Page 28 of Christmas at Castle Dunrannoch
With another curtsy, the maid departed and Ragnall turned to his faithful wolfhound with a sigh.
Aye, he would get to the bottom of the matter, and do all he could to keep Flora safe, whatever the outcome.
He would begin by making note of all the maid had told him. Drawing the chair from his desk, he took up his quill and paper and began to write. To his chagrin, a draught blew the parchment to the floor before he’d reached the second line, leaving a trail of ink across the desk.
Cursing, he bent to retrieve it and there, beneath the table, something caught his eye.
What was that, pushed within the stones?
With nimble fingers, he retrieved it.
A piece of his own parchment, and scrawled in a less than fair hand, but legible nonetheless.
He read the words:
I, Flora Dalreagh, avow to avenge my father’s untimely death—by blade or poison, strangulation or drowning. By whatever means presents itself.
I shall be watchful for the time and, no matter how soft my heart grows, I shall not relent in fulfilling my duty.
Dear God!
’Twas a guide to murder one might say!
Though the tone was naive, the burning intent behind the words was apparent. Flora had written the vow in this very room, most likely—and he’d been the target of her ire. Fortunate for him that her ‘soft heart’ had apparently won out.
Her soft heart.
His own felt a pulse of warmth in response.
And the vow itself? Here was the proof at last of her innocence, in her own hand—for no one could believe her guilty of her father’s murder when she’d written so convincingly of her desire to avenge him.
What a fool he’d been!
At this moment, who knew what danger she was in—for if Flora had not killed Malcolm Dalreagh, he could guess at who the real culprit was. The suspicions he'd pushed aside could no longer be ignored, and Flora's placement in Castle Dunrannoch placed her in mortal danger.
He’d been deceived alright, but nae by the wench who’d crept into his heart.
There was no time for delay, no matter the weather or the amount of ale running through the veins of his men.
The Hogmany feast would be moving to Dunrannoch and, if Calder had harmed Flora in any way, ’twould not be only a hog’s head on the table.
Reaching for his sword and scabbard, Ragnall prepared himself. He was ready to fight—not merely for justice but for the woman who deserved to be at his side.
Chapter13
Castle Dunrannoch
Hogmany Night, December 31
Her hands werenear numb from the cord with which they’d been bound these past nights, but Flora tried to keep her mind focused. The knots had defied the tugging of her teeth but, even had she loosened them, the room remained stoutly locked and guarded, and the window gave a sheer drop to the courtyard below.
So far, only her courses had kept her from violent ravishment. In the meantime, Calder had subjected her to countless humiliations.
From the first, he’d shown he meant to use physical strength—not merely to assuage his desire for her body, but to dominate and abuse. Ripping her bodice, he’d bared her, squeezing and pinching, his eyes blazing with vicious delight and taunting all the while: that he’d bring his men to take their turn until she confessed her guilt, or parade her before having her burnt as a witch. Worst of all, that he’d keep her locked away forever more, and there would be no end to the torments he would inflict.
When he’d thrown up her skirts and pushed his fingers roughly between her legs, she’d taken her mind to another place—to the heathered moor, and the breeze whispering gentle.
She hadn’t known herself to be bleeding until he’d withdrawn his hand, demonstrating his revulsion with a hard slap to her face.
