IntoEternity (20 page)

How could I have been so stupid? Why didn’t I pay attention
to Father’s warnings about the possible dangers of walking alone?

Gusty berated herself for the circumstances in which she
found herself. Why had she walked away from the abbey without an escort or at
least told someone where she was going? She took a bit of satisfaction in the
knowledge that these men feared her enough to take the precaution of tying her
to the horse. But what did this trio of oddly matched men want with her? The
old man seemed to know her and her family so maybe he had a grudge against her
father. Was he out for revenge or did he intend to ask for ransom?

“She’s awake, Laird.”

The foul-smelling brute she rode with had apparently noticed
her movements and was tattling on her. The group promptly reigned in their
mounts and their leader, who sat tall on his horse as if he was a king instead
of a fragile old man, turned to look at her. He no longer seemed to have trouble
moving around but approached her warily, moving so close his horse’s flank
brushed her leg as he studied her.

“You are a Highland laird? How appropriate!”

The old man frowned, obviously taking her words for the
sarcastic comment she’d meant to deliver.

“You twelfth-century macho men think you can get away with
anything. First I have to put up with Hagen, who gives me to Alexander. And now
I have to put up with the bunch of you. You crude barbarians!”

“Ye truly do not know who I am, do ye, lass?” He queried, red-faced
with obvious anger. “I am the MacKay.” He puffed out his chest as if
proclaiming himself God.

Gusty sat there and stared at him blankly. Did he really
think she cared? She shrugged to let him know the information he had imparted
meant nothing to her.

“Sorry, buster, but I’ve never heard of you.”

The man behind her piped in. “He is the
MacKay
.
The
MacKay!”

“Look, repeatedly stressing the man’s name doesn’t help. I
have simply never heard of him.”

The third and largest of the men growled, his fist balled as
he leaned toward her. Gusty jerked back out of range, fearing he might strike
her. No doubt he’d love to get back at her for flattening him to the ground
with her well-practiced techniques.

“He’s your grandsire!” He spit the words at her. “Ye will
show him the respect he deserves!”

She snorted. This old scoundrel? Her grandfather? They expected
her to believe such a thing? Not hardly! Her grandfather would not treat her in
such a manner. What kind of man would hit his granddaughter over the head and
carry her off to ransom her back to her husband—or worse?

“Respect him? I don’t even know him. I do not believe for a
moment this man is my grandfather. I’ve been in the Highlands for months now
and no man has come forward to claim that position. Why do you think that is?”

She looked at the old man the entire time she addressed his
lackey. The MacKay cleared his throat and flushed a bit.

“I am a busy man, lass,” he said, his tone belligerent. “I
am the chieftain of the MacKays and I do not have time or the desire to traipse
across the countryside to entertain a long-lost granddaughter who did not have
the decency to make herself available to such particulars. In truth your
parents should have informed me sooner.”

“Then why have you come today?”

“To save ye from your father’s intrigues.”

“My father has made no plans for me.”

“If you believe that, you do not know your father well,
lass. The man is pure trouble and where he goes heartache follows. Just ask
your mother.”

“My mother loves my father and he loves her. It was not he
who put her in that convent, stealing her youth and the rest of her life.”

The MacKay muttered a couple of curses and spurred his horse
forward. Gusty grinned behind his back.

“That was not wise of ye to anger the MacKay, lass.” The man
behind her warned in a low voice.

“I am not afraid of him. He’s just a bitter old man who has
made some poor choices in his life and now he wants to blame everyone but
himself for those decisions. He will regret stealing me from my husband.”

“Ye should keep your tongue behind your teeth, lass. The
MacKay has a mighty temper that could flay a shrew like ye.”

The meanness in the man’s harsh whisper sent a chill down
her spine. She suddenly realized that no matter how much bravado she displayed
she was still the one tied up and being carried away against her will.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

Castle MacKay was a well-built fortress made of dark stone
with high walls and two spiraling towers. As they rode through the gates into
the courtyard she studied the impressive, beautifully appointed stone work of
the building and the well-groomed grounds.

