Page 26 of The Return of the Heir

“Nay, take the hem of my dress instead. ’Tis better to render unusable something that is already defiled.” She lifted her skirt and before he could argue, she ripped a length of the hem from the gown and handed it to him.

“My thanks,” he said and wondered whether she talked about herself or the gown as defiled? What had this vile man done to Gwendolyn over the past five years? Anger flared as he bent to tie Garrick’s hands behind his back. He lifted Garrick to standing and with a strong hand on the prisoner, Alastair forced a limping Garrick forward and out the kitchen door. What Alastair wanted was to throw Gwendolyn’s captor in the old dungeon that had taken his mother’s life. Instead, Alastair headed towards the courtyard at the front of the castle.

“What will you do to him?” Rowena asked, practically running beside him.

“I should kill him for all he’s done.”

“Nay!” Rowena jerked on Alastair’s arm, forcing him to stop. “Did you not hear him? Our clan killed his parents. He wants to kill you and Gwendolyn. When will the tit-for-tat end?”

Alastair wanted the feud to end as well, but the look in Garrick’s eyes said this battle between the MacLeods and the MacDonalds wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. He would leave Garrick in the dungeon in the new keep—a dungeon that was far more humane than the one in which his mother had died. Before he interrogated Garrick, he had to speak with Gwendolyn.

Once they entered the keep and headed down the stairs to the depths below the castle, Garrick struggled but Alastair held firm. “You haven’t won this battle,” Garrick growled. “I still possess something very precious to you. If I do not communicate with my clan by midnight tonight, they have orders to burn the pride of the MacLeods. Its magic will be lost to the world forever.”

The Fairy Flag.Alastair hadn’t been certain until that moment what had happened to the flag. “And lose the magic of the flag for yourselves?”

Garrick twisted back towards Alastair. Determination reflected in his enemy’s eyes. “It would be worthwhile if it meant every MacLeod would mourn its loss.”

Alastair locked his jaw. The man wasn’t lying. Garrick would do it and that would be Alastair’s legacy to his clan—the one who lost the Fairy Flag for all generations to come.

Alastair paused outside the door of the dungeon and turned to Gwendolyn and Rowena. “Rowena, go alert the guards that Garrick has been captured. I want four men here to guard him until I can speak with him.” To Gwendolyn he said, “Go to the solar and wait for me there. You and I must talk.” Both women left to do his bidding, leaving him alone with his prisoner and the ghost of his mother.

At the doorway, Alastair pulled his dagger from his belt and slashed through the ropes at Garrick’s wrists before thrusting him inside the darkened space. “Why steal the Fairy Flag from us? The magic is said to only work for a MacLeod.”

Even in the shadowy light, Alastair could see Garrick’s wicked smile. “I did not steal the flag, your bride did it for me.”

“Because you gave her no choice, I am certain.”

Garrick shrugged. “I wanted to take away the source of the MacLeods’ power. Just as my clan will destroy that source if I do not report back to them at the appropriate time.”

“So the Fairy Flag is with your clan at Monkstadt House? Your clan seat?”

Garrick startled, then forced himself to appear disinterested. “I did not say that.”

“You did not have to. Your physical responses told me all I needed to know.” Alastair slammed the door shut, engaged the bolt, then secured the lock. He waited in silence with his mother until his men arrived.

“All of you, guard this door and keep constant check on our prisoner through the iron-barred window. I’ll not have him slide through my fingers before I can interrogate him.”

“Aye, m’laird,” they said in unison as Alastair and his mother made their way to the stairs. The two of them walked in silence until Alastair stood outside the solar.

Be kind to her, his mother said as she floated away. The girl has suffered much in the time you’ve been apart.

He was about to ask more of Gwendolyn’s suffering, but his mother vanished. If he wanted to know more, he would have to ask her himself.

*

Alastair stood inthe doorway of the solar, simply watching Gwendolyn as she slowly moved about the chamber. Her back was to him as she ran her hands over the stone lintel above the hearth, then across the ivory keys of the pianoforte. The melodic sound followed her as she moved to the settee, allowing her fingers to brush across the wooden back. She paused before the full-length portrait of Lady Janet MacLeod as she had been when she’d first married their father—young, beautiful, carefree. With a soft sigh she continued her movements to the table where they had spent many nights as a family, playing cards. As she turned towards the door, she startled upon seeing him. Her hands rose to her chest and her cheeks flushed pink. “Were you watching me?”

He shrugged and entered the chamber. “Were you thinking of all the things you’d missed over the past five years?”

The colour in her cheeks fled. “How could you know that?”

He came to her side. “That’s what I would be thinking about had I been imprisoned for the past five years.” He motioned to the settee. “Come, let us sit down. We have much to discuss.”

He sat, intending for her to sit next to him, but she chose her seat at the farthest end of the long furnishing, leaving plenty of space between them. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to keep herself apart. And yet, her choice brought a surge of annoyance which he quickly tamped down. If he wanted answers, he shouldn’t put her on the defensive before he even started this conversation.

“So it really is you?” he said, his voice soft with amazement. “I am very glad to see you are alive.”

She offered him a hesitant smile. “I am no longer a dewy young bride, and I very nearly died several times over the last five years. But aye, I have survived, as have my siblings. In part, thanks to your mother.”