Page 61 of Married to the Ruthless Highlander
Holding back frightened tears, Freya nodded.
“Ersie will be posted outside. Our best men with her,” he added, storming toward the door. “If Lewis thinks he can set foot in me castle again, can scare me bride, I’ll tear him to so many pieces that nae even his maither would be able to identify him.”
He slammed the door shut behind him, the sound of a key turning in the lock somehow comforting. She was not being locked in like a prisoner—all threats were being locked out.
Remembering her lesson in patience, she sat up on the bed, hugged a pillow to her chest, and stared at the door. She would not move an inch until Doughall came back to her with news of Lewis’s demise.
If not, she doubted she would ever sleep again. Certainly not alone.
Moonlight had turned the shingle shore to pebbles of pure silver, the loch a looking glass where not even the fish dared to jump and disturb Doughall’s search. He did not know the hour and did not care; he would hunt the wretch down no matter how long it took, even if he had to raze half of Scotland to the ground.
I ken ye’re here. I can still feel ye.
With the aid of his soldiers, he had already scoured the entirety of the castle and grounds for Lewis, noting any weaknesses in the walls through which the cretin might have snuck in. Now, there was an army in the forests and across the moors, moving slowly outward to the borders of Doughall’s lands, bound to leave no stone unturned. There was a significant reward for the soldier who managed to capture Lewis, but Doughall hoped that the privilege would be entirely his.
“M’Laird?” a voice whispered from the trees.
Doughall’s head snapped toward the sound, and he drew his sword.
“It’s me.” The rabbit thief from the other morning crept out with his hands up. “Apologies, M’Laird. I didnae mean to intrude.”
Doughall was in no mood for pleasantries and would not be held responsible for his actions if the man asked for more coin.
“What do ye want?”
“I… have seen the man ye told me to look for,” the thief replied hesitantly. “At least, I think I did.”
Doughall’s lip curled. “And ye didnae think to inform me?”
“Well, I… was on me way to the castle when… all these soldiers started pourin’ into the forest. I’ve been… uh… doin’ me best to avoid them, so I couldnae get out to reach the castle,” the thief explained in a tremulous rush. “I?—”
Doughall put up his hand for silence, eyeing him more intently. “Ye’ve seen the mantonight?”
“Aye, M’Laird. Nae far from where ye found me the other day.” The thief nodded eagerly. “He has a camp there. Made himself a… hut out of peat. Ye cannae tell it’s there unless ye ken.”
With an inferno burning in his belly, Doughall slid his sword back into its sheath and unslung his bow from his shoulder. “Lead the way and be quick and quiet about it.”
“Aye, M’Laird.” The thief bowed his head and took off across the grassy bank that bordered the shore, moving as silently and stealthily as a shadow.
Jumping down from the saddle of his horse, Doughall followed suit, pursuing the rabbit thief toward—with any luck—much bigger game.
The closer Doughall got to the northernmost curve of the loch, the more certain he became that Lewis was the man responsible. Evidently, James’s former man-at-arms had been keeping a watchful eye on the Kanes, waiting for his moment to avenge his Laird. He would have no other reason to be near MacGordon Castle otherwise.
He must have been watchin’ MacNiall Castle. Must have seen Adam and Emily leave, then Freya, and figured she was the easiest prey.
Perhaps Lewis had intended to kidnap Freya on the night she was attacked—after untold horrors had been inflicted on her. Doughall and Ersie saving Freya had not been part of the plan, thus prompting Lewis to improvise.
The note and the camp by the loch certainly reeked of desperation. A last, clumsy effort.
If Freya had been in the room when he put that note in the book…
Doughall clenched his jaw, his blood rising, every sense sharpening until he felt like he could sniff Lewis out if he had to. He could kill the man for what he had not yet done, just as much as for what hehaddone.
Just then, the rabbit thief stopped and put a finger to his lips, pointing toward a gathering of gnarled oak trees and dense knots of briars that did not immediately suggest something suspicious. Upon closer inspection, Doughall couldjustsee athin wisp of smoke emerging from the briars. Clearly, they had been cut and dragged to use as camouflage.
Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he nocked it and approached with catfooted stealth. The rabbit thief hung back, crouching and wide-eyed, no doubt fearful that he would not receive his dues if anything happened to Doughall.
Spotting the peat hut inside the camouflage of briars and leaf piles, Doughall edged around it until he found the small hole that served as the only way in and out.
