A Perfect Wife [Highland Menage 6] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (17 page)

“Our foster son,” said Duff.

“How will we get Malcolm, the real one, back from Ross’s men?”

“You ask the damnedest questions, marshall,” said Ramsay.

“And what is the damnedest answer?” demanded Todd.

They all turned to Malcolm. He sighed heavily. “I will find that out when I see Ross face-to-face.”

“Do ye think he’ll come?” asked Duff.

Malcolm nodded. “I canna see him missing the chance to walk into Kinrowan with Kiera.” He ran his hands through his hair, then clutched it with his fingers and scowled. “What will we do to get through the night?”

“I’ll get out my chessboard,” said Fergus. “Losing a few games will tire ye out so ye can sleep.”

* * * *

“Lady Kiera!”

Thinking the voice was from another dream of rescue, and having finally found an almost comfortable position, she didn’t move. The warm body beside her, did. Camden scrambled over her, bumping her ankle.

She inhaled a hiss as pain shot through her. She was awake. Far too awake for this early in the day. The cave was dark, but not black.

“My lady,
’
tis the marshall! We must get out now, afore those toads come for us.”

Camden had started out calling the Rosses another word, one she’d heard her father use when his whittling blade slipped. She’d suggested ‘toads’ was better for mixed company. She turned around and crawled to the entrance on her sore knees. A boat with familiar faces bobbed below.

“Thank God, ye’re safe!” said Kinrowan’s marshall.

She didn’t know the man as he spent the day with the men and in the stables, and she spent her time with the women in the castle. But he had been pointed out to her. The guard with him also looked familiar.

“Can ye climb down, my lady?”

“Climb?” Her laugh sounded close to frantic, even to her own ears. “Nay, I canna climb down. But I shall scramble if you’ll try to catch me if I fall. I twisted my ankle last night and climbing up here made it worse.” She peered down. “The sea seemed far lower last night.”

The two men shared a chuckle. “
’
Tis called the tide, lass.
’
Tis high now, so closer to ye. Can ye lower yerself, feet first?”

“I’ll stay here and have ye hold on to me,” said Camden.

The lad was half her height and less than half her weight. It was chivalrous, but not smart.

“Can you gather everything?” she asked Camden. “If it looks like we havena been here, and someone different is sent to fetch us, they may think they have the wrong cave.”

Camden beamed at her. “Ye are thinking well, my lady.”

“Aye, well,” she muttered to herself, “the foot’s not working but the other end is.”

She did not wish to recall the next while. Climbing down, looking at the sea and hoping she’d not fall into it while using an excruciatingly painful ankle, was best forgotten. So was having to remove her gown and put on the rough clothes of a fisherman. Her beautiful gown was stuffed under nets, no longer beautiful. But she was alive.

She sat at the back, shivering, the canvas clothes scraping her skin. The marshall sat beside her. Though he didn’t put his arm around her, he blocked the wind and the side touching her was less chilled. Camden sat on the nets while the guard rowed. They’d told her she’d be taken to a cottage near the beach, dressed in a servant’s garb, and brought to the castle in a cart with the other female servants who went there daily to work.

“My lady, ye must ken sommat afore ye get to land,” murmured the marshall. “Laird Malcolm has gone to rescue ye, but
Laird Malcolm
will greet ye at Kinrowan.” He winked and touched his face as she’d seen Duff do to adjust her mask.

“Duff is Malcolm?” she whispered back.

“Aye, my lady. Ye need to ken it so ye’ll say aught.”

“But if I’m rescued from the cave why would the laird need to rescue me?”

“We ken ye’re safe, and the laird will ken it, but Ross will not.”

“Ross?”

“Aye. This was done by Alexander Ross of Balnagowan. The laird and steward, as well as me, the keeper, and Fergus, agreed he must have something done to stop him from doing this again to ye.”

“You mean to kill him?”

The marshall patted her hand. “We may like that but King James willna wish it.”

“I would gladly make my sister Catherine a widow,” she said. "My father didna wish her to marry the man. He isna kind to her." Her teeth began to chatter.

