Stolen Vows Read online

  “A rat! A damn filthy rat! Stinking MacRaes!” Tavish continued muttering darkly, but Isla hardly heard the rest of what he said. She sagged with relief and just prayed that Tavish would leave soon!

  He didn’t. He lingered for what felt like hours. Isla’s muscles began to cramp in protest. She wished that Roan would come and find her, she didn’t care if he was angry; she was still simply terrified of being discovered by Tavish.

  And what was Tavish doing down in the kitchens anyway? Isla was convinced that whatever it was, it couldn’t be anything innocent. She wished that she’d hidden somewhere where she could see what he was up to.

  Eventually, just as a bell tolled four, Tavish finished whatever it was he had been doing and left the pantry and castle kitchens. Isla slumped in relief, but waited several long minutes before creeping slowly from her hiding place. She tiptoed out of the kitchen, half-expecting large, cruel hands to grab her at any moment.

  When nothing happened, Isla began to move more quickly, so that by the time she reached the chambers she shared with her husband she was running at a full sprint.

  Roan jerked awake at the sound of his wife barreling through the door. He grunted something sleepily and puzzled that she couldn’t understand, then yawned, and murmured: “hungry?”

  Isla blinked, she hadn’t even realized that she was still carrying the plate of food in one hand, and her extinguished candle in the other.

  “Roan, I’ve just been down to the kitchens!” she blurted, putting the plate and candlestick down impatiently.

  “So I can I see,” Roan yawned again, grinning slightly.

  “Nae, nae, you dinna!” she said, panicked. “Tavish was there!” she cried.

  “What?” he roared, leaping out of bed. It Roan had been half-asleep before then he was wide awake now. “What did he do to ye?” he demanded, looking stricken.

  “Naught -”

  “Isla!”

  “I hid in a cupboard,” she confessed, feeling a little embarrassed. The way Roan’s whole body instantly sagged was touching. He dragged her into his arms and crushed her against his body.

  “Thank God,” he groaned, and then pulled back slightly. “What the hell were ye doing alone down in the kitchens at this time of night anyway?!” he bellowed.

  “I was hungry,” Isla reminded him, and then continued quickly, before Roan could shout again: “The point is, what was Tavish doing down there?”

  Roan frowned. “The same as ye I would imagine. Finding himself a midnight snack?” he shrugged, and then grimaced. “Probably after despoiling a maid or two on his way - damn him! I’ll -”

  “Nae!” Isla interrupted urgently. “He was up to something, Roan!” she pressed desperately, but to her dismay her husband didn’t look entirely convinced.

  “Up to what?” he asked. “What did ye see him do?” he demanded.

  “Well, I dinna exactly see him do anything,” Isla confessed reluctantly, hating the way that Roan raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘I told you so’. “But I ken he was up to nae good!”

  “Isla -” Roan sighed.

  “Roan ye ken what kind of a man Tavish is,” Isla croaked. “Ye ken what he - what he tried to do to me,” she stammered tearfully. She couldn’t believe that he wasn’t taking her concerns seriously! “Please,” she whispered, as she was bundled up tight against Roan’s chest. “Ye have to believe me, ye have to do something.”

  “Do what, lass?” Roan sighed heavily. “I ken that Tavish scares ye. It damn well terrifies me to think that ye were down there with him alone!” He couldn’t stop himself from cursing. “But -” Roan forced himself to take a deep calming breath. “I canna very well throw him out of the castle for wandering down to the kitchens, lass. Nae matter how much I might like to.”

  “But Roan -” Isla gasped.

  “Ye dinna see anything?” he pressed.

  His wife shook her head miserably. “We could go back down and have a look around?” she said hopefully.

  “I’ll go down and look around,” Roan grunted, reaching for his discarded clothes.

  “I’m going too!” Isla declared stubbornly. When her husband opened his mouth to argue she quickly pointed out that he wouldn’t know where to look without her.

  “Fine,” Roan growled, pulling his shirt on over his head. “But nae more running off on yer own!”

  ..ooOOoo..

  “Isla, there’s naught here,” Roan yawned. He was expecting the kitchens to be swarmed with servants at any moment, and he didn’t particularly want to be caught snooping through the crockery.

  “There’s something here,” Isla argued stubbornly. “Something that we’re missing,” she insisted, but for the life of her she didn’t know what. There was very little in the pantry after all: a few leftover scraps of food, some salt and spices used for seasoning, and various pots and pans.

  “Can we please go back to bed?” Roan yawned wearily.

  “Nae, I -”

  “We’re going back to bed,” Roan grunted. He caught hold of his wife’s wrist, too tired to continue his attempts at diplomacy, and physically dragged her out of the kitchens.

  “I ken he did something!” Isla snapped, and was still snapping when Roan pulled her back into their bedroom.

  “I’ll speak to him in the morning,” Roan finally conceded, falling into bed without bothering to undress. He didn’t imagine “speaking” to MacEantach would be a very enlightening experience, but he was ready to say anything to get a moments peace so he could go back to sleep.

