Awaiting the Wolf Killer Highlander by Alisa Adams
13
Malcolm ran through several rooms of the castle—empty ones, thankfully—before remembering that his face was exposed. He wrapped his nose and mouth quickly, looking around to make sure he hadn’t been seen.
But how could he be certain? Every chamber of the place seemed to contain a secret entrance and at least two places where one might hide to watch or listen.
As a boy, he had been intrigued and enchanted by the castle’s mysteries.
Now he felt stymied by them.
He lifted his cowl and went to the stables, taking comfort in the presence of the horses. In his travels, he had come to have the utmost respect for the creatures—more, in fact, than he was often able to muster for his fellow men.
This led him to remember Thistledown, the horse that had carried him off into the night all those years ago. He had treasured that animal’s company for many years after, thanking it almost daily for its service in hastening his escape. When it took ill and died several years later, Malcolm had wept bitterly for two days after.
He missed that horse now. He wished for the comfort he used to take in stroking its muzzle and talking to it after long days of riding and wandering.
It had made him feel less alone in those days. It had made him feel like he had a family again.
“That was what you meant, then,” Sorcha’s voice spoke up behind him.
Malcolm turned and saw her standing in the doorway of the stable. “About the prophecy? Yes. What he said was true…I was found in a basket by one of the castle servants. Our father called me Nathan’s ‘brother,’ but in truth, he took me in so that I would be a playmate for his son and heir.”
“And then you became more to me than that when the moment came,” Nathan commented, stepping in to join them. “You became my salvation, and I have never once allowed that truth to leave my mind.”
“What you said to him at the table was ghastly,” Sorcha snapped. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I should be, and indeed, I am,” the young laird admitted. “My spite toward him since his arrival has come from nothing but shame, and for that, I am heartily sorry. He is correct, you see. Our clan did once prosper, under the leadership of our father.”
“Your father,” Malcolm corrected him sharply. “What happened after he passed, Nathan?”
Nathan sighed wearily, sitting down on a bale of hay. He rubbed his temples. “Our uncle Oban happened, Brother. He came to guide me until I came of age to lead the clan, and from him, I received bad advice. He said that perception of prosperity outweighed prosperity itself and told me that if I did not fill the castle with the trappings of wealth, our rivals would take advantage of our instability in the wake of our father's death. By the time I understood that he had bankrupted the people of our lands, he had fled with a carriage-load of stolen gold, never to be heard from again.”
“Then why did you not sell all these foolish trinkets to feed our clansmen?” Malcolm pleaded.
“Because then we truly would look weak and ripe for conquest,” his brother snapped. “We still have enemies, such as the Hamilton clan, who would lunge for our throats if we started auctioning off our belongings like a pack of starving peddlers! No, this was the only way for us to recover…a marriage between myself and a noblewoman of means!”
“Then you freely admit that you are using her for your own ends!” Malcolm growled.
“Just as I am using him for mine,” Sorcha spoke up quietly. “Or had you forgotten why we came here, Malcolm? I intended to use my betrothal to him to solve my clan’s problems and defy Ryan McKenna. In fairness, the fact that he is doing likewise need not dissuade me.”
Malcolm nodded. “Then you mean to continue with this marriage.”
“I do, aye. I must.”
The words were like an arrow in Malcolm’s heart, but he did his best to keep his composure. “So be it. We have accomplished what we set out to do, and now I must take my leave of you, my lady.”
“What? Now?” Sorcha sounded devastated. “This minute? I thought—”
“You thought what?” he challenged. “That I would remain? How? Things would seem to be far simpler for Nathan—and for you as well—as long as I keep roaming roads far from here. Simpler for me too, I expect. I have grown quite accustomed to such a life, you see. After fifteen years, I daresay it even suits me.”
Sorcha’s eyes were filled with sorrow, and her mouth opened, but she closed it again, not knowing what to say, how to keep him from leaving when it was so clear that he must.
Malcolm secured the saddle to his horse and mounted it. “Well, Brother, here we are again…me riding off while you remain.”
“I scarcely survived such a scene the last time,” Nathan said sadly. “I do not know if I can endure it again.”
“You shall have to, it seems.” Malcolm gave Sorcha one last, longing look. “Goodbye, my lady.”
Before she could return his farewell, he rode his horse out of the stable as fast as he could, unable to bear gazing upon her for another agonizing moment. Better to fix his eyes on the road ahead of him and do his very best to forget the one behind.
The horse under him was not Thistledown, but he supposed it would have to do.
Once he was gone, Nathan turned to Sorcha with a smile that was almost apologetic. “I fully realize that this is neither the most romantic nor auspicious of beginnings to a betrothal, Lady Sorcha,” he said. “However, I think you know as well as I do that the union we now plan will help us both immeasurably. And beyond that…well, I do rather like you, you know. That is, um, I could quite see us getting on well once we get to know each other better.”
“Perhaps.” But her eyes were still hopelessly fixed to the spot where Malcolm and his horse had been just moments before, as though she believed she might be able to make them both reappear through sheer force of will.
“Well!” Nathan went on. “Now that all that’s been settled. Tomorrow, we shall announce our betrothal here and allow the Fraser clan to celebrate. Then the day after, we will travel to your lands, at which point, I am sure there shall be a celebration there as well! Two celebrations! Sounds like a bit of fun, does it not?”
“I doubt whether your clan will be able to afford much of a ‘celebration,’” she pointed out.
He shrugged. “Aye, fair enough. But they will soon, with the help of the Campbells…and for that, dear lady, I am supremely thankful.”
There was a celebration the next day, and though it was meager, it was sincere indeed. The members of the Fraser clan flocked to Sorcha to meet and welcome her. She could see in their eyes that they understood fully what this union would mean to them, and they were so pitifully grateful that it almost broke her heart. Their children of the village presented her with crude dolls and toys made from grass and stalks.
At least some good will come of all this, one way or another, she thought.
While all of this was going on, a messenger swiftly crossed the fields and hillsides on horseback, making his stealthy way to the lands of the Campbells. When he arrived, he sought out the estate of Ryan McKenna and, finding it, implored the sentries to grant him an audience.
When asked what business he had there, he smugly informed them that it was a matter of the gravest urgency…one involving the impending marriage of Lady Sorcha.
Within moments, he was ushered into the private study of Ryan McKenna and greeted by the man himself.
“You have information you wish to share, then?” McKenna asked.
The messenger—a lad with hair like straw, a wart on his large nose, and a chin that was nearly nonexistent—grinned craftily. “Not ‘share,’ sir, so much as ‘sell.’”
“And how do you come by it, that I might put stock in its value?”
“I work in the stables of the Fraser clan, sir,” the lad insisted. “I often sleep beneath the straw, like. And while I was lying there last night, I heard a great many things from the laird and his guests…things about you, and about them getting married, and something to do with the laird’s brother gone these many years, and—”
“Yes, yes, you have convinced me, right enough.” McKenna reached into one of his desk drawers and removed a large pouch of coins, setting it between them. “I believe you had best start at the beginning, young man, and leave nothing out.”
Within the hour, the stable boy was riding back to the Fraser lands with the pouch jingling at his side, and Ryan McKenna was smiling as he came up with a plan to outmaneuver that dratted Campbell girl once and for all.
