He looked up suddenly as he heard a movement by the door and saw Maisie, who gave him a polite curtsy. She looked nervous, Duncan thought, then he realised that she was beyond that. She was terrified, and his heart began to pound with fear as he realised that she knew something about Eliza.
“What is happening here, Maisie?” he demanded. “Where is your mistress?”
Maisie backed away from him, trembling. Her face was chalk white and her eyes were wide with terror and confusion.
“M’Laird, I-I…” she stuttered.
“Speak, lass,” he commanded.
“Lady Iona gave me a wee bit o’ somethin’ to put in Milady’s tea.”
Duncan strode over to the young woman and grabbed her by the shoulders, pinning her to the spot. He was over a foot taller than she was, and she had to tilt her head back to look into his amber eyes, which were blazing with rage.
“What did you put in her drink?” he demanded. His voice had risen to a roar, and Maisie flinched and looked at the floor to avoid his gaze. “Tell me now, or I will throw you in the dungeon!”
“Milady told me it was a sleepin’ draught,” Maisie replied, her eyes filling with tears of sheer terror.
“And after that? Tell me now!” Duncan ordered.
“Milady came an’ brought two o’ the elders wi’ her,” Maisie replied. “But I dinnae know their names, M’Laird.”
She was beyond trembling now. She was visibly quaking, and her eyes had filled with tears. “One o’ them had a long red beard, an’ the other one had white hair.”
“I know them,” Duncan said grimly. “Do you know where they went?”
“I wasnae meant tae hear,” Maisie answered, “but they talked about the auld distillery.”
The thunderstorm had abated, but the building was half a mile away, and Duncan knew from bitter experience that the road would have turned to a slippery sea of mud. However, he consoled himself with the fact that it would not only slow him down, but it would do the same to anyone else who was using the road.
A carriage could not travel as fast as a horse, so he still had a chance to catch up, he told himself. He could not bear to think of the alternative. Eliza could not be dead. He could not—would not—contemplate it, and when he found her, he was going to declare his love for her and beg her to marry him. He would never let her go again.
Hold on, Eliza,he thought desperately.Hold on, my love, I am coming for you.
Duncan dashed towards the stables and barked out instructions for his stallion to be saddled, before he leapt onto the horse’s back and urged him into a furious gallop.
19
The road was every bit as bad as Duncan had expected, but there was still plenty of light, so he was able to push his stallion as fast as he dared, which was still not fast enough. Mud splashed up around the horse’s hooves, splattering him with filth, but he hardly noticed. Nothing mattered except reaching Eliza.
Damn!he thought angrily.Eliza, I should have told you how much I love you. I should have told you I would give my life for you. You are my whole world.
He had no idea how long he had been riding—it seemed like years—before he saw the old distillery in the distance. It was an ugly, tumbledown building with two crumbling chimney stacks at each end of the long, low structure, and Duncan knew that its roof had long since disintegrated. No one could shelter there, so why had Kincaid and Armstrong brought Eliza here?
Then it hit him. The distillery was a lonely, out-of-the way place, and rumoured to be haunted, so very few people ever went there. It would be the perfect place to count stolen money, wait in hiding for an ambush—or commit murder.
Duncan gasped as this heinous thought leapt into his mind, but suddenly, he heard the loud neigh of a panicked horse infront of him. He urged his stallion into a gallop, then the old building, closer now, came into view as he emerged from a small patch of trees.
A carriage stood there with one of its horses unhitched and standing a few yards away from it, as well as two tall men with the limp body of a woman slung between them.
Duncan’s heart leapt, and he was suddenly filled with a rage so strong that he could hardly contain it. He roared as he charged towards them. The two men looked up and turned to try to run into the ruined building with Eliza still hanging between them, but they could not run fast enough while carrying their burden.
Seeing this, Duncan hauled on the reins to slow his stallion down, then leapt out of the saddle before the horse had come to a halt. He charged towards the two men, unsheathing his sword in one fluid movement.
Kincaid looked scared, and faltered for a moment, as if uncertain whether to run or not. Duncan was a big man, and when he was angry and wielding a lethal weapon he was a fearsome sight, and he knew it.
“Get away from her!” he roared, brandishing his sword above his head, his face a terrifying mask of fury.
Duncan could see that Kincaid was still hesitating, and his contempt for the big fat man intensified because despite his size, he was the embodiment of weakness and cowardice.
