A Hellion at the Highland Court (The Highland Ladies #9) - Celeste Barclay Page 0,77

be the only one to see his laird loved his lady. They returned to where they left the men. Each pair reported the same thing: they hadn’t seen Laurel, and neither had anyone they asked. Brodie noticed a shift in the men’s demeanor. Most looked worried, and a few ever looked fearful.

“Laird?” Brodie looked at Walter, who shifted nervously before looking at Wallace. “Ma nephew or Michael must have led Lady Campbell to someone. If they’d just left her alone, one of us would have found her.”

Michael glared mutinously, but Wallace looked conflicted. “If you ken aught, Wallace, speak up,” Walter pleaded. “Think what will happen when yer ma and da learn ye were a part of this. Yer da will nae forgive ye.”

“Aye, so what’s the point in speaking up?” Michael snapped. “He doesnae ken aught, anyway.”

Brodie stepped in front of Michael. “As much I wish to kill you where you stand, I won’t until you tell me who you handed Lady Campbell over to.” Michael looked unimpressed. “I said I wouldn’t kill you. I didn’t say I wouldn’t torture you.”

“Laird!” Graham ran toward Brodie, who hadn’t seen Graham walk to the ferry landing. “The dockmaster saw Lady Campbell board on the arm of a mon. He said she tried to get out of the crowd, telling him she had no coin to pay her fare, but another mon already on board said he would pay. He said she looked surprised but didn’t try to get away. But he also admitted that they were already underway, and a group of men in different plaids surrounded her.”

“Lamonts?” Brodie demanded.

“Nay, but two MacDougalls.”

“Bluidy fucking hell. Nelson and Matthew.” Brodie plowed his fist into Michael’s face. “Why?”

“What does it matter? Ye’re free of the bitch now.”

“What did you call my wife?” Brodie’s deadly quiet voice made the others take a step back.

“Ye heard me,” Michael smirked, and with added sarcasm, “ma laird.”

“Och, I shall enjoy making your death the slowest, most painful torture I can imagine.” Brodie looked at Graham. “When’s the next ferry?”

“Not until tomorrow morn,” Graham said.

“Then we ride. Bind and gag him.” Brodie didn’t look back as he marched to the stables. He trusted his men would follow his orders. He’d seen how aghast they were when they learned other Highlanders had taken Laurel and heard Michael’s death wish. They were mounted and riding along Loch Earn’s coast within a quarter hour.

Twenty-Four

Laurel drew the Campbell plaid she wore as an arisaid over her hair. She looked over the side of the ferry into the depths of the deep blue water. It was clear the loch was a deep body of water. While she’d learned to swim in the North Sea, she’d done so in a chemise that she would tuck into the neckline. She would sink with the layers of velvet and wool she wore now. She wouldn’t free herself. She would drown herself. She would go from little likelihood of seeing Brodie again to no likelihood.

“He must have noticed,” Nelson laughed. “Probably thinks she ran off.”

“You don’t think Michael will cave?” Stephen asked. He’d been the only one to handle her kindly. He’d ensured the waves didn’t knock Laurel off her feet until she found a spot where she could huddle against the wind and fear.

“He’ll die before he tells,” Matthew grinned. “He’s been tupping our cousin for years. She’s borne him two bastards. The poor sod’s in love with her.”

“Don’t you think Campbell loves her?” Stephen pressed. “You saw him at their wedding. He was eager to be there. He didn’t look like a mon trapped.”

“Hurried to get it over with,” Edgar chuckled. “Mayhap we’ll discover if she’s as good as the Campbell makes it seem. Spread your legs for us, will you, lass?”

Laurel didn’t look in his direction as her stomach tightened into a knot yet again. She watched Stephen shift his weight, so he hid her from Edgar’s sight. He made it look like the roll and pitch of the ferry caused him to move to remain on his feet. Laurel couldn’t understand why Stephen was shielding her from anything if he was part of her kidnapping.

“The more I think on it, the more I think we’ve underestimated the mon’s feelings. And even if he doesn’t love her, he’ll still search for her. He’ll demand justice,” Stephen insisted.

“Like he did for the MacMillan chit? He gave that up as soon as the wind changed, and he got a whiff of her.” Liam jutted his chin