“I could have ended up in a worse prison I suppose,” she
muttered.

Not long after they arrived, a shy maid came to escort Gusty
to a tower chamber. The door closed behind her as soon as she stepped into the
room, leaving her to her own devices. Gusty turned and stared back at the door
for a moment, wondering if she had been locked in. She reached out and tried
the latch, which lifted quite easily. She sighed with relief. Pulling the door
open, she stepped out and glanced up and down the hallway. In the distance she
heard voices and fading footstep. Resigned to her fate—at least for the
moment—she stepped back into the room and quietly closed the door.

She made her way to the beautifully appointed canopy bed.
Draped in cream and gold velvet fabric, the bed took up half the room. Running
her hand over the thick, cream-colored comforter covering the mattress, she
noticed the hand-stitched pillows stacked against a long bed roll at the head
of the bed. She picked up one of the pillows and traced a finger over the
delicate stitches.

“Someone put a great deal of time into working on this,” she
murmured, clutching the pillow to her chest as she perused the rest of the
room.

In the large, cold hearth that took up the opposite wall,
someone had stacked logs and kindling, which needed only a match to start a
blaze. Before the hearth sat a straight-back chair tucked beneath a bare table.
The remaining wall held a tall window and a cushioned window seat. The window,
with its shutters open to the cool evening breeze, provided the only source of
light for the room and even as she finished inspecting her temporary home, the
late afternoon sunshine faded into twilight.

The headache she had tried to ignore since she had regained
consciousness after the MacKay had smacked her in the head with his walking
stick came roaring down on her. Staggering to the large bed, she pushed the
pillows out of the way and pulled back the comforter. She dragged herself onto
the broad mattress and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

“Laird Enoch MacKay requests your presence in the great hall
to break your fast, if you please, my lady.” The young maidservant licked her
lips and shuffled her feet.

Staring at the girl, Gusty debated her options.

“Tell his lordship I must decline his generous invitation. I
would like to take my meals in my room. Please bring me a tray from the
kitchen. Thank you.”

An hour later the maidservant returned with Gusty’s food.
Her empty stomach rumbled at the enticing aromas emanating from the tray.
Greedily she ate the delicious porridge and boiled eggs and drank all the warm,
fresh milk, leaving nothing on her tray.

She then waited for the MacKay to make an appearance or to
at least summon her again to the great hall. But no one came to her door the
rest of the day. Just before dark the same maid brought another tray of food
and then left Gusty without a word.

“So that’s the way it’s going to be. Well two can play at
this game.” Evidently her grandfather thought he’d punish her by leaving her to
stew in her stubbornness. If that was the case, he’d soon learn just how
stubborn she could be.

Each day for the following two weeks Gusty went through the
same routine. She sat alone in her room, where she ate her meals and spoke to
no one. But the boredom finally got to her and on the morning of her fifteenth
day in captivity Gusty decided she needed a plan to escape her grandfather’s
castle and make her way home.

She went over all the possibilities she could think of but
her situation seemed hopeless. She had tried to keep track of the direction
they had taken through the woods and hills as they had moved away from the
familiar countryside surrounding the abbey, but it had been a long journey and
she had been unconscious for the first part of the trip. The chances of her
finding her way back to the abbey on her own were very slim. But she did not
think she could wait any longer for someone to come after her. Alexander could
not know what had happened to her. Who would have thought some old man claiming
to be her grandfather would kidnap her and hold her hostage? She should have
heeded her father’s warning about not leaving the convent walls without an
escort. Now she paid the price of her stupidity.

By the end of the third week there was still no sign of
rescue, Gusty had not come up with a brilliant plan of her own and her hopes of
escape faded. Because she refused to leave her room the only person she saw
during those days was the maid, who brought Gusty’s meals and anything else she
needed. Determined to show him she meant business, she refused to attend her
grandfather on the numerous occasions he had requested her presence at
mealtime.

