Page 3 of The Highlander's Captured Bride
“But Violet—”
“Ken of it from a faither’s standpoint,” she began to bargain. “if anything would have happened to me, ye would have moved heaven and earth to get answers, wouldnae ye?”
A conflicted look passed over his face and she knew she had chipped into his defense, so she pressed on. “That man is only doing the same, and he called ye because he must have some faith in yer reputation for nae leaving any case unsolved.”
Her father was wavering. She saw myriad emotions cross his face, but eventually, his shoulders sagged. “I suppose we can go. Get dressed and pack a few things. I do hope we won’t be there too long. And—” he paused to sniff the air, “—I ken our meal is ready. Is there enough to give the man a bowl?
“I ken there is,” she smiled and kissed her father’s cheek. “Thank ye, Faither.”
* * *
It was not the drawbridge or the curtain wall, nor was it the men in dark leather armor crossing the walkways that took her breath away; it was the dual towers that seemed to extend to the heavens. She paused her horse just to gaze at them and wonder. Pennants flew above, dark blue flags with a roaring dragon stitched in the middle. Violet swallowed tightly.
Looking over her shoulder at the way they had come, she marveled that such splendor was the highland of Argyll. The many travels she and her father had done over the years had never taken her this far in Scotland. The metallic scrape of the bridge being lowered caught her attention.
She nudged her horse forward, not having the time to reflect on the verdant forest and large plains they had passed through to get to this castle. The wooden echo of their horses’ hooves on the bridge made her stomach tighten. They passed under an overpass and as they emerged into a rotunda, and her eyebrows shot to her hairline. The castle was before her, but it had…arms. She spun and saw that what they had passed under was a part of the castle. Those “arms” had connected to become that overpass.
“Me God,” she whispered at the uniqueness of the construction.
A burly man came out of the front doors; his thick chest and body covered with a gray and blue plaid with fringes. She noticed his dark brown hair was close-cut but his beard was heavy. He nodded to something—or someone—behind them and two tall youths—twins-- came to help them off their mounts.
She easily alighted from her sidesaddle pose, and as her feet met the ground, she thanked him. Her father, now down on the ground, was fixing his coat when the man from the steps hurried to them. She sensed an air of power around him even though he was a good twenty feet away.
Mayhap he is the Laird?
She stepped behind her father as the man came closer and extended his hand, “Mister O’Cain, I take it? I’m Balgair MacFerson,Laird of the MacFerson Clan. Thank ye for coming on such short notice.”
Her father shook the Laird’s hand. “Thank ye for having us, and I am sorry for yer loss.”
Mister MacFerson looked over to her in surprise. “Yer daughter, I assume?”
“Aye,” her father replied. “She was the one who convinced me to take this case, as I am retired from investigator work. But I am here and willing to help ye. What do ye need from me?”
“If ye dinnae mind,” the Laird said, “I ken the journey was for a time and ye might be tired, but I —” the man’s face went tight and his voice was suddenly laden with grief, “—I found me son’s body today and I want ye to look at it before we move it, if it’s nay too much of a trouble.”
“None at all,” her father said. “Just show us where he is.”
“Us?” Mister MacFerson’s head swiveled between them. “Ye let yer daughter see such… macabre things?”
Her father bestowed a fine look at her, “Violet has helped me a lot of times in solving me cases, either by discussing the facts with me after we are given one or assessing the murder herself on the spot. She’s done so since she was six-and-ten.”
The Laird shook his head, as if the very notion of a woman helping her father with such things was the most mysterious concept he had ever come across. “If yer sure, please, follow me.”
She was a step behind the two men, looking around as the Laird led them through a side gate and down a slope. She noted the forest line, the mountains beyond them, and the few stone walls that were far off. As they came around a corner, she saw five men there, two standing aside a covered body—evidenced by the booted feet sticking out from under the blanket.
The Laird lifted his hand and the men bowed. “This is Mister O’Cain, the man I sent for. Please, take the blanket off.”
Violet shifted to the side as the dark woolen cloth was taken off, and sucked in a breath. The man was handsome, but the gash across his neck and the dried blood staining his clothes overshadowed his handsomeness. She began to look around to see if the attacker had dropped the weapon he had used or if there were snatches of cloth on the nearby branches…when her eye landed on a man sitting in the shadows.
Her breath was trapped in her throat. His blond hair, somewhat familiar to the dead man’s, though lighter and more flaxen, was hung over into his eyes, shielding his face and his arms were braced on his knees. She wanted to see him—and as if God granted her wish, he looked up and met her eyes with dulled green.
With her breath still hitched in her lungs, Violet felt that she could not turn away from his spellbinding orbs. When his head canted to the side and a small smile was gifted to her, she felt air begin to flow into her chest again.
Her attention was called when her father spoke. “What are the circumstances that led him to be here?”
“I can tell ye that.” The man from the shadows came forward. “I am Ethan, and me brother, Finley, had gone hunting and came back with the kills. He then went to a tavern and left with a woman—” he massaged his forehead, “—that we just cannae seem to findanywhere, and came back late and alone. We suspect that was when he was attacked.”
Tearing herself away from the other man, she went to her father's side and looked at the body, where her eyes landed on something curious. “Faither… do ye see something amiss, here?”