“Again, King James willna agree with ye.”

“So what is the plan?”

“Laird Malcolm will leave the castle wearing Master Duff’s mask. The keeper will go with him until a certain point, when the laird will go on alone to exchange with ye. The laird is to be there alone, as is Ross. We expect him to cheat, so Malcolm will carry his whips. Master Duff said he’s good with them.”

“Whips?” She shuddered. “I canna abide them.”

“They may save our laird’s life.”

She couldn’t imagine losing him. “I wish him back, Marshall.”

“We trust he will return.”

“Unharmed,” she added.

“Where is my wife?”

Malcolm stared coldly at Laird Alexander Ross. He clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from reaching for the bastard’s neck and breaking it. He knew Ross did not have Kiera but could not let on. Walking down the steep road to the village, masked as Duff, he’d caught a glimpse of her face in the cart of servants that trundled past. In case he was watched he could not give her as much as a wink to say he’d seen her. Her head was down, but Camden had seen him. The bright lad had winked but made no other sign.

Having Kiera and Camden safe was all that mattered. That, and vengeance.

He would like very much to do something to Laird Ross. Something painful and permanent. Unfortunately he could not kill him without bringing King James’s wrath down on the MacDougals and the MacKenzies.

Ramsey stood at his back, too far away to do much more than throw a knife. In his left hand he openly held Malcolm’s claymore in its baldric. Duff’s mask was hidden in the folds of his plaid, as were the set of whips in Malcolm’s.

As expected, Ross had come on a ship that waited offshore. Once Malcolm arrived on the beach Ross had come in by boat with two men and a heavily cloaked woman pretending to be Kiera. One man now stood guard on the shore while the other waited in the boat, ready to row Ross to safety. Anyone who knew Kiera would not be fooled. Not only was this woman too small, Kiera would never sit still.

“Sitting in my boat, of course.” Ross swung his arm wide and behind him. “You are lucky to have such a quiet, well-behaved wife. Her sister took some time to learn manners. Yet since my man rowed her out to me this one has not spoken or moved.” He laughed. “I’d heard she had a vicious tongue. You must have tamed her well.”

Ross didn’t know the woman was an imposter?

Todd had left Kiera and Camden in a cottage by the shore and returned to the castle. He’d reported they’d cleared out the cave so anyone coming to get Kiera would not be able to tell if she’d ever been there. Todd said Kiera told him the sister, Molly, was still and silent as she could neither hear nor speak. It matched the figure in the deeply hooded cloak. Perhaps the same man had returned that morning, bringing his sister across to give him a reason for not fishing. When he discovered Kiera was gone he must have decided to replace her with Molly. It didn’t matter, Malcolm would not force her to return with Ross.

“Now that we have exchanged pleasantries, I wish to have my wife.”

“You will come forward and I will give you your wife.”

“She is to be brought onto the land first. Carefully.”

Ross smirked. “What, ye dinna trust me?”

“In a word, nay.”

“Put her up there,” said Ross to his guard, who picked her up as if she weighed nothing.

She made no sound as she was carried out of the boat and set on shore. He pointed, motioning for her to walk. She hurried as far up the beach as she could before the trees while he returned to his position. She clasped her hands in front of her trembling body as Ramsay approached her. His face and body were relaxed, hands low with fingers spread, palms down. As Malcolm turned back to Ross he thought perhaps the keeper did it to prove he wouldn’t slap or punch her.

“You have your wife, Laird Kinrowan.” Ross spoke the title as if it were a curse. “Now I will have you.”

He beckoned for Malcolm to move forward. Malcolm let his hands fall into the open pouches of his plaid but didn’t move his feet.

“Come here so my man can bind your hands,” ordered Ross.

“Ramsay, show her face.” Malcolm watched Ross, not the keeper. All three men, Ross, his guard, and the man in the boat, gaped in shock.

“Aye, she is not Kiera MacKenzie,” said Malcolm without looking at her. “We got her back safely while ye were still in yer bed, drunk as a sot. So I willna be going with ye.”

