Page 69 of Hunting for a Highlander (Highland Brides 8)

“Dwyn said there was something wrong with him as well,” Geordie said with a frown. “What makes ye both think he’s no’ right in the head?”

“He gets so excited when he’s angry that he actually foams at the mouth,” Innes said with a grimace, and then reluctantly, as if he feared they wouldn’t believe him, he added, “And he talks to his dead wife as if the woman is standing beside him.”

“That does no’ mean he’d kill yer daughter,” the MacGregor pointed out.

“Aye, but Laird Innes may be right. He might kill her for revenge,” Geordie muttered, frowning as he considered the matter.

“Revenge for what? The bastard kidnapped her, no’ the other way around,” MacGregor said with disgust.

“Aye, well, me wife’s dogs attacked him when he tried to force himself on her,” Geordie explained. “One o’ them bit off one o’ his ballocks and part of his cock. He’s been seeking revenge ever since. He most like will kill her if he kens he’s caught before we can get Dwyn away from him.”

The MacGregor grunted at that, and then glanced over the armies on both sides of the river as he considered the matter for a moment. Turning back to Geordie, he said, “Then we should probably sneak in and get her while the men get into position around the camp. Once we have her and me priest out, I’ll give the signal and our men can ride in.”

Geordie nodded at once. He was eager to go in and get Dwyn, and since MacGregor knew the area better, having his assistance would be most helpful.

“Have yer men cross over and we’ll line them up with me men and yer men interspersed so me warriors can lead them where they need to go,” the MacGregor suggested. “And while they do that, we’ll look at the map me scouts made o’ the camp and decide our best approach.”

“Ye had yer scouts map the camp?” Aulay asked with interest.

“Aye, as soon as me man came to tell me what yer brother Alick had said, I sent out men to scout the area. I thought it might come in handy.”

“Aye, I’m sure ’twill,” Geordie said as Aulay turned to signal their men.

Chapter 18

“Oh, dear, this is most embarrassing.”

Dwyn bit her lip to hold back a laugh at that moan from Father Machar. The man was on his back, his scrawny legs in the air, and his black robe gathered around and between his thighs as Dwyn worked at untying his wrists, which were presently pressed tight to the backs of his legs where they met his arse. While the man had got his bound wrists under his bottom, he hadn’t been able to get them past his feet, even with her help. Worse still, he hadn’t been able to move them back behind his bottom again either when she’d suggested that. He’d complained that the rope was burning his wrists too much to manage it. Hence the awkward position he now found himself in. Fortunately, Brodie hadn’t bothered to bind up Father Machar’s ankles as he had her. Apparently, he hadn’t considered him likely to flee with his hands bound.

“Almost there, Father,” Dwyn said soothingly. “Just think o’ the story ye’ll be able to tell once ye’re back at MacGregor.”

“Oh, dear Lord, I shall never breathe a word o’ this to anyone,” Father Machar assured her. “Nay, indeed. Why, I could lose me position as the MacGregor clan priest if anyone learned I had a lady’s tongue in me mouth and her hands on me bottom.”

“Well, it was no’ at the same time, Father,” she pointed out dryly. “And ’twas necessary. Besides, me hands are no’ on yer bottom.”

“Well, something is rubbing me there,” he muttered, and lifted his head, straining to look around his raised legs at her.

“Me knuckles,” Dwyn explained. “They brush against ye on occasion and I’m sorry for it. Now please lie back and relax yer muscles again. Ye’re pulling yer wrists tight and just making me work harder.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he muttered, and let his head drop back on the ground with a sigh before saying, “Mayhap we should just give up and wait. I’m sure the good Lord will save us.”

Dwyn’s eyebrows rose at that. “Or mayhap the good Lord only helps those who help themselves and He expects us to make our escape.”

“My dear, our chances o’ escaping are quite thin. There are two o’ us against a hundred Brodie soldiers,” Father Machar pointed out dryly.

“Aye, well, they’re no’ especially smart soldiers, Father,” she pointed out. “No one has checked on us even once since Brodie stormed off to think on how to poison me husband and his family.”

“Hmm,” Father Machar muttered grimly. “The man is certainly insane, and dangerous as well. Did ye realize he’d murdered his wife?”

“He did mention something of the sort when he attacked me,” Dwyn admitted distractedly.

“Why did ye no’ write to the king then?” Father Machar asked with dismay. “He could have done something about the man had he known.”

“Because ‘twould have been my word against his,” Dwyn pointed out quietly as she continued to work on the rope. “I had no proof to give the king.”

“Oh. Aye,” Father Machar murmured on a sigh and fell silent.

“There,” Dwyn said with relief a moment later as she pulled the last cord and the rope unraveled from around the priest’s wrists. His arms split apart at once now that they were no longer held together, and she nearly got clobbered over the head when Father Machar’s legs immediately began to drop as if his wrists had been holding his legs up. Gasping in surprise, she rolled to the side, just avoiding his legs, and then quickly popped to her feet.

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