Page 64 of The Return of the Heir

Chapter Twenty

After the dressmaker had left, Gwendolyn sat at Arabella’s bedside, trying not to think about all the things that could happen to Alastair upon the field of battle. He had promised he would come home to her, and she had to trust that he would. Pushing her thoughts aside, she smiled at her sister. “You look so much stronger today. Are you feeling better?”

Arabella nodded and reached for another biscuit from the plate that Gwendolyn had brought her from the kitchen. “I must be because I am suddenly starving.”

“Mrs Morgan made these biscuits especially for you. She is eager to fatten the three of us up,” Gwendolyn said with a smile. “She looks forward to when you are well enough to join us at the table.”

Arabella laughed. “That day is coming soon, for I was able to sit at the bedside for my meal this afternoon. My strength is returning.”

Gwendolyn sent Lottie a grateful smile. “No one is more pleased than I am to hear that news.”

Arabella finished her biscuit, then dusted the crumbs off the bedcovers. She leaned towards her sister. “And how are things with you and Alastair?” She narrowed her gaze on Gwendolyn’s face. “There is a glow about you today that is different.”

Gwendolyn’s cheeks flamed. “He is. . . We are. . .”

A loud crash sounded from outside in the front courtyard, followed by shouting. Samuel who had been practising his reading by the fire near Lottie, stood. “What was that?”

More shouting and loud crashes. It sounded as if the castle were under attack.

Gwendolyn stood as her heart thundered in her chest. “All of you stay here. I will go investigate. Samuel, I’m leaving you in charge.”

He stood rigid, and nodded, sensing as did Gwendolyn that something was terribly wrong.

Gwendolyn raced down the staircase and to the door. She threw the door open and stepped outside to find Callum and several other armed warriors there. The acrid scent of war filled the air as she searched through the smoke to see a row of MacLeod archers fire one volley after another, trying to fend off the enemy climbing through a gap they must have blown through the curtain wall with a catapult.

“Who is attacking?” Gwendolyn moved to Callum’s side. He clutched a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, and balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to attack.

“The MacDonalds must have split their army into two—one part that went to greet Alastair and another led by the laird’s son, Alex MacDonald, who came to Dunvegan.”

Gwendolyn’s heart clenched as the MacDonald men continued over the breach in the curtain wall. “What can I do? How can I help?”

All around them the shouts of their enemy clashed with those of the clan. “Go back inside and pray.” Callum charged forward, flinging himself at the men who were not taken down by the arrows. The screech of metal upon metal filled the once quiet courtyard.

Her heartbeat in her throat, Gwendolyn lifted her skirts and raced back towards the door.

“Where are you going?” A rough hand clamped around her arm and jerked her backwards, then lifted her off her feet.

Gwendolyn fought against Garrick’s grasp. She screamed, hoping the men fighting in the distance would hear her, or see her struggling and come to help her, but her scream barely rose above the din of battle. “Release me,” she cried as the thug with Garrick wrestled with her, trying to subdue her.

“The new laird made it almost impossible to get back inside these walls, but I prevailed.” Garrick laughed.

Gwendolyn writhed, making it difficult for her captors to hold on to her. “You might have entered, but you shall never exit again. Not once Alastair discovers what you’ve done.”

The thug’s grip loosened enough for Gwendolyn to kick out wildly, connecting with the brute’s body. She heard his grunt of pain as her feet once again touched the floor. She barely regained her balance before Garrick lashed out, slapping her so viciously that her head snapped to one side.

“You’re the one whose minutes on this earth are numbered, not mine.” He knocked her to the floor. Before she could fight back, the man helping Garrick grabbed her ankles and tied them together.

Fear rose up fast and thick inside her. Her mind raced and her heart beat so wildly she was certain it would pop out of her chest. Nay. She would never be a prisoner again. Gwendolyn bucked and writhed against her restraints. She wrenched her hands free and dug her nails into Garrick’s arm, squeezing as tightly as she could.

“God’s bones.” Garrick slapped her again.

Her vision blurred and tiny explosions of light appeared before her.

“Do that again and I’ll kill you right here and now.” He grabbed her wrists, digging painfully into her skin as he forced her arms together. The other man came forward and lashed her wrists tight.

Gwendolyn pulled in a deep, terrified breath as the two men lifted her, like a slaughtered pig, and carried her through the keep. They moved down the hallway to the rear stairs. At the landing a flash of black bombazine appeared as Mrs Morgan rushed towards the men with a frying pan held above her head. The iron pan came down hard against Garrick’s head with a resounding thump. He dropped his grip on Gwendolyn. A heartbeat later the thug released her as he charged towards Mrs Morgan.

Mrs Morgan shrieked and swung her pan, missing the man.