“Seize him!”

Malcolm dipped his hands and pulled out his whips. Keeping his body relaxed, he put himself into the throw from his feet on the sand, through his body to his arms rising over his head as the whips uncurled. Before Ross could do more than open his eyes in fear the cracker popped against the hollow under his left cheekbone. Blood spurted as a piece of flesh exploded. Seconds later the right side of his face matched. Malcolm continued the flow, cracking his whips behind him and forward again.

Ross screamed and fell to his knees. Once more the whips struck, popping like a bullet shot to either side of his head.

His guard hauled his sword and rushed forward with a bellow. Malcolm heard the swish of the Kinrowan’s keeper’s knife pass him before it embedded itself into the guard, who collapsed on the sand.

Ross scrabbled backward on his hands and knees before rising and stumbling to the boat, which was already being shoved into the water by the wide-eyed rower.

Malcolm, calm and relaxed, followed them, whips still snapping. He set one to touch Ross’s arse in encouragement. Another scream showed he’d hit his mark. The thick plaid meant there’d likely be no wound, but he’d feel the welt for days.

Ross staggered to the boat. Knee-deep in water, he fell more than climbed in. The man left his laird where he'd fallen and frantically rowed. His oars skipped a few times in his panic, splashing the laird, who howled in outrage and pain.

“You’ll be scarred for what is left of yer miserable life,” yelled Malcolm, whips still snapping around him like lightning. “All will ken those marks and see a coward. And if ye come near my wife or my clan again, I’ll find ye and cut chunks of flesh from yer cock same as I did yer face!”

With Ross gone he made a show of his battle technique, popping the tips in a circle all around him. As each was six feet long his safe zone was an eighteen foot wide circle. He showed his accuracy by touching on stones that shot toward the retreating boat.

Ross found his seat. He pressed a hand to each cheek. “King James will hear of this!” he shrieked.

“Aye, for I’ll be sending him a note myself, as will the Lord of Kintail. Ye’ll soon be back in Tantallon Castle, a guest of the Douglas!”

It was no idle boast. King James had been furious at Ross’s violence and lack of scruples, forcing his clansmen to fight with no regard for the law. James had finally
released him with the agreement he would live peacefully. Kidnapping Kiera proved Ross had no intention of doing so.

Point made, Malcolm let his whips fall behind him. He left them hanging over his shoulders and dropped his head.

It was over.

He shook, an aftermath of his fear of losing Kiera, lack of sleep, and getting the revenge he so desperately wanted.

Kiera was safe, as was the boy. Ross would, no doubt, continue to harass Clan MacKenzie, but he would not attack Kinrowan again. Malcolm could return to Kiera. Now that she was safe and Ross banished, he had a few things to say to his wife.

“I told Kiera to be careful,” he growled at the keeper.

“Aye, but ye didna wish to worry her on the first day ye let her out.” Ramsay sent a glare after Ross. “Mayhaps if ye told her of the danger from boats this wouldna have happened.”

His sigh came from the bottom of his lungs. He curled his whips, running his hands over them to ensure they had not touched the sand. They went back in his pouches.

“If this hadna happened,
’
twould be ever hanging over our heads.
’
Tis done now.”

“Laird MacKenzie will be pleased.” Ramsay chuckled. “And he’ll rage that he had no part in it. He’s been wanting to get his hands on Ross since they were youths.”

Ramsay pulled his knife from the guard and wiped it on the man’s shirt. He seemed calm, but Malcolm still twitched from the tension. He shook it off and then breathed slowly and deeply, calming himself. With Ross now climbing into his ship he looked at the woman who’d been left behind.

Molly had left her hood back. Either she never moved without permission or she wished them to see the ugly scars covering her cheeks. She may have cut herself elsewhere as well to ensure no man would touch her. Malcolm looked past the scars to her eyes, which were bright with intelligence and fear. She’d spent her life in a prison of silence, misunderstanding, and cruelty.