Chapter Twenty
Duncan Robertson stormed through the halls furiously.
The men had been unable to find Isla; not even a trace of her had been discovered. When they came back empty-handed the first time, he had sent the buffoons out again with a roar. They'd scrambled to get out of his line of sight, and he'd been left alone in his chambers. He seethed there for hours, boiling in his rage until they came back again, still without Isla.
The second day she was missing had been much the same as the first: no trace, no tracks, nothing to go on but instinct. And now, on the third day of her absence, he was more than certain about what had happened to her. He'd had his suspicions before, but now, there truly could be no one else.
Iain MacThomas had abducted Isla; he must have somehow truly discovered her identity. Perhaps he was telling her about her origins even now.
But how did the bastard know?
That was what he could not figure out for the life of him. He had racked his brain as much as he could, but he could think of only one way. Iain MacThomas must have sent spies into his keep, but that could not be. No one new had come into his company; no stray man from another village had joined his soldiers or guardsmen. He had been more than careful about that and had insisted to Fingal that he personally speak to every man who wanted to join his ranks. The excuse had been made that he only wanted the best and most dangerous warriors amongst his soldiers, and Fingal had believed it well enough.
No, it could not be a spy. So how then?
As he stormed through the halls, he wondered if his enemy would send word to the Robertson Castle of her capture or if he would have to meet him on his own lands. His blood boiled in his rage, face turning bright red as he scowled at all who passed him. Duncan made his way to the stables; if he wanted something done right, he may as well be the one that does it. Even Fingal had his limits for how much use he could be.
He was just about to reach the main entrance hall and throw the doors open when someone beat him to it from the other side. A man with windswept hair and an aggrieved expression nearly crashed into him and stopped short in his surprise.
"M'Laird!" he said, his shock apparent on his face. "My apologies! I didnae see ye there; I was on my way tae report tae ye, in fact!"
"Report?" Duncan asked.
He squinted at the man, unsure of who he was looking at for a moment. Realization dawned upon him; it was the man who he had sent to spy on the MacThomas clan. It had been months ago, and so it had taken him a moment to recognize the man, but once he did, his eyes widened, and he gestured for the man to continue.
"I came as quick as I could, m'Laird," the man said, huffing for breath. He looked as if he'd run here from the stables, red-faced and sweating. "I've just returned from the MacThomas Castle. They have yer daughter, Isla, or they had. I saw her in the dungeons there meself; they kept her there overnight. I overheard some of the MacThomas guards tha' they planned on leavin' fer somewhere, but they didnae plan on stayin'. I couldnae find out any more without them suspectin' me. I returned here on horseback tae tell ye, m'Laird. Either they havenae left yet, or they will return with Isla when they reach their destination, I'm certain."
And so that was the truth of it. Iain MacThomas did have Isla, and not only that, he dared to hold his daughter in the dungeons. It did not much concern him what truly happened to Isla if he was being honest with himself; after all, he was not her actual father. But the audacity the snake had in attacking someone who he claimed to be his daughter had enraged him.
"Get the men together," he said. "I want every able-bodied man tha' we can spare on horseback in front o' the castle in less than an hour's time. I want tae reach tha' castle before mornin', d'ye hear me?"
The man nodded and scrambled inside the castle doors. Before it shut behind Duncan, he could hear the man shouting, rousing all the men that he could.
I will bring a hell down upon the MacThomas keep. No one makes a fool o' me, tha' I can promise the man. I will show him exactly what it means tae anger me!
There was only one explanation; Iain was trying to incite war between the two of them by kidnapping Isla. Perhaps he had no idea about her origin; it could be that the imbecile just wanted to enrage him by stealing her and tossing the girl in the dungeons. It did not matter to Duncan; what mattered was that his pride had been injured in the process. Somehow Iain had stolen her right out from under him.
The afternoon was darkening into night, but it would not take a terribly long time to reach MacThomas Castle. Perhaps the timing would work out in his favor; they may not be expecting them at night, nor would they be able to see exactly how many men that he brought with him if he hid the majority of them in the tree-line that he knew surrounded the castle. He began to feel slightly better; these conditions would make it much easier to throw off his enemy's sense of attack.
Perhaps he could take out the enemy Laird tonight.
The thought filled him with eagerness, and as he stomped through the grounds towards the stables, he almost allowed himself to smile.
* * *
Fiona MacThomas sighed quietly in the solitude of her bedchamber. It had been too long since Iain had left on his own; she worried how he fared out in the wilderness with only three men with him. During the two years that had followed Seona's death, her son had barely even breached the castle walls to hunt. When he'd suggested going with the young lady to her destination, she had thought to argue, but she knew Iain would have simply gone anyway.
She pulled her fingers through her long brown hair, standing absentmindedly and sighing. She was anxious, but it would do no good skipping meals and fretting about her son by herself. The day had dwindled into dark night, and she could no longer see through the window of her bedchamber. The evening meal was surely about to start, and if she hurried, a maid would not have to walk all the way here to offer to bring her the meal in her chambers.
She straightened and cleared her throat, pulling the chamber door open and then shutting it behind her carefully. She could hear the servants bustling around on the floor below, preparing supper. The scent of roasted pheasant rose up, and she inhaled appreciatively. She wished Iain were there to enjoy such a delicious meal, but perhaps getting out of the castle was what he needed.
Fiona made her way down the stairs and towards the main dining area, her hand upon the stone wall. She followed her nose to the wonderful aroma of herbs and potatoes, smiling all the way.
If Iain returned in a better mood, then perhaps he would put this business of the dream woman behind him. She had become increasingly worried about him as the years progressed, and his obsession with the dream had only worsened. After the young woman had arrived, he had seemed much more alive. He had been full of rage, but he had looked more aware and less hazy than she had remembered.
Inside the main dining hall, the servants were placing the dishes upon the long table. She took her place at it at the side, next to where Iain would normally sit, and helped herself to a slice of pheasant with a heaping pile of carrots.
She stabbed her fork into it and was about to take a bite of the bird when she heard quick footsteps approaching on her right-hand side. She turned to see a guardsman approaching with an urgent look upon his face. His eyes were dark, and he was frowning tightly. When he reached her side, he bent low so that he did not have to speak loudly.
