As if speaking of the devil invoked him, she heard the blare of his horn from beyond the moat. Oh no! Were the Menzies back for more already? She returned inside and looked around for William. Not finding him, she moved on toward the stairs, to the battlements.
She stepped outside and scowled, looking down. It was Roddie, all right. Oh, how she hated him! She spotted her brother along the western parapet and watched him sign his name to a parchment and tie it to an arrow. The marriage agreement. William lifted his eyes and caught her gaze. They shared a subtle nod and a silent promise, and then he nocked the arrow in his bow and let it fly.
Janet’s stomach coiled into knots while she watched the arrow come down. Was that her fate sealed and driven into the thick trunk of a tree? She switched her gaze to Roddie in his saddle. She guessed he was about the same age as Will, but years of overindulgence had made him fat and too much drinking had made him worn. By himself, he had nothing to back up his boastful promise of taking Ravenglade and leaving her kin dead at his feet, but the number of his kin rivaled the stars in the sky.
She’d like to shove her foot straight up his…
He saw her staring at him and he waved. He waved while another rider fetched the message on the arrow and brought it to him.
She lifted her fingers first, forcing her will on her reluctant hand. When she waved back, he smiled, exposing more empty space than teeth. She closed her eyes and turned away. William would have to kill him. If he didn’t, she would. She didn’t care if Ravenglade was carved out of gold, being Roddie’s wife wasn’t worth it.
Turning away, she hurried back inside the castle, terrified that they had just signed away her life. She prayed as she raced down the stairs to her bedchamber—Darach Grant’s bedchamber—for Malcolm Grant to make haste and get there.
Chapter Three
The last time Darach was at Ravenglade there was an army of the Duke of Queensberry’s men camped in the fields beyond the moat. They were there to take back the duke’s niece, Amelia Bell, whom he and his cousins had kidnapped, and to deny their demands of dissolving the Treaty of Union.
Now, another, smaller army waited in the same spot. Menzies. Darach watched them from his hiding place in the trees. He recognized their chief, Roderick Menzie, from a few rows with him and his troublesome kin in the past. The rogue was communicating with Will Buchanan by arrow. They didn’t look to be feuding. Not surprising, since both clans were good for nothing but target practice. They were most likely planning on taking over Ravenglade and killing Malcolm when he got here. The Menzies were longtime enemies—since the days of Callum MacGregor and Darach’s grandfather, Graham Grant. The Buchanans were more recent adversaries, but dishonest and cowardly nevertheless.
Another reason to forget Janet.
He watched the communication go on for a little over an hour. He’d make a point of getting his hands on those notes when he entered the castle. At least, for now, the ones Menzies shot over to this side. He’d get the others on another day.
He was glad to see the drawbridge up, at least. If the Buchanans were in league with the Menzies, William wouldn’t have kept them out. Still, he’d use caution around the Buchanan chief and find out what he could before he took action.
When the Menzies finally left, mollified, it seemed, by their correspondence, Darach backtracked into the woods and searched for what he knew was there. A cave, hidden behind brambles and thorny bushes thick enough to conceal the league-long tunnel leading into Ravenglade. A tunnel the Buchanans had dug out over the last score of years in their many attempts to take over the fortress.
He left his horse in a small glade a few feet from the cave. The beast wouldn’t run off without him, and Darach would come back for him tomorrow after he lowered the drawbridge.
He went to the cave opening and, moving the foliage aside, he entered the shadows, then carefully set everything back into place.
Damnation, he didn’t appreciate having to sneak into his kin’s castle like a common thief.
Moonlight followed him for about ten breaths and then the tunnel grew dark, until it became too black to see his hand in front of him. The Buchanans hadn’t used the tunnel in a long time, evidenced by the absence of fire on the many torches that had been lit the last time he was in here.
To keep his mind off the distance and the suffocating lack of air, he hummed a quick melody he’d composed to go along with a tale about a sharp-tongued wench who had almost captured his heart. Of course, no one would ever hear it being sung, so his confession was safe… and so was his heart. It was natural to think about her since he was here again and would likely see her, he told himself. It meant nothing.
Was she wed? Had her husband strangled her? Darach smiled, remembering her vow that he would never win her. No lass had ever made such a bold claim. He couldn’t deny that part of him wanted to discover if she could indeed withstand his assault on her senses, her emotions, her heart. The other part of him wasn’t so certain he could withstandher, and it scared the hell out of him. Darach liked being the master of his life. He lived among enough men in Camlochlin to know and understand full well what loving a lass does to a man. He believed he could resist it and now he was going to get the chance to prove he could.
Ah, light, finally! He’d come to the trap door below the kitchen and looked up. Was a cook still working? He sniffed and didn’t smell any food cooking. He waited for a few minutes, listening for sounds of movement or voices. When he heard nothing, he reached up, unhooked the latch, and pulled himself up through the opening.
A quick look around proved that he was alone. How many Buchanans resided here? he wondered. It was still too early in the eve to be in bed. Where was everyone? Where was the chief?
Darach moved around quietly, knowing all the chambers and where every corridor led. He was drawn to the faint light of a candle coming from the private solar, the door slightly ajar. He stood against the wall for a moment, taking in any sounds coming from inside. A man’s slow sigh and muttered oath. William Buchanan. Was his sister in there with him?
Darach didn’t wait to find out but stepped forward and gave the door a push. It’s creaking drew William’s somber gaze from the letter in his hands to Darach.
He leaped from his chair. “How did ye…? The tunnels?” He guessed on his own. “Where’s Malcolm?” he asked, stepping around Darach to look at the door after Darach confirmed his way inside.
“Somewhere in the North Atlantic by now, I’d wager,” Darach told him, making his way to the table where William had been sitting. “An urgent matter arose and he had to see to it with his faither.” He looked at the parchments scattered about the surface of the table, some crumpled, some folded.
William turned on him. “More urgent than losing his castle to the Menzies?”
Darach nodded and picked up one of the letters. “His sister was kidnapped by a pirate.”
“Oh…” William said, sounding sick to his stomach. His color drained until Darach moved to help him if he stumbled. “Then he’s not coming. Oh my…” His gaze dipped to the parchment in Darach’s hand. “He has to come.”
Darach didn’t ask him why. He read the correspondence, then read it again. Finally, he looked at the chief with a flash of anger sparking his eyes. “Ye promised yer sister to Roddie Menzie? Why?”
