Page 35 of Secrets of a Kilted Seduction

Blaine waited until he was alone in his study before locking his door, fetching a lighted lamp in its glass chimney, and approaching the large stone hearth. With the ease of a man who had done the same thing many times before, he went to one side of the mantel and slipped his fingers into a hidden recess behind it. His fingertips went immediately to the peg inside and pressed it. Next to him, a panel of the mahogany wainscoting popped open with a gentle snick, onto a rectangle of darkness beyond.

Like every other castle in the land, Castle MacIver was a rabbit warren of hidden tunnels and passages that had been mostly forgotten and were seldom used. While growing up in the castle, Blaine had made it his business to rediscover some of them. It meant he could leave the castle unseen and roam freely about the countryside, drinking in taverns and carousing with women along with his friends. He could also go unseen more or less anywhere within the castle he wished.

Now, he held the lamp high and stooped to enter the hidden passage, illuminating a narrow, spiraling stone staircase that disappeared into darkness below. He started down it, smiling to himself, amused by the irony of the situation. It was his adoptive father who had first shown him this route through the castle. And such trustingness would prove to be the old laird’s undoing. Thus, as he descended the stairs, Blaine congratulated himself on having made such good use of the secret passage leading to the castle dungeons in his quest to usurp his father.

At the bottom of the hidden staircase, he shouldered his way through a heavy, studded wooden door that screamed like a dying horse as it swung open, emerging into a stone passageway dimly lit by torches. He walked on until he came to another, similar door.

Pausing outside, he pulled out a keyring and selected a large, somewhat rusty key. He unlocked the door, opened it and passed through it, pulling it closed as he went. Immediately the foul stench hit him, and he covered his nose with his hand as he relocked the door and stepped into the main area. Faint rustlings and the drip, drip, drip of water coming from somewhere unknown added to the horror of the place.

His bootsteps rang on the flagstones as he approached one of the cells facing him. He took a key from his coat pocket, unlocked the door, and went inside the tiny cell.

“Good evening, Faither, I trust I find ye in good health today,” he said, his tone insolent as he addressed the gaunt-faced, bearded man sitting hugging his knees on the pile of straw and soiled blankets which evidently served as his bed. His once proud countenance was a picture of misery.

Blaine seemed oblivious to the marks of suffering on the old man’s person as he glanced around the cell and wrinkled his nose. “I’m sorry tae say it, but it daesnae smell too good in here. Ye should take better care of yersel’.”

With some difficulty, the old man pushed himself from the straw bed to a standing position. He tottered unsteadily for a moment, having to lean a hand against the wall for support. He drew himself up, revealing himself to be a tall, impressive figure, overtopping Blaine by at least a foot. Yet the natural authority he bore was undermined by his bedraggled appearance. He was unwashed, unshaven, and looked too thin for his tall frame, as if he had not been adequately fed in some time. His stained clothing was hanging off him.

“Why are ye doin’ this, Son?” he asked in a deep, mournful voice. “What is it ye hope tae gain out of all this?”

“Ye ken, Faither, there are times, like now, yer instance, when I wonder about yer sanity. Have I nae told ye many times why I’m doin’ it? Dae I have tae keep repeatin’ mesel’?” Blaine snapped as petulantly as small child denied its wish.

“But the lairdship is yers. Ye’re me heir. Ye’ll get it all when I’m gone. Ye’ll be head of the clan. There’s nae need fer all this.” He gestured at the mossy, dripping walls. “Let me go, and we’ll talk,” John MacIver offered.

“I’ve naethin’ tae talk about with ye, old man. I’m yer heir, true enough, but I’m nae prepared tae wait until ye drop down dead. That could be years away. I want what’s mine now!”

The laird ran a hand distractedly through his unkempt hair, his grimy face etched with care. “I dinnae understand ye, Blaine. Have I nae brought ye up tae be an honorable man? Yet ye stoop so low as tae lock up yer own faither? Are ye nae ashamed of yersel’?”

Blaine sniggered. “Ashamed? I’m proud of mesel’ fer usin’ me brains, and I’ll be even prouder when I’m the laird.”

John MacIver gave a low growl in his throat. “Ye bring shame on our family, on our clan. ’Tis unnatural, what ye’re doin’. Ye’re mad if ye think ye’ll get away with it.”

“I’ll get away with it all right. That bunch of fools on the council, they dinnae suspect a thing. There’s nae one comin’ tae save ye,” Blaine boasted with a malign grin. He was frankly enjoying tormenting the old man.

“All right, ye’ve been clever, I’ll grant ye that. But this has gone far enough. If ye let me go now, I swear I’ll nae kill ye. I’ll nae let the council kill ye. I can give ye more power if that’s what ye want.”

Baine gave a harsh laugh and sneered at his adoptive father. “Ye’ll give me power, will ye? Ye’re too late, old man. I’ve already taken yer power. Ye’re nae needed any longer. Ye’re surplus tae requirements around here.”

“Blaine, dinnae dae this. Dinnae bring our family name intae disrepute. Where’s yer love and respect fer the man who raised ye as his own son?” the laird demanded to know.

“But I’m nae yer son, am I? Nae by blood.”

“Is that what this is about? That never mattered tae me! Ye’re me son and heir whatever yer blood. Ye ken, lad, I’ll die in here if ye dinnae set me free.”

Blaine shook his head in mock concern. “Ye always said everythin’ would be mine when ye die. So, I’m just speedin’ things up a wee bit. ”

“Ye mean tae make me die in here, is that it?”

Blaine shrugged. “Look, old man, nae one kens where ye are but me. They all think ye’ve been abducted by some enemy or other. And I have tae tell ye, I’ve received nae ransom demand fer ye yet. So, as far as the council’s concerned, ye’re likely already dead. Daes that answer yer question?”

A roar of anger and frustration burst from John MacIver’s lips. “Lord, tell me, how did I take this viper tae me breast? I succored him as I would me own blood. I gave me all tae this,” he broke off and spat on the filthy floor in obvious disgust, “this devil. And in return, he’s gonnae murder me, his own faither.”

“I keep tellin’ ye, but ye dinnae seem tae hear me, ye’re nae me faither!” Blaine snapped irritably. He lunged at the old man and pushed him violently in the chest. With a loud cry, the laird toppled backwards onto the straw, hitting his head on the wall as he sprawled there helplessly.

Blaine watched, smirking, as the man who had raised him struggled to sit up. John groaned and rubbed his head where it had impacted the wall. Blaine smiled to see blood on his father’s bony hand.

“Anyway, now ye ken where ye stand in all this,” he resumed. “And I have some important news fer ye.” The old laird looked up at him, his eyes dazed.

“Aye, yer daughter’s here, in the castle.”