Enraptured by the Highlander

Caelan wondered if he was missing something. Was that about the same time Adelaine had told him Duglas was dead? He shook his head, “Nothin’. Just…the lass told me he died soon after the war.”

“Perhaps he did,” Artur replied. “But me men told him he gave them yer directions without any wavering. And we did find ye, so I can only assume he was of sound mind then. There are a lot of things that could happen on the road between our land and the English borders. Anyone could have attacked him on the way.”

“That is true,” Caelan acknowledged as he ducked his head under a low-lying branch. “There were a lot of vengeful Scots who could have taken the chance.”

Duglas was dead. It was a horrible fact he had swallowed back in the dungeons, but to hear it again had his heart hurting in a different way. Duglas was proof of his innocence. The day was dragging down to the dusk when they managed to get to the meeting point where the brothers were waiting.

Caelan had gotten there, expecting them to have some good news but one look on their faces had his heart sinking to his feet. He did even have to ask.

“Let me guess,” he said dully. “The Earl has everyone out for me head.”

Donnan’s face was lined, “Aye, everyone is on the outlook for ye, Me Laird, with some heavy incentives too. We overheard that he is even offering pardons and trade connections from the King if one of the clan’s men around here turns ye in, alive or dead.”

“Then,” Caelan said as he looked to the darkening sky, “the only option is not to get caught.”

Chapter 29

The garden was barren but Adelaine did not feel it was emptier than her soul. From her vantage point, the keep was still intimidating, but she knew that nothing inside was the same. The powerful stone tower was empty of the man she loved. She could have never let him stay and suffer until the days marched him to his death, when she could have done something about it.

She gazed up at the dark walls, hoping her love made it to freedom and his home. A thick cloud came over the sun and shadowed the white-blanketed land. She reached out and snapped a brittle twig from a dying shrub and dropped the twig to the snow.

Martha had tried to keep her in her chambers, especially since she had would be going to a dinner at Islington’s father’s house with Islington that evening, but she had not wanted to be kept inside. The Viscount was going to be her husband, she knew that, she just had to wait for her father to drip the wax and press his signet ring on the paper.

Her eyes shifted up to the dark bastion that was her home, a place of comfort but was riddled with lies and deception. She did not even know if anything she had ever believed was true. Her brother had died by poison, not by strangulation, which led her to question everything.

Had her mother truly died, or was the body that went down in the coffin a decoy and her real mother was put away somewhere? Why had her father taken such an interest in Scotland anyway? The King had called for forces but her father could have held back. Was there any other reason why her father had put his hand into that battle more than proving his fealty to the King?

Her father had been so kind once but now he was man she did not know at all. He was a manipulative, conniving man that was the embodiment of evil. How could he be so wicked? What had caused him to be so? Had something happened in his past to turn him this way? What? Something griev

ous must had happened to push him to the length of forging a document that would force an innocent man’s execution.

She suddenly felt the wild urge to run. To run far away. She turned and began to walk to the stables. If nothing would work, perhaps a ride could give her some measure of peace. She got a stable boy to saddle her mare quickly and then she was off.

The sky was slate gray and threated snow, but she rode anyway to the back pastures where she had freedom to let the horse run. She cantered over the snow-laden land, breathing in the cold air and looking the few remaining trees. The west wall was far off in the distance but she saw the gray wall and tried to smile. Caelan had followed it to his freedom.

She turned the mare and spotted the stump of the oak trees and guided her horse over to it. Circling the stump, the disturbed dirt between the roots looked… fresh? She had dismissed it before as the product of a mole digging into the ground but this felt strange. Why would the animal have to dig it twice?

Slipping off the horse she looked around for something she could use to dig into it. There was not much of anything but after kicking snow away, found a twig. She crouched down and began to dig.

The dirt was loose and crumbly which meant it was disturbed recently. She did not have to dig too far to find it, a sack was buried inside the tiny hole and she tugged it out. Brushing the dirt from the sack, she pulled the drawstring and stuck her fingers inside. She felt the smooth coolness of waterproof leather and further inside, she touched paper.

What in the world?

Tilting the sack on its end, a pile of folded papers fell out. She plucked one out and saw her father’s handwriting. Are we agreed? This situation has grieved me for too long and the dishonor that was given by his traitorous deeds are more poison to my soul than any other act. Disobedience to orders, dishonor to his race, and this deep treachery to our King by siding with infidels, are more than enough reasons for his removal.

Adelaine was utterly confused. What was this about? She took up another. The papers were of the same size but the wording was short. This one was nor of her father’s hand. Still deeply confused about what this was about she read. My Lord, I am very wary of being contacted by a man of your stature. What part would a man of my disreputable profession have with a man on the top tier of society and moreover a holder of the law have with me?

Disreputable profession? Adelaine wondered as she stacked the papers back into the sack. What profession could that be? She could suppose what disreputable could mean for a woman, but for a man? And why would her father be dealing with him? Stuffing the bag into her saddlebag, she mounted the horse and turned to her home.

Am I surprised at all? My father has already proven himself to be far from honorable, why should I be dismayed that he is in contact with blackguards?

Riding home, she went directly back to the stables and had a servant take care of her horse. With the sack of papers in her hand, she went to her rooms in a dither to see Martha.

“Martha?”

“Lord Islington is here, My Lady,” her maid said. “He just arrived though.”

Putting the sack in a drawer, she spotted the book Hippolytus and smiled wanly. Shutting it, she asked, “Where is he?”