In this case, there were no mourners searching the ground for familiar faces. No bodies left behind, no muffled weeping, no wailing. There was only the tangible lack of life in the valley below him, and he knew the MacCurrachs had it right. The devil did indeed reside here.
Although his senses railed at him to flee, he would not go until he made certain Kenna was not inside.
With the glare from the sun setting behind him, the wagon’s driver was unable to look up at the road, let alone see the lone rider disappearing into the trees. The warm glow of sunset paved the cart’s path with a golden light, but the long cold shadow that stretched in its wake left Duncan chilled. What he saw in the wagon box after it passed froze the blood in his heart and it threatened to crack.
Shaken loose from a large bundle was a woman’s dead white hand, and spilling out from the end of the ragged cover were long, auburn tresses.
The Keith war cry fell on only one pair of ears as Duncan raced to the driver’s side. The echo of the man’s whistle still hung in the trees when his head hit the ground spinning. A heartbeat later his hands released the reigns and his body slumped forward out of the seat, blocking the wheels and stopping the horses.
With his bloody broadsword dripping, Duncan moved to the wooden bed still in a fit of rage. When he folded back the gory covering, he flinched at the damage done to the body beneath. He carefully turned the lifeless face to him and cried out. The poor lass was not Kenna, and a sob broke from his breast, he was so overcome with relief.
When the gloaming found him, Duncan sat upon the craggy hillside above the keep. He did not wonder why the place had never before fallen to an enemy. What conqueror would want a keep that could so easily be taken? A few well-placed archers could sit where he now sat and eliminate the enemy inside the parapets one by one. And a well-planned avalanche would crumble the walls that clearly showed their lack of depth. A place like this begged to be leveled and Duncan was itching to oblige.
There were no sentries on the walls, and a mere handful of torches lit the path between the stables and the kitchen entrance. Darkness covered the place like a blood-soaked shroud, and the unnatural silence continued.
Duncan picked his way to the edge of the cliff and lowered himself on a rope secured to a warped pine growing at an angle out of the rocks. In mere moments he walked unaccosted across the yard and climbed into a low window east of the kitchens.
Just as he was righting himself on the inside, a wagon rumbled noisily into the yard near the kitchen door. The driver showed no signs of alighting. Duncan dreaded what the man may be waiting to load and braced himself for what he might find as he went in search of the devil.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Kenna felt it was dark enough to finally leave her ransacked haven. Taking her store of food wrapped in a discarded shawl, she cracked open the door and watched for a long while before she led her horse outside. There was a plethora of moonlight until she reached the treeline. There, she rode the edge of the shadows while she put distance between her and the folly.
Where her cover ended, she stopped to take her bearings. The tip of the shadows stretched toward her of a sudden, and took hold of the bridle. It was a dark arm that belonged to a man who looked most pleased to see her. His grin showed more gaps than teeth and dark grease was smeared across his bald head.
He was no more frightening than his peers, and she was quickly surrounded by half a dozen men in the same disgusting state.
She was treated to a barrage of horrifying suggestions as to what the new laird may have in store for her, as her newest set of captors led her horse back toward Carlisle Folly with her hung over the saddle and her hands tied beneath the animal’s belly.
Kenna felt strangely calm. The impossible acts described by these men were clearly intended to frighten her, but they failedto do so. Once they arrived, her hands were freed and she was led upstairs to her aunt’s bedchambers, where she was presented to the newest laird.
“We’ve a wee gift fer Yer Lairdship,” her captor announced.
The man at the window, looking out into the night, turned toward the candlelight and sneered. “You are never to enter the house again, is that clear?” His face twisted yet again, into a smile, when he saw her face.
The snake himself, Gair Balloch.
His gaze raked over her briefly, then snapped back to her face.
“You! But I thought…” His thought went unfinished. He took a deep breath, and much to the frustration of Kenna’s smelly captors, he ignored everyone and began to pace the width of the room.
Every few turns he would glance up at Kenna, revealing his immense pleasure at having her land in his lap, but he never slowed his pace or his mumbling. Even when a man came to the door to announce a wagon was ready, he could not seem to stop his frenzied marching.
Kenna struggled to keep her panic from her eyes. She tried to act as if she had come willingly in search of Agatha, which seemed reasonable. He would tell her the woman was no longer here and hopefully allow her to go on her way.
“Where is my aunt, sir?”
“Your aunt. My dear Kenna, your so-called aunt is dead. The king awarded me her properties for uncovering her deception. If your homecoming disappoints, I apologize. But your entire clan has fled.” He stopped pacing and came to stand in front of her. She refused to take a step back and held her chin up. “You owe me a boon, Lady Kenna, if you will remember.”
“I am no innocent child this time, Balloch.”
“No innocent…Notinnocent?” He looked her over again, frowning. Then he seemed to see everything clearly. “MacPherson had you!”
“Nay, I was rescued from Gowry by a man name Tearloch, along with his company.”
“Tearloch MacPherson, you silly girl. The king sent him to fetch you, but Agatha had already sent you to hell.” He chuckled.
Kenna pushed the information aside for the moment. She couldn’t allow this man to believe he could hurt her.
