Kissed by the Laird (First Ladies of the Fae Book 1) Page 4

  The beat of her heart was returning to normal when realization struck her. Caroline recognized the giant warrior upon the horse from her dream. The slight jolt she felt going through her dissipated when she released the pendant.

  “Am I totally losing it? I’m wide awake and daydreaming of a steaming hot, Scot.” At least she didn’t think she dozed off. Caroline rubbed her tired eyes. “Holy crap! I need to lay off on those late night Highlander marathons.”

  A heartbeat later, the lights on the ceiling flickered, as another strong gust of wind howled outside and caused her fears to return. The Tir Nam Famhair was no more than a thought, as the storm continued to roar outside. The wind caused a high-pitched shrill sound similar to the cry of a barn owl spooked from its perch. The familiar quickening of her heart palpitating caused her ears to pound. Her fears would not lie dormant any longer. Frantically, she reached within her pack for the prescription bottle. Caroline kept it on hand always. It was a security blanket, but she needed them on these rare occasions…like now. The powerful tranquilizer would not make her lethargic, but it would at least control her anxiety and take it down a few notches. Please God….I can’t breathe. I need a clean breath. Just one.

  The medication began to work its magic within five minutes. With her nerves still frazzled, Caroline placed the thick, musty book back into her pack and grabbed the procedure list with a shaky hand. Too soon, she would leave behind the warmth and protection of the old library. Without a thought, she hummed a familiar tune, as she methodically went through the aged library, shutting the lights, securing the windows and doors along the way. She neared the front entrance when her checklist was near to complete, and was met by a bright pair of headlights. The blinding lights beamed through the full-length glass door. Her first reaction was to turn her head and avoid their blinding glare. Bright white flash spots blurred her vision, but when it cleared, the headlights were gone. It was probably just somebody turning around in the parking lot.

  Caroline locked the main entrance to the library and she shivered. The raw night air penetrated through her thin jacket. She paused under the awning, as the gutters struggled to keep up with the deluge of rainfall coming down. “Damn, I have no umbrella.”

  It was a typical nor’easter, but without the snow. The strong gust of winds came from the northeast and caused sheets of rain to come down sideways. It would be impossible not to get wet, even with an umbrella.

  With her backpack secured snugly on her back, she said. “Here goes nothing.” Caroline dashed out from the protection of the awning and walked at a face pace toward the edge of the parking lot. Each drop of rain stung her face and tore at her exposed flesh. Left with no other choice, she ducked her head and attempted to shelter her face from the onslaught of jagged drops.

  When she rounded the corner of the library parking lot, she noticed a lone car parked across the street. The headlights were off, but the heat of the exhaust billowed into the frigid night air and told her the engine still ran. An interior light was on, but the fog-covered windows didn’t allow her to see its occupants.

  It was the second unfamiliar sight this day. A strange car parked across from the library. Her trepidation soared to a level higher, but with the tranquilizers still fast at work in her system, she was able to talk herself out of hyperventilating. There was only one way to her apartment and it meant passing the strange vehicle. She hadn’t even crossed the first street on her journey home when the sound of an engine revved. Her stomach ached liked a thousand wasps pelted her from within, and she picked up her pace.

  Caroline whispered, “I should never have stayed. It’s so dark out. I didn’t…think anything could have been darker than that night. I was wrong…so, so wrong.” Over the sound her hammering heart there were two sounds, the sound of an approaching vehicle, and her unconscious humming of her special lullaby.

  The urge to retch grew and her body started to quake uncontrollably. Each time she swallowed the muscles in her throat constricted. That alone was enough to make her gasp for air. Caroline prayed. “Dear God, I just want to get home.”