  Roan wasn’t allowed to sleep for nearly long enough as far as he was concerned. A loud commotion woke him soon after breakfast that morning.

  He wondered how long he could ignore the ruckus. The answer was apparently - not long at all, given the series of heavy booming knocks that sounded on his door.

  Roan growled his frustration, and then bellowed for the knocker to enter. Isla was sitting beside him, the sheets held up under her chin, her eyes wide and worried. The MacRae’s captain burst into the room. He looked pale and extremely anxious.

  “What’s happened?” Roan asked instantly, quickly getting out of bed as he spoke.

  “Sir, half the castle has taken ill. We think twas from the food they ate this morning.”

  “The food?” Roan echoed. He heard Isla gasp sharply behind him, as he quickly began to dress.

  “Aye, sir,” the Captain nodded gravely. He hesitated for a moment, but then plunged on. “Sir, Laird MacRae has taken very ill.”

  “Graem?” Roan choked, and then he cursed viciously under his breath. He pulled on his clothes and made towards the door, but his captain looked like he still had something on his mind. “What is it, Ross?” he asked slowly, instinctively knowing he was going to hate to the answer.

  “Sir, we’ve detained the culprit responsible for this cowardly act,” the captain revealed slowly. Roan couldn’t ignore the way Ross’s eyes travelled darkly towards the bed where Isla was still sitting.

  “A Cameron? One of our guests?” he sighed heavily, already knowing what the answer would be. He waited to hear the name confirmed.

  “Aye, sir,” Ross nodded grimly. “Ian Cameron.”

  “What?” Roan breathed in disbelief.

  “Nae!” Isla cried from behind him. Roan shot his wife a look, which clearly said, no matter what she might be feeling that she was to be silent.

  “Yer sure?” he murmured thoughtfully.

  Ross looked affronted. “We found several suspicious bottles in his room, sir,” he informed the tanist coldly. “One has been confirmed to contain hemlock, by the doctor.”

  Roan swore again. “And Ian Cameron’s confessed?”

  “Of course nae,” the captain frowned.

  “He dinna! He would nae! Roan ye ken that Ta-”

  “Where is he being held?” Roan demanded of Ross, interrupting his wife as though he couldn’t hear her.

  “In the dungeons, naturally,” Ross wrinkled his nose in distaste.

>   Roan was caught between two opposing desires. He wanted to go and see his brother-in-law, question him, find out what he could while things were fresh, but he also wanted to go and see Graem. The man had been like a second father to him, if he was dying, then Roan wanted to be there.

  “Isla, call yer maid and get dressed,” he said, surprised by how calm his voice sounded. “We’re going to see the Laird.”

  “Sir, do ye think -” Ross began doubtfully, but was silenced by one look from his tanist.

  “Where are the other two Camerons?” he asked gruffly.

  “They’ve expressed a desire to leave, sir. They want to return to Castle Cameron.”

  “But they have nae?” Roan barked, suddenly fearing that Tavish had slipped through his fingers.

  “Nae, sir, they’re still here,” the Captain nodded.

  “Keep them here, Ross,” Roan growled.

  The other man nodded darkly. “Ye think they plotted it as a group, that they were all involved?”

  “Something like that,” Roan muttered.

  ..ooOOoo..

  Roan took Isla with him to Graem’s bedside, primarily because he was afraid of what might happen to her if she was left alone. As perceived by the rest of the castle, she was the sister to their Laird’s would-be assassin. He had a horrible sense that Isla wouldn’t be safe if he wasn’t there to protect her. He feared that she would be blamed.

  He knew his wife was bright enough to realize that was the motive for his actions, and was part of the reason why she was loath to stand more than a few feet away from him. She hadn’t said anything to him, but Roan could see the questions about her brother burning in her eyes every time she looked up at him.

  “How is he?” Roan demanded of the guard that was stationed outside the Laird’s formal chambers. The man shook his head gravely, and then frowned harshly in Isla’s direction when he noticed the woman accompanying the tanist.

  “Sir -” he began, but Roan had already barreled past him, dragging Isla along behind him.

  “I dinna ken I should be here,” Isla whispered quietly. “Perhaps I could go and see Ian?” she asked hopefully.

  “Ye’ll stay here, where it’s safe,” Roan barked, more harshly than he’d intended. To his surprise, Isla fell into a dutiful silence, hanging her head and following him without saying another word.

  “Get that witch out of here!” a voice shrieked. Roan tensed, his jaw set as his mother stormed out of Graem’s bedchamber towards him and his wife. “I mean it, Roan!”

  “Lower yer voice,” Roan snarled, in such a tone that his mother actually hesitated.

  “I mean it Roan -”

  “So do I,” he said coldly. “Isla will stay here where it’s safe. Ye will see that she is kept safe,” Roan commanded unflinchingly.

  “Ye ken what people are saying?” she spat. “That ye are somehow involved? That Graem was going to name someone else as tanist because of yer wife, so ye had yer brother-in-law dispose of him before he had a chance to do so!”

  “People say a lot of things,” Roan said dismissively, but his mother refused to give up her tirade.

