“Tell them,” Patrick said. “Tell them you had nothing to do with Eveline’s disappearance so they can be on their way.”
“And you,” Graeme said in a deadly quiet voice. “I hardly think your son acted alone, McHugh.”
Patrick was openly sweating and his hands shook. “ ’Tis all ridiculous. I would never have done something so foolhardy, and neither would Ian.”
“Of course I had nothing to do with her disappearance,” Ian replied. “What would I want with the daft lass?”
Graeme took a menacing step forward, his hand reaching to grasp Ian’s tunic. He yanked the much smaller man up until his toes were barely dragging the ground.
“If you’ve harmed a hair on her head, I’ll quarter you and feed you to the buzzards,” he hissed.
“Put him down, Montgomery,” Patrick said angrily. “He’s told you he had nothing to do with the lass’s disappearance.”
Still gripping Ian by the tunic, Graeme turned his cold stare on the older McHugh. “Then you’ll not object to us searching the keep for her now, will you?”
Patrick’s brows went up. “Of course not. She is not here. Don’t you think I would know it if she were?”
The conviction on McHugh’s face and in his speech bothered Graeme. It bothered him greatly. He knew Ian was lying, but Patrick seemed to be telling the truth. Either that or he was a better deceiver than his son.
Graeme tossed Ian in the direction of Silas. “Do not let him move.” He gestured for his brothers and then stalked toward the keep entrance. He’d turn the entire place upside down if that was what it took.
Tavis and his sons followed quickly behind. A dozen of the Montgomery and Armstrong men filed in with Graeme and the others.
Graeme didn’t bother issuing orders because he planned to cover every inch of the keep himself. He would not trust the well-being of his wife to anyone but himself.
He began in the first room he came to. Every corner, every space was invaded. He tossed furniture, tore back furs, upended beds, his fury growing with every room he found empty.
When he came out of the last chamber on the top level, a cloaked figure stood in the hallway, a hood drawn over his head so his face was not visible.
Upon taking a closer look, Graeme could see the figure was slight and small, obviously a lass or a very small lad. But when the person turned, a long lock of midnight black hair fell loose from the hood. A small hand came up to grip the hood so it remained covering the face and ’twas obvious it was a female’s hand.
“Look below, Laird,” she whispered. “In the dungeon.”
Before Graeme could respond, the lass turned and fled down the passageway, disappearing into one of the far chambers.
Graeme barked an order for his brothers and then stalked down the stairs where he met Patrick McHugh at the bottom.
“Show me to your dungeon, McHugh. By all that’s holy, if you’ve made my wife to suffer imprisonment in a dungeon, I’ll kill you.”
If possible, Patrick paled even more. “Of course, but it hasn’t been used in well over two decades. There’s not even a clear stairway into it anymore. Just a hole with a rope leading down.”
“Show me,” Graeme bit out.
His fury was growing with every minute that passed with no sign of Eveline. The idea of her being imprisoned in the dungeon had him shaking as they descended the stairs into darkness.
Patrick stopped to hand a torch to Graeme. He then lit two others and passed them to Tavis and Bowen so the way would be sufficiently lit.
At the bottom of the stairs, Patrick plucked a key from the wall and inserted it into an old, rusted lock. The clasp came away easily, despite the amount of rust and deterioration.
Graeme exchanged glances with Tavis to see if the older man had picked up on the lock. It should have creaked and groaned if it hadn’t been in use for two decades. It never should have unlocked so easily.
Tavis realized it too, because his expression went from brooding to instant alertness. His entire stance stiffened and his face tightened in rage. He held up his hand to let Graeme know he understood and then put a finger to his lips to signal for complete quiet.
When all were through the iron barred door, Patrick led them to the middle of the decaying room and held up a torch to show them the rope leading down into the pit.
“Sweet Jesu,” Bowen muttered. “Surely no one would put a wee lass down in this hole. It smells of death.”
Graeme handed over his torch to one of his men and then ordered Teague to hold his torch so he could see his way down. Then he grasped the rope and quickly descended hand over hand into the darkness below.
When he hit the ground, he yelled up for Bowen to drop his torch. Not waiting for the others to climb down, Graeme immediately searched the surrounding area, going from one wall to the other and all points in between.
When the others dropped down, more light exploded into the chamber, enough to see that it was completely empty.
“See?” Patrick sputtered. “ ’Tis madness that you come bearing your army and accusing my son of such treachery.”
“Come, Graeme, we’ve still to search the outlying cottages,” Tavis said.
Graeme stared around the room, damning the fact that Eveline could not hear. He could not even call out to her and let her know that he was here, that she was safe and that all she had to do was call out to him.
He flashed the torch one last time and readied himself to go back with the others, who were already climbing back up the rope, when his gaze fell on a disturbance in the dirt against the far wall.
He stalked forward, holding the torch in front of him as he drew near to the wall. There was a footprint, one that he and his men had not made, for it was not possible.
Half the print was visible. The other half seemed to disappear into the very wall.
“Bowen! Teague!” he barked. “Over here!”
A moment later, the others surrounded him and he pointed down.
“Where is she?” Brodie snarled, for the first time giving voice to the fact he believed all that Graeme had said.
“What is beyond this wall?” Graeme demanded.
Patrick shook his head, panic evident in his voice. “I have no idea. I swear it. I know not of anything beyond this wall.”
Graeme dropped to his knees and began running his fingers along the seams of the stones. He pushed inward with his uninjured shoulder, but the wall would not budge.
Bowen dropped to his knees just a bit farther down the wall and began pushing on the various stones himself. When he was the length of six stones from Graeme, the wall suddenly pushed inward, sending Graeme tumbling forward.
