Page 31 of The Return of the Heir

Chapter Eight

Alastair hurriedly settled Beatrice and her father into their bedchambers and then headed to the dungeon. It was time to get some answers from Garrick. Alastair was not one for torture, but as angry as he was right now, if Garrick didn’t tell him what he wanted to know about how he breached the castle walls and how he was able to move about Dunvegan without being seen, he might just change his mind about such methods of gaining information.

Alastair moved down the stairs to the dungeon. When no light came from below, his gut tightened. Something was wrong. He raced back up the stairs to grab a torch and continued downwards. Golden light writhed across the cold stone walls, illuminating his way. As he neared the bottom of the stairs, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Sensing danger, he drew his sword. At the bottom of the stairs, four bodies were sprawled across the floor and the door to the dungeon was open.

Alastair swore under his breath. Garrick had escaped. He released his fury in a deep-throated growl that bounced around the enclosed space. He had no idea how Garrick had managed such a feat, but Alastair would find out and punish those who had aided the prisoner. For there was no other explanation than that he had help from inside the castle.

Casting the light of the torch around the chamber, Alastair saw no further threat. He sheathed his weapon and knelt beside his men. Bringing his fingers to their necks, he was relieved to feel the thump of their lifeforce pumping through their veins. None of his men had been slain. Instead, they were fast asleep. Ronald still clutched a mug in his hand, while Lindon’s, Innis’s, and Emery’s cups were several inches from their bodies. Alastair brought one of the mugs to his nose. In addition to the yeasty scent of ale, he smelled nutmeg sassafras and myrrh that was indicative of laudanum. Why had his men not detected the scent before they drank from these mugs?

Footsteps sounded on the steps behind him, and for a moment Alastair tensed until he saw Graeme.

“What has happened? We heard you bellow.” Fully entering the chamber now, Graeme and the three men behind him came to a stop and stared eyes-wide at the sight of their fellow guards upon the ground.

“Garrick has escaped. Sound the alarm. I want every man posted on the towers, upon the curtain wall, inside the secret passageways, and along the shoreline. If Garrick is still in this castle, I want him recaptured.”

Graeme nodded as his gaze shifted to the unresponsive guards. “Are they dead?”

“Asleep. They were somehow tricked into drinking ale that was laced with laudanum,” Alastair replied, his voice cold. “We have a traitor in our midst.”

“Not for long.” Graeme clenched his fists before turning to the men, giving them orders to gather the others and take up their posts until only Graeme and Alastair remained with the unconscious men in the torchlit circle. “You go with the others, Alastair. I’ll see to the safety of these men. If they wake, I’ll find out who brought them that ale.”

Alastair handed the torch to Graeme. “And I will find that bastard no matter what hole he’s hiding in now. Upon my life, Garrick will pay for what he’s done.”

*

By the nextmorning, after every nook and cranny of the old castle had been thoroughly searched, Alastair was forced to conclude that Garrick had escaped. From his position on top of the north tower, Alastair could sense, even though he could not see, that his enemy was not far away.

“What would you have the men do next?” Graeme asked from beside Alastair. “Should we prepare for war?”

A wave of hatred, black and burning like acid, boiled up from the hidden depths of Alastair’s soul. He wanted nothing more than to ride out immediately and retaliate against their enemy, but that was not what he’d come to Dunvegan to achieve. He was supposed to be negotiating peace amongst the clans—even with the MacDonalds. “It is much harder to be a peaceful man than to go to war over the slightest provocation,” he said through taut white lips.

“That it is. If not war, then what would you have us do?”

Alastair heard the angst in Graeme’s voice. He understood it. They were men of action. Doing nothing felt unnatural. “We need to wait. Bide our time. Garrick and the MacDonalds are expecting us to attack, wondering when it will happen. Every moment will stretch out before them as they wait. That anticipation will crawl along their skin, causing an insatiable itch.” Alastair allowed himself a grim smile. “In the meanwhile, we will gather the men and train. I know what my men are capable of in battle. I have no idea of the capabilities of those who were here at Dunvegan.”

“The men haven’t slept during the night.”

“And in battle they will not sleep much either. ’Tis good to see them at a disadvantage. It will show us more about their abilities.”

Graeme nodded. “I’ll assemble the men in the rear courtyard.”

“I will find Callum and Samuel Harris and meet you there.” He and Graeme descended the tower together but parted ways inside the great hall. While Graeme gathered the men who were just settling down to sleep, Alastair continued on to the solar where he knew he’d find his brother.

Instantly upon entering the chamber, the memories he’d managed to keep at bay while they’d searched for Garrick flooded back to him. It was in this room that he’d taken Gwendolyn in his arms and pressed his lips to hers. He could only attribute his actions to madness. What other reason could he have for pulling her into his arms as he had?

It was a madness beyond anything he had felt before. There was something in the way she looked at him—something that made all reason flee and left instinct to take over. When she was near, he found it difficult to catch his breath, to keep his body relaxed instead of tightening with desire. He shook off the memory and stepped fully into the chamber. Callum sat by the hearth, staring into the dying embers. “I thought I would find you here.”

“I couldn’t sleep after we called off the search for Garrick. I kept thinking about Gwendolyn, and about how you betrayed her in the most heartless of ways.”

Alastair bristled. “She’d been missing for five years. If I had known she was alive, I never would have agreed to betroth myself to Beatrice.”

Callum came to stand beside him. “I know. I’m merely frustrated for Gwendolyn. One look into her eyes and you can’t help but see the panic she tries so hard to hide.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Meet with the solicitor I requested to arrive here later this afternoon.”

Alastair frowned. “I asked you not—”