Caden awoke with a jerk, uncomfortably aware of the strain on his shoulders. He sat on the ground, slumped against a tree with his arms stretched around behind it, his wrists bound together.
He had to organize his thoughts to come up with a plan. If only he knew who these people were or could recall some snippet of conversation, some clue to help him.
That first night was still a blur.
After he’d been surrounded and dropped his weapon, he’d climbed down off his horse. The last thing about the capture Caden remembered was a blow to the back of his head. Right after he’d announced there was no silver.
He leaned his head against the tree and clenched his teeth against a groan as the rough bark bit into a tender spot. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pain in his body and the apprehension in his heart.
The physical was much easier to dismiss even though the worry set his head to pounding. Worry or lack of food. Or the blow to his skull. It didn’t matter. His discomfort wasn’t important.
Two days. The thought ate at him. He’d lost two days.
His captors huddled around a small fire, talking and laughing as they passed around a flask. Again tonight they’d placed him far enough away from their fire that its heat did nothing to dispel the night’s chill.
The cold didn’t matter. The pounding ache in his head and the raw burn in his hands were nothing compared to the nauseous fear in his stomach.
Fear not for himself but for his family.
They’d traveled two days’ time, going back over ground he and Steafan had crossed on their journey to the banks of the River Dochart. Until late this afternoon, that is, when they’d turned up a trail and headed into the high mountains.
Still, they were afoot. Once he regained his horse, he could make up the time. He had to.
Two days headed the wrong way. Two days stolen from his quest to save his brother and cousin.
His mind raced, every thought coming back to the same harrowing conclusion. If he couldn’t free himself and manage to get the ransom to Wodeford, Colin and Blane would die.
And Steafan. He was forced to add Steafan to his list of worries as well. He lifted his head and scanned the circle once more, hoping to find his friend.
He had to locate his horse and Steafan. Both had disappeared on that first night.
Just one more time when those who were most important to him would suffer because he hadn’t been strong enough. Hadn’t been smart enough. Hadn’t paid attention to the signs in front of him. No one would even know what had happened until it was too late. He should have listened to his instincts, should have shared his concerns with Steafan, should have—
Enough!
He fought back his inner demons.
He’d had enough of the guilt. It served no purpose but to distract him. He needed to keep his mind sharp and alert. He focused on the pain in his body, bringing him back to the here and now.
Who were these people? They didn’t appear to be Wodeford’s men. They were too ragged, too ill-equipped. And yet how had common brigands known his name, known he carried silver?
He prayed that Steafan had escaped, though the prospect seemed unlikely. He couldn’t count on that. He needed a plan.
A cold, wet touch to his hand brought him up short. The soft whimper that followed convinced him of the source.
Baby.
He scratched at the dog’s muzzle with his fingers, feeling almost foolish that something as minor as the dog’s presence could bring him a sense of relief.
Relief was the last thing he should be feeling. It wouldn’t do to have these men discover Ellie’s pet. If anything happened to the beast, Ellie would be heart-broken. He flicked his fingers at the creature to scare him off, but the dog obviously thought it a game and rubbed his head against Caden’s bound hands.
“Go,” he hissed, shaking his head at his own foolishness. As if the animal could understand his words.
The thought barely reached his conscious mind before his hand stilled.
Ellie had told him animals were sensitive to the thoughts of all people. It just so happened she was also sensitive to their thoughts.
If what she said was true…
Could he risk speaking to the dog? Would the beast have any idea what he was saying?
A large warm tongue licked across his fingers.
It was worth a try.
“Go to Ellie. Tell her what’s happened. Get her to send help.”
Even if the help came too late for him and Steafan, maybe they could still save Colin and Blane.
The climb up the narrow, rocky paths had taken Caden’s last energy reserves. He slowed, catching his breath before they approached an even steeper climb. His guards paused as well, waiting for an approaching horseman headed their way.
Caden used the opportunity to study his surroundings, none of which were familiar to him. In the trees below he spied a flash of gray fur, and for an instant stared into the familiar eyes of Ellie’s big dog.
Of course it had been too much to expect. Still, the disappointment knocked the wind from him. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how much he had depended on the beast to carry his message.
So much for any hope for help.
The man behind Caden shoved him as they started forward and he stumbled, falling to one knee. The horseman rode close, yelling out his orders to no one in particular.