On one particularly boring afternoon as she sat on the
window seat, staring out at the distant green hills, Gusty let her imagination
fly. She pretended she could see Alexander on his great dapple stallion, coming
up the hill and over the drawbridge to rescue her, as if he were Prince
Charming in the happily ever after fairytale. In her mind she was about to rise
and run to greet her beloved husband, but a knock sounded at her door and her
lovely daydream dissipated.

She got to her feet and crossed to the door. She flung it
open and frowned.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

Enoch MacKay stood in the hallway. She crossed her arms and
waited for him to speak.

“I have some tidings I thought ye might like to hear.”

“Yes, what is it?”

He pushed past her into the room and looked around. As she
watched him move to the hearth, his color seemed a little off. Was his hand
trembling when he raised it to touch the corner of the canopy? He stood staring
in the direction of the pile of pillows at the head of the bed. Gusty couldn’t
tell for sure from where she stood but he seemed overwrought, shaken by some
untold emotion.

“What’s wrong?” Her question, born of concern, lacked the
usual sarcasm she adopted to hide her real feelings.

“’Tis nothing, lass.” He sighed deeply before he turned to
face her. “‘Tis… I have not set foot in this room in over twenty years. This
was your mother’s bedchamber. Not a soul has slept here since she left. Nothing
has changed.”

“Oh.” Gusty had nothing to reply to his statement. The room
gave her a safe and comfortable feeling and now she knew why. “Thank you.”

“For what, lass?”

“For letting me stay in Isabelle’s room.”

Enoch MacKay remained silent as he made his way to the open
window and stared out over his lands. His thoughts were on the strong-willed,
sharp-tongued woman who might someday be the leader of Clan MacKay. She was his
heir, after all. He had disinherited both his daughters for their indiscretions
of having birthed bastards, one without being wed, the other doing so while she
was married to the mighty Sinclair. This granddaughter, no matter that she was
a bastard, he would make his heir. His plans for her would put him back into
favor with the king, gaining him a goodly fortune if he played his moves right.
He fought to regain his composure before turning to face his willful
granddaughter. “I have tidings, as I said before.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Your husband is here.”

A trill of laughter broke from her lips and Gusty clapped
her hands as if she was a child given an unexpected treat. Without thinking, she
hugged her grandfather and kissed his withered old cheek.

“Thank you, Grandfather,” she whispered and then ran from
the room. She flew down the hallway, only slowing as she descended the stairs
to the main hall to find it filled to overflowing. Searching frantically
through the crowd for Alexander’s familiar face, she suddenly realized just how
much she had truly missed him.

In front of the massive hearth at the end of the room a
group of men stood out from the rest. They wore different colored tartans, not
the green, black and blue plaid the MacKay clansmen wore.

With his back to her the leader of the group stood tall and
proud in his red and black, a sprig of juniper dangling from his bonnet. He was
the only person in the room who had not turned to stare at her as she’d
descended the staircase.

“There he is, lass.” The MacKay made his way downstairs,
although at a slower pace, and stopped beside her.

“Where, Grandfather? I don’t see him.”

“Over by the fire, Augusta.”

“No, you are mistaken. My husband is not there. I don’t see
him anywhere in the room. Perhaps he went outside for a moment. I’ll just go
see.” Gusty started down the stairs, moving more slowly now.

“Donovan Ross!” Her grandfather bellowed across the great
hall.

Foot on the last step, Gusty stopped dead in her tracks. The
tall man who had been standing with his back to them turned slowly to face her,
his thickly bearded face breaking into a semblance of a smile as he looked in
Gusty’s direction.

“Laird Ross, may I present Augusta Sinclair? Your
wife-ta-be.”

“We’ll see about that, old man,” Donovan Ross replied wryly.
“She may be a beauty but she’ll still have to pass my trials before I say any
vows.”