  “I tried to get rid of the lass myself. I dinna ken how she ever found the road again, but if Providence had -!”

  “Ye tried to get rid of her?” Roan stared at his mother as if she were a stranger to him. He remembered how he had found Isla on the road to Castle Cameron, shivering and exhausted after wandering for miles in the woods. He had wondered why she had dared to step off of the main road, but he’d never guessed that she had been deliberately sent off track. She could have died from the fever that followed. Apparently, that would have suited his mother perfectly. “Get her out of here,” he said coldly, not trusting himself to say another word to the woman who had given him birth.

  “S-sir?” one of the guards stammered, while Lady MacRae gaped at her son. She looked as though he had physically struck her down.

  “Just get her out of my sight,” he barked, causing his mother to flinch. She had paled to a nasty gray.

  “Roan, I dinna mean -” she squeaked, but her son wasn’t listening, he’d caught hold of Isla and was tugging her behind him as he walked into the Laird’s bedchambers.

  The room was large, and dimly lit, the curtains had been drawn and a few sputtering candles gave the only light. Isla peeked out from behind Roan nervously, and glanced about the room. Her eyes were instantly drawn towards the large double bed that dominated the chamber, and the figure lying in its center.

  Isla felt a tug at her heart that she hadn’t been expecting at the sight of the old Laird lying stricken in his bed. Graem had always been undeniable good to her. It was dreadful to see him in such a state. But it was no less dreadful to see the affect the sight had on her husband.

  Roan looked truly stricken. He walked jerkily to the side of the bed, leaving Isla hovering in the doorway, where Bridghe came to stand next to her, catching hold of her hand in a sisterly manner, while Roan dropped to his knees beside the old man.

  “Sir?” he choked.

  Graem seemed to open his eyes and turn his head towards the voice. “Ah, Roan, my boy,” he murmured, his voice was nothing more than a soft sigh. “I have been waiting for ye to come.”

  “Waiting, sir?” Roan echoed hesitantly, as if he really didn’t like what those words implied.

  “Aye lad, to say my goodbyes.”

  “With all due respect, ye are nae going anywhere yet, sir,” Roan argued fiercely.

  He seemed to think he could keep Graem in the mortal realm by the strength of his will alone. Isla chewed her lip as she watched him. She wanted to move forward, to lay a hand on his shoulder, but something kept her rooted in place. Her time for comforting him would come later, at the moment he was the one being strong for Graem - or was he? The old Laird, so still and lifeless he seemed to be standing at death’s door, was murmured something that Isla couldn’t hear, but which, incredibly, made Roan smile sadly.

  “Aye, sir,” he nodded, getting back up to his feet. “I’ll see to it straight away.” He bowed his head, and then walked towards the two women. He glanced at Isla. “Yer to stay here and attend him with Bridghe,” he revealed.

  “I am?” Isla gasped. “But - where are ye going?” she asked, but she could tell just by the look on his face. “To see Ian?” she pressed breathlessly. “Oh, take me with ye, I -”

  “Nae, Isla,” Roan growled, in a low dangerous voice that made his wife pause, but not quite abandon her plea.

  “But he’s my brother,” she whimpered quietly.

  “And that is why ye must stay here,” Roan sighed, he brushed a kiss against the top of her head, and then he was gone.

  ..ooOOoo..

  “Where is he?” Roan asked, careful to keep his voice hard and unmerciful. The guard who was standing watch over the dungeons nodded his head in the direction of one of the cells. Roan followed the direction of the other man’s gaze and nodded. “Has he said anything?”

  “Confessed ye mean? Nae,” the guard sneered. “Seems to think he’s innocent. Claimed nae even to ken what had gone on here this morning.”

  “Is that so?” Roan murmured heavily. “Let me in to see him,” he frowned. The guard gave a nasty smile and opened the cell door. Roan stepped into the small dark space and waited for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

  “Oh - tis only ye,” coughed a voice from the opposite wall. There was a pause, and then the raspy voice spoke again. “Ye ken, strangely, this situation reminds me of something…” Ian snorted sarcastically.

  “Still got yer tongue I see?”

  “Aye. Missing a few teeth though,” the Cameron Captain parried back humorlessly. He did look battered. He had two black eyes, a split lip and a nasty cut running across his cheek.

  “Ye ken why yer here?” Roan frowned.

  “I ken why they say I’m here,” Ian spat. “Something about poisoning half the castle, women and children along with the men? As if I’d do something so dishonora
ble and cowardly! If I’d meant to murder yer Laird then I -”

  “It might be prudent,” Roan interrupted harshly, “to think before ye speak.”

  Ian snorted, but he fell silent, shifting uncomfortably in the chains that bound him to the wall. His silence didn’t last long.

  “It was Tavish, was it nae?” he muttered murderously. “Always sniffing around, up to nae good, told me to watch my back after I let ye have Isla,” Ian continued, mumbling more to himself than the tanist. Roan raised an eyebrow, just a fraction, not enough for Ian to see in the darkness.