Page 42 of Kilty as Sin
Her father had drugged her and locked her in her room. Her father had married her to a man against her will. But she didn’t want himdead.
There’d always been a part of her which had prayed he would come to accept her dreams. She wanted a return to the years when Father had lifted her, laughing, to his shoulders. Before he’d come to see her as merely a bargaining piece.
“Ye cannae…” She whispered, even as she stumbled down the steps after the armed madman. “Please…”
Father didn’t deserve to die for her lies.
Fantastic. Now ye no’ only have to find a way to escape MacGill and run to Barclay, yealsohave to find a way to thwart MacGill’s plans for yer father!
But she’d do it. Shehadto.
From below came the sound of raised voices, then the clash of steel upon steel. She forced her exhausted legs to move faster.
When she reached the bottom of the spiral staircase, she was practically running, and burst into the great hall and spun a full circle, unable to stop herself.
She fell against a trunk and grabbed for the oak gratefully, forcing the room to stop spinning before turning toward the two men fighting among the tables and benches. Shehadto find a way to save her father!
But ‘twas not her father MacGill fought.
Grace blinked, certain her mind had conjured him. Mayhap she was going mad. He shouldn’t be here…
But the sun glinting in through the high windows caught the steel of the Hunter’s helm, and she knew the truth.
Barclay had come for her.
* * *
Barclay had spentenough time at Court to have heard his share of war stories. There was one thing everyone agreed upon: if besieging a castle, the attacking army should be well-provisioned and in good spirits.
Also, you know, the wholearmything.
No one ever told stories about glorious sieges resulting in one man rushing at a castle, brandishing a sword. That man was likely to be swatted away like an annoying gnat, likely by a man with a bow on the castle walls.
He wasnotlikely to make it through the open portcullis, tear through the lingering revelers from the wedding banquet, and up into the great hall completely unchecked.
But that’s exactly what happened to Barclay, who reached the center of the hall and hopped up onto a still-laid table, looking for his enemy.
Hisfather.
“MacGill!” he roared, the sound echoing in his helmet. “Where are ye?”
St. Pancras protect him! If the wedding had taken place—and the banquet around him seemed a celebratory one—then he was too late!
A portly figure in a fine fur cloak was hurrying toward him, and it took a moment to recognize Grace’s father.
“Sir Hunter! What is the meaning of this?”
“This?” Feeling light-headed from the days in the saddle—poor Horse had likely collapsed out in the courtyard or found himself a nice trough to dig into—Barclay kicked a goblet of wine, so it went flying. “Where is the whoreson ye’re trying to marry yer daughter to?”
“Trying?” MacDonald pulled himself up with dignity. “They were married this morning. In her chambers, since the sleeping draught was slow to wear off.”
“Yepoisoned her?” Barclay roared, because it was easier than lingering on the knowledge Grace was already married. He jumped from the table and landed with his blade against MacDonald’s neck. “YepoisonedGrace in order to make her biddable to this marriage?”
The laird sputtered but didn’t move. “’Twas the only way to keep her from running off.Yeshould ken that—ye were the one who had to bring her back last time! She is headstrong, otherwise.”
He’d drugged Grace.
Everything he’d said about trusting her father not to do anything which would harm her…Barclay shook his head, disgusted. How could anyone treat their child so?
