Page 73 of Bride of the Beastly Laird

Arne nodded reluctantly. “Take care, lad. Ye may be heading into a hornets’ nest. Dinnae forget we’ll nae be far behind ye. If ye meet trouble on the way ye’ll have the MacLeod men on yer side.”

The groom walked Arran’s fresh horse out of the stables into the courtyard for him to mount. It was a bay, a lighter horse than his stallion, but the groom assured him he was fast and could keep up his pace over a long distance. He clicked and the horse pricked up his ears as Arran mounted. He patted the bay’s neck and whispered to him. “Good lad. I’m counting on ye tae take me fast as the wind.”

Once they’d departed from the castle gate, he kept up a steady gallop for the next hour or so, quietly cursing himself for having passed the tavern earlier in the day and not having taken the time to check it. But realizing he’d no idea that Dahlia was not already safe at MacLeod Castle he gave up berating himself.

It was not long before the inn came into view and he slowed his horse to a walk. It was a dark, moonless night and with luck he would be able to make it without being noticed.

He dismounted and tethered the horse not far from the entrance of the inn, then he crept silently into the stables. Sure enough, to his horror – and relief – he caught sight of Dahlia’s mare in one of the boxes, and beside her was the horse Craig Donald had been riding.

So, he was right in assuming this was where Dahlia had been taken.

Considerable noise was issuing from the rowdy crowd in the tavern, encouraging Arran to consider he could enter unnoticed and slowly make his way toward the stairs. He was convinced Dahlia was being held prisoner in the very same room he hadguarded all those weeks ago, when it washewho was her jailer, taking her against her will to wed Bairre Mackinnon.

He shivered at the memory and marveled all the same at the long journey he and Dahlia had begun that night. Now she was everything to him, the sole possessor of his heart.

Rage bubbled in his blood at the thought that she might have been hurt and was, even at that moment, being held, terrified, in the hands of some ruffian who cared little for her comfort.

He entered the dimly lit, crowded inn. The place was bustling with serving-maids carrying flagons of ale amid bawdy comments and laughter. Men he assumed to be farmers were seated on benches by the fire and around the room. No one looked up as he slipped inside and took a seat at a table not far from the door. He scanned the room but saw no one he recognized or anyone wearing the Mackinnon tartan.

He briefly wondered. Could he have been wrong in surmising Dahlia was imprisoned here? Recalling the little mare in the stables he reassured himself. No doubt her jailers were guarding her door, as he’d done when he’d taken on that cursed role.

Taking care not to draw attention to himself, he gradually moved toward the stairs. Fortunately, the staircase was busy with men and wenches coming and going to the bedrooms above and he was able to make his way up to the next floor unnoticed.

To his surprise, there was no guard standing outside the door of the room he guessed Dahlia was being held in. He tried the latchand to his further amazement the door opened slowly. The room was pitch dark as he hesitated in the doorway, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Hearing a moan, he entered, fearing that it was Dahlia in pain.

Feeling his way, he encountered a wooden high-backed chair and, as he ran his fingers over the splintery wood, he encountered a strand of long hair.

“Dahlia, is it ye, are ye here?”

He heard her mumbling incoherently and, as his fingers traced the outline of her face he realized there was a length of cloth binding her mouth shut.

“Oh me God darling, keep still while I untie this from ye.”

He was fumbling with the cloth when the room was suddenly illuminated and a figure holding a lantern aloft entered the room. There was no time for him to react and an instant later he was dealt a severe blow to his head. His senses reeling under the blow, his head ringing with the pain, he slumped to the floor.

He was hardly aware of voices, his arms being pinioned by his side and tied, before he was lost to all sensation.

When he woke, he was lying where he’d fallen. The room was again in darkness and his head was throbbing mightily. He struggled hard against the ties binding his hands, twisting and turning until he felt the rope loosen slightly. He pulled one handfree and then the other and set about undoing the rope that bound his feet.

He moaned and, to his great joy, he heard Dahlia’s soft whisper coming to him from close by. He’d succeeded in loosening the gag from her mouth.

“Is it really ye, Arran?”

“Aye lass. It was never me intention fer us both tae be prisoners. In moments me hands and feet will be free and I’ll come and set ye free.”

“We’re both in great danger, me love. Bairre and his men are here, it will be impossible fer us tae escape from this place.”

He grunted, his finger encountering the crude knots holding Dahlia’s wrists. He pulled the dirk from his boot and sliced through the rope freeing her hands. She clutched at his arm in the darkness and he leaned in to brush a kiss against her lips.

At that instant the door was flung wide, flooding the room with light, and two men entered, one of them holding a lantern.

Arran struggled to gain his feet, while Dahlia shook her hands free.

The first man who had entered the room was Bairre Mackinnon, followed by two of his guards.

Beside him, Arran heard Dahlia cry out in terror and, without a thought, he raised his arm to shelter her as best he could.

Bairre hissed at him. “Ye’re naught but a fool Arran Mackinnon, tae come here looking fer yer lady-love. She is mine, and on our return tae the castle the priest will be waiting tae perform the ceremony of marriage. We’ll be wed under King Robert’s decree. I’ll bed her and ye’ll nae be able tae dae a thing tae stand in me way.”

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