As they strode from the kitchen to gather the men, Callum paused. ‘We forgot something,’ he said. He turned and tore Drustan from his meal. ‘You’re coming with us because you know the way, lad. But we will keep you well clear of danger when we get there. Agreed?'
‘Alright,’ said Drustan, ‘but we can’t go by way of the village of Lowis. I can’t be seen there.’
Callum looked at him quizzically. ‘Why not?’
‘That’s where I stole the horse that got me here.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Stalker had arrived. Tara could hear him barking orders, and there were many other voices, deep, gruff. Her dread of facing Stalker again was a lump in her throat, a sick churning in her stomach and a trembling of her hands.
It had been many days since she had sent the strange boy on his terrible errand, and every one of them, an agony of hope and fear, and yet no word came, no rescue. The boy had not succeeded, but how could he, being so young and frail? It was a fool’s plan, so now, she must find the courage to confront the truth. She might never get out of her damp prison alive.
The talk outside died down, the voices fading. The men must have moved away from the cottage. Now, there was just the thud of her heart against her ribs. Tara let out a breath she had been holding and let the tension seep out of her shoulders.
Stalker burst into the room, filling it with his bulk and making her shriek. He regarded her balefully. ‘I sent a messenger to Raigmoor to demand ransom for you,’ he declared.
‘You saw Callum?’ said Tara.
‘Do I look like a fool?’ spat Stalker. ‘I got an ignorant youth to deliver my message, but your husband was not there to receive it. All these days of softening him up, of making him squirm not knowing your fate, and then when I send news, he is not even there.’ He gave a bleak laugh.
‘He’ll be out looking for me,’ Tara replied, with a confidence she did not feel.
‘No, he is not,’ said Stalker with spite. ‘I think he has given up the search. Rumour has it around Inverness that he found you in a whorehouse. Tell me, did you learn anything there that I might like?' He reached out a hand and stroked it down Tara’s face.
‘Get off me,’ she cried. ‘If you hurt me, my husband will kill you.’
Stalker smirked. ‘We might have miscalculated his esteem for you, lass. Seems to me, he has taken his fill and will soon replace you with another.’ He came over to her, his face inches away. ‘Perhaps he is renewing his acquaintance with the ladies at Cora Adler’s establishment even as we speak. Aye, we have been keeping our eye on Laird Ross and know his habits – which inns he frequents with that dissolute Cullan fellow, which whores he likes to service. Perhaps he has decided you are not worth the effort after all. I’d wager you are a frigid bitch who cannot please him.’ Stalker reached out a hand and slid it through her hair, his eyes bright with malice. ‘Shall we find out?’
‘No. Leave me alone,’ she cried.
Stalker took a step further, and Tara backed away. ‘Aye, seems you’ve served your purpose, my bonnie. Now the mighty Laird Ross can sniff out a more biddable bride.’
‘Callum would never forsake me. He loves me.’
‘You’re a naive fool, aren’t you, little Tara? What you do not understand is that your husband’s indifference has thwarted my plans to kill him, and that angers me so.’
Stalker spat on the floor, and Tara watched his spittle sink into the dirt floor in a darkening little puddle. There was no way out. Were these her last moments in the world? He came closer. ‘If I cannot ransom you for a goodly sum, if I cannot lure him with hopes of rescuing you, I will have to get close enough to strike in some other way.’
If the monster was disappointed with how his plan had turned out, he did not show it. Instead, his eyes shone with excitement. Stalker turned and shouted at Flynn and Morgan. ‘Wait outside and do not enter if you value your lives.’ He shut the door and came closer. ‘I’ve waited long enough.’
Panic took Tara. ‘No. You can’t. The Baron said I was not to be harmed,’ she shouted.
‘The Baron does not command me, and you’ll get no help from those beat dogs outside, for they have a hearty fear of me, and with good reason.’
‘Yet you fear the Baron, don’t you? I saw it on your face when he was here. So you daren’t go against him.'
‘I like the life he gives me, lass, so I tolerate his orders while I indulge all my worst appetites. But that arrogant fool won’t last forever. Aye, what a treat it is to gorge on ale, violence and women, aye, so many women. They either weep or hold out their hands for coin. I like them either way, but weeping is best. This power I have over you, Tara, is the spoils of a reiver’s life. And that arrogant dog who calls himself the Baron is not my master, nor will he ever be.’
Tara groped for something, anything, to stop him. ‘He will know if you lay a hand on me.’
Stalker raised his brows and smirked. ‘Oh, will you tell him the tale? I think not, and I intend to lay more than a hand on you, bonnie lass. And the Baron will know nothing. He is gone north by sea, and by the time he returns, ‘twill be done. I will say you tried to escape, and the dogs chased you down and tore you apart. And that will be the truth, for once I am done with you, I will set you free as a tasty little bite for them.’
‘Please don’t. Please let me go.’
Stalker stuck out his bottom lip in mock sadness and frowned. ‘If you are not bait, then what use are you to me, Tara?’
With a terrible realisation of what was to happen to her, Tara backed away from Stalker and came up against the stone wall. There was a moment’s pause as he relished her fear, and then, he moved fast, grabbing her hard by the arms and slamming her back against the wall. Tara’s scream was cut off by his mouth coming down hard on hers. He was heavy and powerful, and she was trapped, crushed against the wall by his weight.