Graeme scrambled to his feet, swinging the torch in all directions as he gained his bearings. ’Twas a small room. He swung around in a complete circle and nearly danced the torchlight right past her.
A gasp went up. He wasn’t the only one to have seen the still body lying on the floor. He yanked the torch back and rushed forward, his heart screaming denial the entire way.
Behind him, there was a mad scramble and then more light. The entire chamber lit up and Graeme could see the chains and manacles that circled Eveline’s wrists and ankles.
He let out an enraged howl that echoed and bounced off the stone walls. He tossed the torch back to one of his brothers and then dropped to his knees, gathering Eveline in his arms. He rocked back and forth, kissing her hair, her brow, her cheeks. Her skin was so very cold and she was so very still.
Her father knelt down beside Graeme, staring in horror at his daughter, so lifeless in Graeme’s arms.
“I did not know!” Patrick babbled. “I swear it on my very life, I did not know!”
Enraged, Bowen slammed the older man against the wall. “Where are the keys to the manacles?”
But Graeme ignored them all. He pushed back Eveline’s hair and with trembling fingers, felt for a pulse against the side of her neck.
“Is she …” Tavis broke off, unable to complete the sentence.
“She’s alive!” Graeme said in a rush of relief. But even as he exclaimed it, he took in the bruises on her face, and rage blew through him like the fires of hell.
The chains were attached to the wall of the chamber with old hinges he doubted were that strong anymore. It would have been enough to restrain a lass, but not a warrior who was so filled with rage that he could have thrown a horse to free his wife.
He handed Eveline to her father. “Hold her and shield her.”
Then he stood, reached for the chains, and with a bellow of rage, yanked the top hinge, which held the two chains attached to the manacles at her wrists, free from the wall. Before he could move to the one at her feet, Aiden gripped the chain and tore the hinge from the wall, freeing her so they could at least take her from the dungeon to remove the manacles.
Tavis was holding his daughter tightly to his chest and weeping softly into her hair. Graeme reached down for her, refusing to allow another to carry her from her prison. He would tend to her himself. No other would touch her.
Patrick was completely white with fear. He babbled a stream of nonsense and begging. His son was to blame. He had no knowledge of the plot.
Graeme shoved by him in disgust.
When Graeme reached the rope leading to the upper chamber, he stopped. He could not climb up while holding Eveline and neither could he make the climb with her over his shoulder.
Brodie pushed forward, Aiden on his heels.
“Give her to Father and you climb up,” Brodie said to Graeme. “Aiden and I will form a human ladder and hand her up to you. ’Tis something we’ve done since we were lads. We’ll not drop her, I swear it.”
Graeme nodded, handing Eveline swiftly into her father’s care. He shot up the rope, fear and anger lending him the strength of ten men. When he reached the top, he called down, and he saw Aiden climb atop Brodie’s shoulders, balancing himself. Graeme stuck his head down through the opening, extending himself as far as he could without plummeting downward, but there was no way he’d be able to reach Eveline even if Aiden could bear her over his head.
“Bowen, climb up,” Graeme ordered.
A moment later, his brother ascended the rope and Teague quickly scrambled up after him. Graeme lay down on his stomach and inched his way over the edge.
“Hold onto my legs,” he directed. “You’ll have to pull me and Eveline back up when I’ve gained hold of her.”
Carefully, his brothers holding his ankles, Graeme was lowered, and when he was almost able to touch Aiden’s extended hands, Aiden called down for his father to lift Eveline up.
Helped by the other men, Tavis put Eveline into Aiden’s arms, and then he raised her as high as he could while perched on Brodie’s shoulders. Twice he nearly fell, but was able to successfully gain his balance without dropping her.
Finally, Graeme slipped his hands underneath Eveline’s arms and then yelled back for his brothers to pull him up.
He scraped painfully over the rough floor and his injured shoulder protested the rough treatment, but he ignored all pain and discomfort. He had Eveline back in his arms. She was alive, though he didn’t know the extent of her injuries or what had been done to her while she was in captivity.
He waited for the others to make the climb up only because he could not do what must be done while still holding Eveline.
They walked up the stairs to the first level of the keep in silence, Graeme holding Eveline tightly to his chest the entire way. When he reached the top, he turned, and when her father and her brothers cleared the top step, Graeme held Eveline out to Tavis.
“Guard her well,” he said in a low voice. “And wait here until I’ve done what I must. I’ll not have her exposed to him a moment longer. I would not want her to awaken and to see him in life or death.”
Tavis nodded his understanding and took Eveline into his arms. Brodie and Aiden hovered close to their father, their eyes dark and worried.
Graeme turned to stalk away, leaving the others behind. He walked through the keep and back to the courtyard, his single-minded purpose to go back to where Silas was holding Ian.
The weak little bastard actually looked at Graeme in triumph when Graeme appeared in the courtyard without Eveline.
“See? I told you I had no use for the simpleton.”
Graeme drew his sword in one smooth motion and before Ian could even process what was about to happen, Graeme thrust the sword through Ian’s belly until the blade protruded out his back.
Ian stared up in shock, his eyes glazing over with death. Blood bubbled from his mouth and slid down his chin to drip on the ground.
“That was for my wife,” Graeme snarled. “I hope you rot in hell.”
CHAPTER 45
Ian dropped, folding like a ribbon in the wind. Graeme didn’t even wait to see if he’d taken his last breath before he began searching his body for the keys to the manacles. He was the sort who would have carried them on his person, and Graeme was right. The key was in the pocket of Ian’s tunic.
He sheathed his sword, not bothering to wipe Ian’s blood from the blade. Then he hurried back to where Eveline was and carefully unlocked the manacles, prying them from her wrists and ankles.
