The brutish man turned and stared at another man who stood in the doorway. ‘You fool. Have you lost your wits, trying to command me?’ he said with quiet menace.
‘I…I do not command. But the Baron said she was not to be interfered with.’
The Baron. His name struck terror into Tara’s heart. He was a cattle thief and murderer who Callum had sworn to bring to justice. Her predicament had suddenly become dire. What reason could he have for taking her other than to hurt Callum?
The man, Stalker, turned back to Tara and licked his lips. ‘Ah, you taste sweet indeed. I’d like to keep you, but your face is too bonnie. ‘Twould lead me to the gallows. My master wants you kept decent on pain of death to anyone who lays a hand on you. So, your virtue is safe enough, for now.’ Stalker put his face to her cheek and whispered in her ear. ‘But once we have dispatched your husband and you are no longer needed, he may let me have my reward.’
What Tara saw in his eyes was cruel, cold insanity that had her shaking in fear.
Stalker smirked. ‘Callum Ross is to die at my hand, and when he is cold in the ground, we will enjoy great wickedness together, lass. I will do things to your beautiful body you cannot and dare not imagine.’
***
Camped out in the damp woods, Callum found no rest. He paced back and forth. He could feel Bryce’s eyes on him, hollow with worry and lack of sleep, and he was sure his looked worse. His friend had been steadfast in his support, and Callum thanked God for it. His head swam, for he’d hardly slept in days, and all that kept him upright was rage. His tormented mind could find no rest, even when he lay down and closed his eyes.
In the dead of night, he even considered the possibility that Tara might have left him of her own accord and that their recent closeness was just an illusion. There had been no demand for ransom, no word sent from whoever had her. But in the dawn’s cold light, the memory of Seamus’ corpse with its gaping red throat assured him that she had been taken against her will.
Tara had been gone for a week, and it seemed an eternity. Callum had sent out riders all over clan lands and to Inverness and beyond, trying to find news of her whereabouts, but there was nothing.
‘Take some rest and eat, my friend,’ said Bryce.
‘No. I cannot.’
‘We must puzzle this out. Whoever has Tara is clever. They are making you sweat, hoping to weaken you with worry. But there will be a demand soon enough.’
‘Or perhaps the bastard that stole Tara will hurt her just to break me in two, Bryce. If he has so much as touched her, I will cut out his heart and make him eat it.’
‘Aye, fair enough, but first, we must determine who has her. ‘Tis not Hew. My cousin is a fool, but even he would not stoop to kidnap. He can buy any lass he wants, and he has not the backbone for this. Though I will own, he is not overly fond of you since you punched him in the face. Still smarting from that humiliation, I would wager.’
‘Alright. What about the English, then? Those redcoat bastards have done scant little to recover her so far?'
‘Because there is no profit for them, my friend. I suspect they turn a blind eye to thievery and other crimes if you grease their palms enough. But there is no gain for them in stealing a laird’s wife, Callum. That would be overstepping, and there would be uproar in the Highlands at such an act. Already, it has garnered too much attention.’
‘Forster was infatuated with Tara,’ said Callum.
‘Aye, but he has married well and is sitting pretty with his fat, plain wife. So there is no advantage in taking Tara. Whatever you think of the man, he is not so dishonourable as to take a grudge against a woman this far. Now tell me, what other enemies do you have?’
Callum squeezed his eyes tightly shut. It was unbearable to say it out loud. ‘If it is not Hew and not Forster, then it can only mean one thing. Please God, let me be wrong, for if it is the Baron’s men who have taken her, Tara is in terrible peril.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
The barking of dogs roused Tara from her fitful sleep. Night had fallen, so her guards would take her outside to get some air. They never allowed her outside in daylight, when someone might see her, and she had come to long for a scrap of sunshine on her face.
One guard was pinch-faced and scrawny, afflicted with a palsy, which left his mouth hanging down on one side to reveal broken teeth and a ribbon of drool he constantly wiped away. Tara had heard him called Morgan, and she was at great pains not to look at his disfigurement lest it anger him. The other guard was young, burly, with a mop of red hair. His name was Flynn, and though he was less prone to cruelty, and she suspected he did not relish the task of locking up a woman, he would still manhandle her if she did not do as she was told, and Tara hated him for it.
There was but a tiny fire to light the darkness in her prison. It was no better than a storeroom, with a place for a bed on the hard dirt floor and little else. Her confinement was so awful that she lived for brief moments outside her dank room. So, it was almost a luxury when Morgan barged in and dragged her outside. Tara gasped in the cold air, for there were no clouds to blanket the land, and the night was crisp and moonlit.
Morgan pushed her forward, with the two hounds still barking. They were skulking, vicious creatures with ribs sticking out like the beams on a ship’s hull. ‘Stretch those legs but don’t go far, or you’ll suffer for it,’ said Morgan menacingly. ‘We’ll set the dogs on you, and they will run you down in no time.’
‘Aye,’ said the other guard, Flynn. ‘There’s foul spirits in the darkness to snare you if you run. Haunted are these woods, and the realm of witches, so wander at your peril.’
‘And they are not the worst of it,’ said Morgan. ‘If Stalker catches up with you, it won’t be pretty.’ He put his face into hers, all foul breath and ragged teeth. ‘He’s looking for an excuse to punish you in his own special way, lass, whether the Baron likes it or not.’
Flynn dragged him away, and Tara heard him hiss, ‘Do not say his name aloud.’
Morgan cast her a glance. ‘Makes no difference for he’ll….’
Flynn shook him, and he fell silent. ‘Have a care not to wag that tongue, or he’ll cut it out.’