  Chapter Three

  After he had given Campbell ample time to depart, Ian flew back into his study alone. He was careful to lock the door behind him, before he proceeded to the hearth. He did not like the sureness in Damon’s eyes. He yanked the dirk from his boot and pried at the stone. Once he was able to get a firm grip, Ian pulled it out the rest of the way. Though dusty, the wooden box that held Moy’s treasures was still intact. He swiped the top with the sleeve of his tunic, before he lifted the box’s lid. On the surface, all appeared to be still in order, but Ian could not shake the feeling that something was not right. He reached for several of the yellowed parchments. When he got to the final documents, his heart dropped to his stomach and bounced back up. As he slowly opened the final folded parchment, he sent a prayer up that it would be the deed. He rubbed his eyes and looked back. An icy chill shot down his spine. It was blank.

  Ian stared into the reddish-orange embers in the hearth. His visage, as blank as the slip of paper in his hands.

  “Damnation!” Ian squeezed his fist and threw the crumpled contents into the hot coals.

  Ian rested his elbows upon his knees, as he rested his pounding head in his hands. Think, Ian! Mo Daol! It would not be the first time the old woman had rummaged through Moy’s documents. Could she have moved the deed? Although, his grandmother’s interference was well-intended, Ian knew that his young age had many in the clan doubting his ability to lead in his grandfather’s stead.

  Ian stood. “Aye. That must be it. Mo Daol has been interfering again.” He shook his head at his grandmother’s eccentric nature, and though it was a nuisance, Ian knew her motives were well-intended. Would the old woman ever stop treating him like a lad of fifteen summers? Many of the MacLaine’s had their concerns. After all, Ian was three and twenty. Although, that was not young by any means, he knew he had big boots to fill where Lochbuie and the MacLaine clan were concerned. The MacKinnon’s towards the north of Mull were troublesome lot, but not unbearable. England and the usurper, William of Orange was their biggest threat. Not from the man himself, but from those who chose to let gold sway their loyalty. Men like Argyll.

  If Ian’s grandmother were not visiting his mum and his siblings at Dunnideer, the deed’s disappearance would be simple to solve. However, he would have to scour the entire castle. The first place he needed to was his grandmother’s bedchamber.

  When Ian approached the wooden and iron-banded portal, he reached for the latch. A single click echoed off the stonewalls of the vacant corridor, as he released the door latch. Ian entered into the spacious room that belonged to his grandparents. Most nobles slept in separate chambers, but not his grandparents. Their love was like no other he had ever witnessed. Though his grandfather was a fierce leader, Ian knew Mo Daol was the old man’s weakness…well that and Greer’s famous apple tarts.

  When he could not locate the deed in the most obvious of places, he walked to the farthest end of the room and opened up the intricately carved door of the armoire. Ian rummaged through each article of clothing as he searched for the document. In the process, he left his grandmother’s clothing in disarray. When he found nothing, Ian started to drag a hand down his face when realized he still held one of his grandmother’s undergarments. He tossed it into one of the open drawers in the wardrobe, as heat rose up his neck to his cheeks. He wrinkled his nose, as he swiped his hands down the front of his white tunic.

  Moy’s deed lay somewhere and he needed it sooner, rather than later. However, his search turned up nothing. He started to set his grandmother’s bedchamber back the way he found it when he spied a pair of her woolen hose draped out of her large wall chest. Perhaps, I will have Greer delegate this duty to an upstairs maid.

  Stepping back into the empty corridor, he grit his teeth. “No deed. Satan’s bollocks!”

  Ian tried to ignore the niggling feeling at the back of his mind, that Argyll and h
is nephew were plotting behind his back. Nay, he must not jump to conclusions. Not yet, anyways. It was hard not to miss the stalwart confidence of his adversary, and the man’s confidence exuded far beyond the limits this day. For Campbell to come boasting of the unpaid debt—when the man himself witnessed it being finalized—told him there was more to this visit, of that Ian was sure. Had his grandfather not repeatedly spoken the words to warn them of the Campbell’s and the English? Aye, he did. They would forever be embedded into his heart and soul. As unsettling the thought was, Ian knew treachery was afoot and he would have to tread with care until Argyll revealed his true intentions.

  “If I could just get my hands on the bloody deed.” He grounded out.

  No one would have dared touch the document, let alone remove it all together…and without his permission. No one, except Mo Daol.

