Kinnon didn’t answer. The flickering light from the fire illuminated his face, showing the sweep of emotions that passed through him. Duncan waited, watching him, and their gazes met. God help him, but he hoped Kinnon would understand. He had to understand. Their friendship, their bond was no small thing, and it would be one of the most difficult and wrenching dilemmas he’d faced yet if his cousin refuted his decision.
Finally Kinnon shifted, breaking the silence when he glanced away, murmuring, “Aye, well, do as you see fit. I’ve supported you from the time we were lads, and I’ll not be changing that now. If capturing Morgana alive is what you want, then I’ll do what I can to help you make it happen.”
Duncan reached out and gripped Kinnon’s shoulder, the gesture speaking his thanks with more eloquence than any words could.
Suddenly, something crackled in the brush just beyond the clearing’s edge. Duncan stiffened, gazing warily into the dark. Robert and Kinnon heard it too and stopped, half turning toward the noise as their hands slid to their claymores.
Without uttering a sound, Duncan gave a quick nod, and Robert walked away, pretending to go for another wineskin as he warned the men who sat at a fire farther off. Kinnon met Duncan’s gaze, and understanding flashed between them. As of one accord, they slung arms round each other’s shoulders, raising their voices in feigned laughter and talk as they worked their way ever closer to the area beyond the clearing. When they reached to within five paces of the spot, they bolted into the brush, drawing their weapons and standing to each other’s backs as they tried to flush out the hidden intruder.
But there was nothing. Nothing but a few broken branches and a place where the coating of fallen leaves looked to have been disturbed. Robert and the others had joined them by this time. Several of them carried torchlights, and they all searched, looking more thoroughly for a sign of the unwelcome visitor.
“Must have been an animal, attracted by the scent of food,” Gil said.
Duncan let the branch he’d been holding aside swing back and returned to the clearing.
“A fox, mayhap,” Kinnon suggested, following close behind.
“Aye, a fox.” Duncan squatted near the fire, looking over the dancing flames into the shadows of the glen beyond the trees. “Or a witch,” he added quietly.
Kinnon sank down beside him. “You think it possible that Morgana watches us from the cover of the woodland?” He spoke so that only Duncan could hear him.
“Though she thinks us unaware that she is alive, she had to consider the possibility that I’d be coming to look for Aileana.”
“Then why would she not make herself known and attack us here in the forest rather than lead us to her hiding place?”
Duncan shook his head, standing and gesturing for Kinnon to come with him as he walked to check their mounts. “It may not have been her at all. If it was, it could be that she has other plans for us. Perhaps she wanted to learn what she’d be facing in numbers so that she could muster enough of her own to help her in defending her position.”
“Should we initiate a search now, then?”
Duncan weighed the question in his mind. The same thought had occurred to him. But he couldn’t be sure it had been Morgana. He’d been dwelling so heavily on wrenching memories and tortured thoughts that he could be imagining what wasn’t even there.
Finally he shook his head again. “Nay. If it was Morgana, we’d gain nothing by following her now, as you pointed out. She’s clever enough to hide in the dark. We’ll track her down in daylight as planned and corner her in her lair.”
Kinnon nodded. Together they headed back to rejoin the others. Yet though all settled into quiet and soon slept, Duncan couldn’t rest. He found it impossible to relax. Everywhere he looked he seemed to see eyes glittering at him from the dark, preventing him from dispelling the notion that Morgana MacDonell planned to out-smart him…
That she plotted to make him commit a tactical error that would cost him dearly in the end.
Chapter 22
The ruins of Carlisle Castle
Northern Highlands
The rattling of the door warned Aileana of her visitor a moment before the heavy wooden slab swung open. Colin stood in the open portal, a half-grin on his face and what looked to be the same leather cord he’d threatened her with in the glen, dangling from his grip.
“Come,” he said, walking toward her. “I must bind your hands to take you from this chamber.”
“Why? Where am I going?” Aileana asked, backing up and turning her face away when he attempted to stroke his fingers down her cheek.
In retaliation, he took her chin in a cruel grip, forcing her to look at him. “You’ve been a naughty little lassie, Aileana MacDonell. Your sister is not very happy with you or the tricks you’ve played. And while I’d almost convinced her to let me punish you properly,” he leaned forward to breathe the words, hot and moist, into her ear as he pinched her buttock, “she denied me the pleasure at the last moment in favor of speaking with you herself.”
Yanking herself away from his groping hands, Aileana made a sound of disgust, which only made Colin laugh. None too gently he spun her away from him, making quick work of lacing her wrists together with the leather cord. After tugging the knots several times to ensure their hold, he gripped her arm, dragging her along to keep pace with his strides.
Soon they entered a dark, musty corridor where water seeped in rivulets down to the slimy stones of the floor. Aileana fought the urge to wrinkle her nose with the odor pervading the enclosed area, a revolting blend of urine, decay, and sweat. It was worse, even, than the chamber in which she’d been held. But before long they reached an archway, blocked by a wooden door bound in bands of steel. After Colin made a series of taps on it, it swung open, bathing them in golden light.
When Colin pulled her through to the brightness on the other side, Aileana had to squint. As her vision adjusted, she saw that she was in a room as startling in its opulence as the corridor had been for its deterioration. At the far end of the chamber, across a floor of expensive wood inlay, sat a golden chair on a dais. And reclining in the chair sat a poised Morgana. All that lacked for a completed portrait of royalty was a golden circlet for her sister’s head.
She was dressed richly in blue velvet trimmed with ermine, her glossy hair falling in loose waves to her waist, unencumbered except for a sapphire-trimmed comb that held the weight of it back from her face. But she wasn’t wearing theEalachanymore, Aileana noticed at once.
