Page 66 of Devil Black

Isobel’s heart went out to her, poor lass, alone and frightened beyond the bounds of sanity. But her backbone stiffened. She had no intention of repeating Aisla’s fate. She would, first, die fighting.

Yet what options did she have? She went to the door and tried it, even though she had heard the bar drop. It held fast against her. She needed either a weapon or a plan. How much time did she have before Bertram MacNab marched back in and reasserted his demand for obedience?

She went to the window, pulled aside the drapery, and looked out. Early dark cloaked the countryside and obscured the ground below, but she could see enough to tell it would be a vicious descent. Fifty feet of sheer wall fell unbroken to the cold, rocky turf. Yet the wall itself, built of stones rough cut, had gaps between them for toes and fingers, and the ground below was just that—grass with a stone wall beyond, not a paved courtyard. The breath caught in her throat. Dangerous, oh, yes, but possible, if she had the courage. And she would take her chances any day in the wild countryside before testing the cruelty in Bertram MacNab’s eyes.

“I will escape him,” she told the deepening darkness, “or die trying.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“You do realize your wife may well be dead,” Lachlan said gloomily. “MacNab might have been forced to silence her, or she may have fought a bit too hard.”

Dougal shook his head. He had no doubt his wife would fight against her abductors, but he thought Randal MacNab must be canny enough to keep her alive for a time. Isobel had become a pawn in a dangerous game, the best weapon MacNab now had to his hand. “You forget her father is there. Surely his presence will serve to protect her?”

Even as he spoke the words, Dougal took little comfort in them. There were ways and ways of making a woman suffer. The prospect of Isobel enduring any of them turned him sick inside. But he thought he would know if Isobel no longer lived: had he not felt it the moment Aisla died, like a sword plunged into his soul?

But...he had loved Aisla; at best, he desired Isobel. It was different, was it not?

Lachlan remained unconvinced. “You may launch an all-out attack on MacNab’s keep only to recover a corpse. ’Twill be war, Dougal, and costly. You do know that?”

“My men are prepared to fight.”

“By throwing themselves against MacNab’s walls?”

“It is not the only way.” Dougal, brooding, stared into the fire. He and Lachlan stood beside the hearth in the great hall while, outside, his warriors organized for the trek to MacNab’s stronghold. “I may, instead, offer him what he wants.”

“And what is that?” Lachlan slanted a look at him.

“Single combat,” Dougal replied.

Lachlan drew a breath, and his gaze sharpened. A number of emotions chased their way, one by one, across his face. “Would you dare, after what happened the last time?” He broke off abruptly.

Dougal returned his look, unflinching. “You know nothing of what happened before, Lachlan. Nothing.” Slowly he raised his hand and touched the scar on his cheek. Deeply puckered, it made a crater of memory, regret, and shame.

He saw Lachlan’s eyes narrow and wondered again how much Lachy guessed about what had happened eight years ago. But no, even Lachy considered him a coward, rather than what he was in truth—a failure.

“You must care for Isobel a very great deal,” Lachlan ventured. “Dare I say, even, you must love her? I know how you felt for Aisla.”

From somewhere, Dougal summoned a harsh laugh. “How many times must I tell you I do not believe in love? ’Tis a fool’s pursuit! Yet would I allow that bastard to keep from me aught that is mine?” The last four words rang with conviction.

“Aye, well.” Lachlan backed off. “When do we act?”

“Tonight. By a miracle, the clouds have cleared, and the moon is out. We will bait the badger in his own den.”

Meg found him a short time later, while he donned his weapons and downed a mug of whisky. His men awaited him in the forecourt, their mounts restless beneath the moonlight.

“So,” she said as she broached him, like a ship in full sail, “you have found the courage to go after her?”

“Hold your tongue, Sister. I need none of your mettlesome opinions.”

“You shall have them anyway. I hold my tongue at the bidding of no man.”

“A sad truth! Yet I warn you, I am in no mood for your haranguing. Have you finished speaking your spells? Are the gods—or the devils—on our side?”

“Curiously, they are.” She tipped her head, and the firelight slid off the length of her unbound, black hair. “The Spirits are strong with us, this night.”

“Good. I go to discover how badly MacNab wants the return of his cattle, and whether he is willing to trade for them something I hold even more valuable. I will return with Isobel or, as our forefathers used to say, on my shield.”

“Lachlan says you mean to challenge Bertram MacNab to single combat.”