  For the time being, he needed to rid himself of Campbell. However, it was only a matter of time before he returned and no doubt, this time it would be with Argyll in the lead. The MacLaine’s were a peaceable clan and fought only if the need arose, and the last thing he needed in his inaugural year as laird was to go up against Argyll, or worse, King Billy.

  Ian placed his hand on the back of his neck to ease the building tension, and brainstorm the deed’s whereabouts.

  The gruff sound of Greer’s voice came from behind him. “Are ye all right, lad? Ye look as though ye swallowed a bad batch of Archie’s whisky.”

  He shook his head toward the woman who helped finish raising him. “Nay, I seek something that is determined to stay hidden!”

  Greer did not even flinch at his gruff tone, but he felt compelled to apologize to the older woman. “I’m sorry, Greer. Damon Campbell was here and has put me in a foul mood.”

  It came to him then. Perhaps Greer knew where Mo Daol moved the deed. “Greer, I need to get my hands on the deed.”

  There was a strange look on Greer’s face when she replied, “The deed?”

  “Aye. I need it. Do ye know if Mo Daol has moved it?”

  Several moments passed before Greer gave him a look of understanding and asked. “Och! Have ye lost it lad?”

  Ian shook his head at the older woman.

  “Tis that why I saw ye coming from your grand mum’s bedchamber? I have naught a notion what ye want it for lad, but ye will not be finding it in there. I just straightened it yesterday.”

  In a keep this large, Ian did not want these recent troubles with Campbell to go farther than the walls of his grandparent’s chamber. He re-opened the thick portal and motioned for her to precede him inside. When she acceded, Ian followed her and closed the door behind them.

  “I must speak to ye in confidence, and it must not go beyond these walls. Do ye understand?”

  “I have served your grandparents for nigh on two score. Ye know my loyalty lies with them, so why all tis secrecy?”

  Ian brought a hand behind his neck and rubbed the taut muscles that intensified with each passing moment. The last thing Ian wanted to do was to make Moy’s situation sound dire. However, it would be soon enough if he did not produce the deed.

  Choosing his words carefully, he said. “Moy’s deed. I need it, however it is no longer in the coffer in my study. Mo Daol is the only one who would dare remove it. Did ye see anything, Greer? Think Greer.”

  “Aye. I did see her in yer study just before she departed to visit with yer family at Dunnideer. Now keep ye in mind, Laird. I did no’ know what she be up to, but I did see her fiddling with the Tir Nam Famhair” Greer spoke the single word, as she shook her head. “Unless…”

  Patience was not one of his virtues, and for the woman to question him, as though it were a cat and mouse game was becoming tiresome.

  Ian breathed a sigh of frustration, and a bit of relief that he would soon have the parchment in hand to solve the matter with Argyll. In a tone that told of his waning patience he said “Unless, what?

  Not quite understanding the situation Greer shrugged her should. “Mayhap she placed the deed within the folds of that old book of hers. It would no’ be the first time she placed something of import within its folds. Yer Da’s baptism papers, bits of dried heather that yer grandda gave her years ago.”

  The moment the statement left the woman’s mouth, Ian flew down the stone spiral staircase and to his study. His eyes locked with the empty space above the hearth. The revered place the Tir Nam Famhair. The deed was gone and now Mo Daol’s beloved tome. At that very moment, Ian knew he had bigger problems than the King of England to reckon with. Once Mo Daol got wind of his questions about the book, she would be on him like fleas on a hound.

  With that thought, Ian muttered under his breath “Bugger me.”

  Greer chuckled from behind him. “Of course, it is quite possible yer grandmum took the book with her to Dunnideer.”

  Ian’s murderous stare did not even phase the middle-aged maid. “And why would she be doing that, Greer?”

  The maid’s silvery eyes twinkled. “Why? In all yer years, lad…has yer grandmum needed a reason for anything she does?” She put up a hand to halt is retort. “I will answer for ye. Nay! Hettie MacLaine does what she pleases, but it is always done for a good reason. Don’t ye fash none. Nay doubt that deed is safe and sound between those crusty, old pages of the Tir Nam Famhair.” Greer pushed back a gray lock of hair that had slipped from her kertch and left.

