grounds and those city guards are devilishly efficient in spotting those who were expelled from it. I’ve been trying to get ye a message but no avail.”
“And why were ye trying to find me?”
A grave look covered the guard's face. “Yer Uncle did a lot of things that were nae right, Master MacFerson, but he stepped over the line three days ago.”
The tightness in his chest wound even tighter, “By doing what?”
“Miss O’Cain,” MacTyre said tightly. “He imprisoned her in the bailey’s dungeon the night of the storm. Ordered another guard to walk her right through the tempest and I dinnae ken if she survived it.”
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The earth could have split in two, swallowed him up, and he would have barely noticed. Numbness iced his bone and forced him into a standstill. Perhaps he had not heard right—that had to be it.
Clearing his throat, he asked, “Pardon?”
MacTyre shook his head and his jaw went flinty, “Ye heard what I said, yer bastard Uncle shoved Miss O’Cain into a dungeon and that was after claiming her had caught her sewing poisonous leaves into yer clothes, which we all ken is a heap of dung. Anyone with eyes can see that lady loves ye and that ye love her in return. Nay one would believe that, but since yer faither is absent, they will have to swallow it like bitter medicine.”
As the words sank in, every inch of his lean and muscled frame, every drop of his blood and down to his bones vibrated in thinly leashed anger. “He did what?” The question was rhetorical as his eyes flew open and he felt the burn in his body make its way to his eyes.
His verdant eyes were no longer calm if MacTyre’s flinch was any indication. “I kent he had put Mister O’Cain under interrogation and told me that he’s barring me from seeing Violet. All this time I kent they had her locked up in her room but he threw her into a dungeon.” Seething Ethan vowed. “I will nae let him get away with this. He crossed the last line.”
MacTryre reached out and grasped his shoulder, “Dinnae act out on anger, Master MacFerson, this isnae the time for that. Yer Uncle has men that are more mercenaries than normal soldiers. They will kill ye if ye act without caution. Ye need to go back to the castle, consider all yer options and then act.”
Sucking in a deep breath, Ethan nodded, “I might need men in case it comes to a firefight, but I dinnae see how—” he paused. “—is there any way I can have men on standby? All our men are gone, scattered between here and Ackwell. How am I going to get the men I’ll need?”
“If ye are sure in taking down yer Uncle,” MacTrye said with his brows dipping, “And I ken ye are, then I’ll dae ye a favor and find the men for ye. When dae ye ken ye might act?”
Pressing his lips tight, Ethan considered Violet and her dire condition of being locked in a dungeon. He could never allow himself to wait any longer. “Tonight. Listen for the distress horn.”
That should call ye and me faither home.
“Will dae, Master MacFerson,” MacTrye bowed his head. “Again, go over yer plan twice and put yerself on the receiving end of yer attack. Find ways to poke holes into yer own plan because that is what yer Uncle will dae.”
“Aye,” Ethan said, and hopping onto his horse, he was off.
As he rode, his fury began to settle from a blazing fire into smoldering coals. He was seething on the inside but he had to go home with a mask of calm. He had to avoid his uncle as best as he could, so there would not be any mistakes or diversions.
All this madness started from Finley’s death, that up till then, they had not even solved. Every time they had taken one step forward, chasing some clue—Miss O’Bachnon, the tall slender man, Laird Russell of Clan Hofte—it all panned out to nothing.
Whoever was trying to kill him and his father had been steps ahead of them every time. He had successfully killed the one witness they had, and sent them on a merry wild goose chase to Clan Hofte—seeking the supposed murderer there and nearly putting themselves back into war with that clan by implying the Laird had something to do with it. But who would be that person?
He was forced to consider all possibilities; they were looking for a man very wise in covering his track, subtle enough to get through the castle without anyone seeing him and had the means to not only find Miss O’Bachnon, when even Mister O’Cain couldn’t, and on top of it, he was slender and tall.
The only person I could match that to… is Uncle.
Moments later, Ethan shook his head. It was insane to even think his uncle—soft, placid, bookish uncle—could do those gruesome acts. It had to be someone else so he dismissed the thought.
But then…he put Violet in a dungeon and is torturing her faither…
Arriving at the castle gave him little comfort. The sun was dimming to the afternoon, and though early, shadows were beginning to be cast on the grounds. He set his horse in order and went inside, nodding to the strange guards, he aimed to take a quick run to the kitchens to get some food, then go to his room to rest, but his plan was stopped by his uncle.
“Nephew, ye’re back,” he called jovially.
Instantly, his jaw went stiff. Luckily, he was turned away from the man and managed to school his face into one of calm tiredness. Turning, he swallowed over his repugnance for the man and lifted his hand to wave. “Aye.”
