came for the crown. When Bolton attacked my family, our priest brought it here to Lady MacIntyre for safe keeping.”
The look on Ian’s face was stark. “Is the crown still here?”
“I do na know. Your wife will not admit that she has it.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Bolton tried to make her tell him where the crown was hidden.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed and the muscles in his jaw bunched. “Was my wife harmed?”
“Aye. But she is well now.”
“And the babe?”
Duncan’s heart slammed in his chest. There was naught he could say. By the saints, he didn’t know she’d lost a babe. “There is na babe, Ian.”
Ian lifted an agonizing frown toward the heavens and clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword. He took one deep breath after another until a low, keening moan echoed into the clear Scottish air.
Without another word, Ian turned his mount and raced toward Kilgern Castle. Duncan followed at his side. When they reached the inner courtyard the two lairds jumped to the ground and ran to the steps leading to the keep’s entrance.
“Elizabeth!”
Duncan heard the fear in his friend’s voice and a stronger wave of guilt slashed through his gut. How could Ian’s wife have kissed him like she had? And let him hold her in the night? And touched his face with such tenderness? Did she have no heart? Didn’t she know how much her husband loved her?
“Milord! Milord!” Eloise ran through the doorway and collided with Ian, stopping him in his tracks. “She’s gone. The mistress is gone.”
Ian stared down on her as if the woman had lost her mind. “Lady Elizabeth is gone?”
“Aye. I went to her chamber to tell her you were here and her chamber is empty. I have searched the keep and she is na here. Just like before. She’s disappeared.”
“Like before? What does she mean, Duncan?”
Duncan didn’t take time to answer. He raced ahead of Ian and ran up the stairs two at a time. Her chamber was empty.
“There’s a passageway leading from this room,” Duncan said. Do you know…”
He didn’t get his question uttered before Ian raced in front of him and pushed against the side of a large wooden chest. The chest moved, revealing the entrance to a stone tunnel. Ian grabbed the torch from the wall beside the entryway and didn’t stop running until he reached daylight.
“She’s gone to the cottage. It’s nearest the tunnel. I showed Elizabeth how to reach it should she ever need to escape the castle.”
Duncan ran with Ian across the narrow meadow, thick with heather and tiny yellow wild flowers, then through a dense grove of trees, around a small pond, and straight toward a tall stone wall. Duncan thought they could go no farther but Ian stopped, then walked through a wide recess in the rocks. The door to a hut was carved of wood and stood as a barrier from those outside. If Ian hadn’t led the way, Duncan wouldn’t have seen the hidden fortress.
Ian reached for the latch and lifted. He threw the door open with a loud crash and stormed into the room as if he were overtaking the keep of a warring clan.
When the door flew open, she spun around, then hugged her arms around her waist as a startled cry escaped her lips. The look of fright on her face was unmistakable. Even after she realized she was in no danger, she was not quick enough to erase the confusion in her gaze. Duncan watched, but saw no heartfelt yearning; no gaze of longing; no look of wifely love for a husband long absent.
“Where is she? Where is Elizabeth?”
Duncan stared at his friend in disbelief. What was wrong with him? This was the Lady MacIntyre. The lass with hair of burnished gold and eyes of liquid blue that Ian had talked of every day and every night while he and Duncan had battled the English. The lass who had begged Duncan for a kiss, then given him the Ferguson medallion. The lass who had answered to the MacIntyre name just before Bolton flayed her body with his whip.
“Where is my wife,
The look on Ian’s face was stark. “Is the crown still here?”
“I do na know. Your wife will not admit that she has it.”
“Have you asked her?”
“Bolton tried to make her tell him where the crown was hidden.”
Ian’s eyes narrowed and the muscles in his jaw bunched. “Was my wife harmed?”
“Aye. But she is well now.”
“And the babe?”
Duncan’s heart slammed in his chest. There was naught he could say. By the saints, he didn’t know she’d lost a babe. “There is na babe, Ian.”
Ian lifted an agonizing frown toward the heavens and clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword. He took one deep breath after another until a low, keening moan echoed into the clear Scottish air.
Without another word, Ian turned his mount and raced toward Kilgern Castle. Duncan followed at his side. When they reached the inner courtyard the two lairds jumped to the ground and ran to the steps leading to the keep’s entrance.
“Elizabeth!”
Duncan heard the fear in his friend’s voice and a stronger wave of guilt slashed through his gut. How could Ian’s wife have kissed him like she had? And let him hold her in the night? And touched his face with such tenderness? Did she have no heart? Didn’t she know how much her husband loved her?
“Milord! Milord!” Eloise ran through the doorway and collided with Ian, stopping him in his tracks. “She’s gone. The mistress is gone.”
Ian stared down on her as if the woman had lost her mind. “Lady Elizabeth is gone?”
“Aye. I went to her chamber to tell her you were here and her chamber is empty. I have searched the keep and she is na here. Just like before. She’s disappeared.”
“Like before? What does she mean, Duncan?”
Duncan didn’t take time to answer. He raced ahead of Ian and ran up the stairs two at a time. Her chamber was empty.
“There’s a passageway leading from this room,” Duncan said. Do you know…”
He didn’t get his question uttered before Ian raced in front of him and pushed against the side of a large wooden chest. The chest moved, revealing the entrance to a stone tunnel. Ian grabbed the torch from the wall beside the entryway and didn’t stop running until he reached daylight.
“She’s gone to the cottage. It’s nearest the tunnel. I showed Elizabeth how to reach it should she ever need to escape the castle.”
Duncan ran with Ian across the narrow meadow, thick with heather and tiny yellow wild flowers, then through a dense grove of trees, around a small pond, and straight toward a tall stone wall. Duncan thought they could go no farther but Ian stopped, then walked through a wide recess in the rocks. The door to a hut was carved of wood and stood as a barrier from those outside. If Ian hadn’t led the way, Duncan wouldn’t have seen the hidden fortress.
Ian reached for the latch and lifted. He threw the door open with a loud crash and stormed into the room as if he were overtaking the keep of a warring clan.
When the door flew open, she spun around, then hugged her arms around her waist as a startled cry escaped her lips. The look of fright on her face was unmistakable. Even after she realized she was in no danger, she was not quick enough to erase the confusion in her gaze. Duncan watched, but saw no heartfelt yearning; no gaze of longing; no look of wifely love for a husband long absent.
“Where is she? Where is Elizabeth?”
Duncan stared at his friend in disbelief. What was wrong with him? This was the Lady MacIntyre. The lass with hair of burnished gold and eyes of liquid blue that Ian had talked of every day and every night while he and Duncan had battled the English. The lass who had begged Duncan for a kiss, then given him the Ferguson medallion. The lass who had answered to the MacIntyre name just before Bolton flayed her body with his whip.
“Where is my wife,
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