“Get him up and into the hall. His lairdship awaits our guest.”
The guard who held the lead rope attached to Caden’s wrists laughed and yanked him forward, jerking him to his feet and back onto the path.
Rounding yet another turn, Caden spotted a neglected stone building jutting from a ledge above, one side of the keep a mass of crumbling stone. Although this once must have been someone’s ancestral home, it certainly didn’t appear as such now. It looked to be in much worse repair then even Sithean Fardach.
As they approached, he would have sworn this place abandoned if not for the men standing on what was left of the guard wall. Only the large gate appeared to be in decent repair as the heavy portcullis lifted with a loud grating screech.
Through the gate and across the weed-grown bailey they trudged until they reached the rock walls of the keep itself. With the main stairs rotted away, a long ladder served the purpose of providing access to the second-floor entry.
Caden wasn’t sure he had the strength to climb the ladder or even the will to try any longer. Then he thought of those who depended on him and he reached down deep, demanding more of himself. He would survive. He would not fail his family again.
“You’ll need the use of yer hands, MacAlister.”
The guard’s words gave him momentary hope of an opportunity to escape until a loop of rope dropped around his neck and tightened just before the man sliced through the binding at his wrists.
They led him up the ladder and into the hall bound about the neck like a beast. Each time he slowed, the rope tightened, threatening to cut off his air.
Caden stumbled into the dark hall gasping for air, choking on the stench of dirty men, sour ale, and smoke.
Directly in front of him, a large fire burned in the center of the hall. Apparently the fireplace had stood on the crumbled side of the building.
“What have you done with my silver, MacAlister?” a voice rasped somewhere ahead of him.
Caden kept his head bowed, his eyes squinted against the burn of smoke. He rubbed at his wrists, stalling for time, hoping his vision would adjust to the smoke-darkened room enough to allow him to identify his captor.
“Who are you?” he managed to choke out before the rope around his neck tightened again.
“Show the proper respect,” the guard next to him growled and something hard hit him in the back, knocking him to his knees.
“You have the honor to speak with the Laird of the Menzies himself, Symund MacNab.”
Caden looked up to find a short barrel of a man strutting toward him out of the shadows, a stout walking stick at his side. The “laird” was every bit as ragged and filthy as the men who followed him. At least, he had something of an answer. A misbegotten group of brigands, likely men who had been banished from their clans.
Working his fingers under the rope at his neck, Caden loosened it enough to allow him a deep breath before answering.
“I’ve met Alexander Menzies. I traveled to his castle with my cousin. Yer no him. And this”—Caden looked into the decayed gloom around him—“this is certainly no the home of the Laird of the Menzies.”
Caden felt more than saw the stick swinging toward his head. By reflex, he grabbed it and jerked it from MacNab’s unsuspecting hands. They’d underestimated him and he intended to take full advantage of their mistake.
Pushing to his feet, he twirled the stick until he felt it make solid contact with one of his guards. The rope around his neck slacked and Caden swung his arm out the other direction, his fist connecting with the face of the second guard before the noose around his neck tightened, robbing him of air. A blow to the backs of his legs took him to the ground.
As the rope around his neck tightened, his vision tunneled, and little stars of light danced around the outside of the dark circle he felt himself gazing down. A kick to his stomach curled him into a ball and he readied himself for the end.
“No! You canna kill him! No yet. He’s the only one who can tell us where the silver’s hidden.”
That voice!
Caden struggled to turn his head toward the sound but the rope held him firmly in place. He fought the darkness that hovered around the edges of his vision, putting his last efforts toward seeing who approached.
“Weel, my greedy friend, if MacAlister’s the only one who can find my silver”—MacNab’s foot jabbed into Caden’s shoulder, rolling him to his back—“then tell me, what further need do I have for you?”
“Here now, MacNab, we have a deal. We’re to split the money and yer to make him suffer for what he’s done to my family.”
Caden fought to keep his eyes open as hurried footsteps neared. He knew that voice. It seemed impossible but he had to see for himself.
“Aye, that we did. But that was when you promised me the silver. Without it, our bargain’s null.” MacNab bent to retrieve his walking stick, swinging it as he stood, connecting with the head of the man who had spoken.
A body fell to the floor, sending a wash of air over Caden. Just before the darkness completely overtook him, he rolled his eyes to the side and stared into the bloody face of the man he’d considered a brother.
Steafan Maxwell.