  Aye, he needed to get the book back. Once it was back at Moy, he could put this issue with Argyll to rest. His grandmother had traveled south to Dunnideer for her annual visit with his mum and siblings. Why she saw the need to take the Tir Nam Famhair along on her trip, he did not know. This was not the first time he questioned Mo Daol’s strange mannerisms, and there was no doubt in his mind it would not be the last. The latter caused a twitch at the corner of his mouth, though he did not know why he should find it so mirthful considering the circumstances.

  He had not expected Mo Daol’s return until after Samhain. Ian knew sending a missive to Dunnideer would no doubt raise his grandmother’s curious nature, and keeping his recent troubles with Argyll secret would be difficult.

  “Och, t’would be an easier to take a fresh bone, from a starved hound than get the Tir Nam Famhair from her without asking questions.”

  There was no other choice, a missive must be sent and let things unfold as they may. There was reluctance in his steps, as he rounded the heavy wooden desk that once belonged to his grandfather. Ian pulled back the chair, sat, and gathered his inkwell, quill, and parchment. Sending a missive with a couple of his men was the quickest way of having the tome returned. However, the issue was Mo Daol. His sudden interest in a book that his grandmother treasured would raise many questions. Questions Ian was not sure he was ready to divulge.

  It took Ian several attempts to choose the proper words. He wasted five pieces of the expensive parchment, before finding the right words. No matter how he worded the missive, his brother, Bran and Mo Daol would find out about his recent troubles with Argyll. Ian slid the draw to his left open, and removed the sand that would seal the ink and his fate.

  After several moments, he blew the remnants of the sand from the paper. Ian looked on as a drop of hot, red wax fell onto the parchment. Each drop brought him one-step closer and sealed his grandmother’s return. When there was a good amount of the liquefied wax, he removed the ring from the smallest finger on his right hand and embossed it with the MacLaine seal. The ring symbolized his relegated position as Laird of Lochbuie. A document with his signature held no merit without the MacLaine seal.

  Ian was the product of Hector and Hettie MacLaine’s, the only child of their son, John MacLaine. Ian was only twelve summers when his father had been cut down by cattle reivers.

  Once the letter was finished and sealed, he left the study to find Seamus. A task that turned out to be easy, since the man sat on a wooden bench at a trestle table, as he flirted shamelessly with Glenna, a buxom kitchen wench.

  Seamus stood, as he approach
ed. Ian turned toward Glenna. “Excuse us, lass.”

  She nodded her head and scurried to the stairwell that would lead to the kitchen above.

  Ian looked to his captain. “Seamus, I need ye and Nat to travel to Dunnideer with a missive.”

  Wanting clarity on Ian’s remark, he responded. “Ye want us to leave straightway?”

  Ian handed the rolled message toward the other man. “Aye. Ye are captain of my guard, but that is not why I have entrusted ye with this task. We were lads together and ye are my best friend, Seamus…I trust no other than ye to the task.”

  “Aye, we are m’laird…and got our ears boxed on many an occasion by Mo Daol.” Seamus gave Ian a sheepish grin.”

  The corner of Ian’s mouth lifted at Seamus’s musings. “Another time my friend. When ye return from this task, and Argyll’s greed has been kept at bay we shall have a dram and talk of our youth.” Ian stretched a hand out and Seamus took the missive. “As ye can already assess, this task involves Argyll’s claim against Moy. Prepare to leave for Dunnideer posthaste, and avoid any unnecessary delays.”

  Seamus secured the missive within his tunic. “I shall not let ye down, Ian.”

  Ian nodded, but before dismissing him to the task he said, “Make sure ye and Nat partake of the meal as it is ready to be served. Fill your bellies and perhaps the first part of this journey will be less grueling.” Ian ran hand through his dark hair. “It will be a long, hard ride and I would have ye take advantage of each moment of sunlight. It is imperative this missive reach Dunnideer soon.” Seamus patted his chest where he secured the missive and gave him a grave nod, and Ian knew he understood the significance of the task.