The Bard (Highland Heroes #5) - Maeve Greyson Page 0,82

his drink. This was why he hated planning and plotting. Too many times things went awry.

“As far as ye staying here longer, just say the lady changed her mind when she awakened with more soreness than she had expected,” Magnus suggested.

“Not a Greyloch alive will believe that,” the chief said without opening his eyes. “All know my Sorcha to be as fierce and stubborn as a Highland goat.” He cracked open an eye and glared at them both. “And if either of ye tell her I said that, I’ll call ye a liar.”

“Then ye could always ask her and see if she wishes to try the trip,” Magnus said with a dubious look.

“I fear she would try it when she shouldna do so.” Even though he felt sure his dear one was healing, a trip in the back of the wagon could easily change that. One wrong bump or shifting could send a broken rib right through her lung.

Greyloch responded with a loud, whistling snore.

Magnus finished his drink, then removed his pistol and sword and placed them on a nearby table. “I agree with the chief. Perhaps we should sleep for an hour or so. Maybe something will come to us.” He stretched across the cushioned bench in front of the bay window. “Wake me soon as ye need me,” he said, pillowing his head on his arms.

Sutherland sat there, stewing over the failed trap until Magnus’s rumbling snores competed with Greyloch’s. “The hell with this.” He pushed up from the chair, stepped over his father-in-law’s outstretched legs, and entered the bedchamber. As soon as he stepped inside the darkened room, he frowned. “Damned cold in here,” he muttered under his breath. What the hell was wrong with Jenny, letting the room get so chilled? He loaded wood into the hearth and stirred the coals until flames roared and crackled.

Much better. And now he could see so as not to trip over something and wake the women. Jenny had said she would sleep on the small sofa on the other side of the room. Weariness weighed so heavily upon him, he’d pull a chair close to the bed and sleep in it so as not to jostle Sorcha but still be close enough to touch her. He turned from the fire and froze. The bed was empty. Stripped down to the bare mattress and the pillows scattered everywhere.

“Sorcha!” he roared. He spotted a pale foot sticking out from under the bed. “Oh, God, no! Dinna let it be…” Charging forward, he dropped to all fours and grabbed hold of the ankle and did his best to ease the body out from under the bed as gently as possible.

The bedchamber door banged open. Hurried steps thumped toward him.

“Sutherland!” Magnus hovered over him.

Greyloch came to a halt beside him, his sword raised. His arm slowly dropped, and his shoulders slumped as he watched Sutherland ease Jenny the rest of the way out. “How the hell can this be happening? Where in God’s name is Sorcha?”

“God bless ye, Jenny,” Sutherland rasped as he yanked a knotted cloth out of her mouth and cut a rope from around her wrists. The poor lass draped as limp as a rag as he lifted her and placed her on the bed. One side of her face was covered in blood, and a nasty bruise rode high on her cheek.

“She breathes,” Magnus observed. “Barely, but I saw her take a deeper breath after ye pulled the gag away.”

“Fetch the healer,” Sutherland ordered as he turned her head and examined the wound. “She’s taken a nasty beating.”

“I’ll tear this keep apart a block at a time and hang every servant one by one ’til my Sorcha is found. I want that bastard’s head on a pike!” Greyloch stormed out of the room, bellowing at the top of his lungs, then fired a shot for good measure.

“It appears he found my pistol,” Magnus observed as he bent closer and studied Jenny. “Look how much easier she’s breathing now. Look at that gag’s coloring. I’d lay odds if ye untied that rag, ye’d find herbs inside to keep her quiet. Pray she comes around and can eventually tell us what happened.”

“I’m done with prayers.” Sutherland made a circuit of the room, ripping every tapestry and weaving off the walls.

Whoever had made off with his lady hadn’t escaped through the sitting room. Even if the old chief had nodded off and not heard any noise from inside the bedchamber, he would’ve