The Laird of Blackloch (Highland Rogue #2)

Chapter 16

Eilean Dubh

February 22, 1757

T he creak of her bedchamber door pulled Sarah from sleep. Rolling over, she opened her eyes, blinked, and watched Isla creep into the room. Bandit, who’d spent the night in Sarah’s bedchamber, greeted the maid with a thump of his tail on the hearthrug, but Isla ignored him as she stirred up the coals and threw a few logs into the grate.

As Sarah pushed herself up against the fat, feather-down pillows, she swept her tangled hair from her eyes. Judging by how cold and dark the room was, she guessed it was either early, or the weather was inclement, or both. When Isla pulled back the curtains, weak gray light filtered in through the diamond panes. The morning appeared to be perfectly matched to Sarah’s desolate mood.

“Is Black here?” she asked in a voice hoarse with sleep and too much weeping. She didn’t expect him to be. After their disastrous tryst, she’d heard him slam the door when he left.

Isla approached the tester bed. “Nae, miss. He took the coracle back and spent the night at Black—I mean, he isna here.” Her gaze wandered over Sarah and her brow knitted. “Are ye all right, miss? Can I get ye anythin’?”

Sarah tugged up her sagging, crumpled shift. She hadn’t bothered to change into a night rail last night. She’d been too upset and really, what would have been the point? “Just some hot water and a robe to begin with,” she said. “And then maybe a little breakfast.”

“Aye, miss.”

When Sarah slipped from the bed and crossed to the washstand, she caught sight of her face in the looking glass and grimaced. No wonder Isla had looked concerned; her eyes were puffy with exhaustion and tears, her cheeks as pale as milk. Thankfully, Isla helped her with her toilette without further comment and it wasn’t long before Sarah was ensconced before the blazing fire in her room with a plate of freshly buttered toast and a cup of tea.

As she fed the crusts of her toast to Bandit, Isla emerged from behind the silk screen with a bundle of clothes—her ruined red velvet gown and to her horror, Black’s dark blue velvet frockcoat.

A furious blush scalded Sarah’s cheeks. She’d completely forgotten that Black had discarded it last night. What must Isla think?

Clearly the worst, judging by the girl’s severe expression. Her mouth had flattened into a disapproving line and the look she shot Sarah was nothing short of accusatory as she crossed the chamber.

“Isla—”

“’Tis none of my business, miss.” Isla disappeared into the kitchen and Sarah let out a shaky sigh. It seemed the rest of her day was going to be filled with uncomfortable drawn-out silences and censorious glances.

“At least I have you, Bandit,” she murmured, caressing the unruly mane around the dog’s neck. “Perhaps you can help me come up with another way to escape.”

With a soft snuffle, the collie subsided onto the hearthrug and Sarah twisted the ribbon ties of her velvet robe as she stared into the leaping flames of the fire. Her plan to make Black care for her had failed, dismally. Not only had he worked out what she’d been up to, he’d all but called her a whore.

Closing her eyes against the prick of tears, a wave of shame and anguish washed over her as she recalled Black’s words and the anger in his eyes. The harsh bitterness in his voice as he’d rejected her yet again.

It made the memory of his glorious kisses and caresses hurt all the more. Yes, to her shame, she’d enjoyed everything they’d done. Black might want her in a physical sense—he’d definitely been aroused when she’d boldly cupped his manhood—but it was also abundantly clear that he despised her for how she’d debased herself and attempted to manipulate him.

But then, wasn’t it his fault that he’d pushed her into such an intolerable position? He’d said as much himself. However, when all was said and done, dwelling on who was to blame wasn’t going to help Sarah get away from Eilean Dubh. And considering the due date for the ransom was drawing ever closer, the imperative to escape was more urgent than ever.

But how?

The answer to Sarah’s seemingly insurmountable problem came from an unexpected quarter but an hour later.

After she’d dressed, Sarah retired to the solar, looking for something to do besides sitting in her bedchamber and fretting the day away. Sewing was not sufficiently engaging—it gave her too much time to brood—and she was not in the mood to play the spinet, so she perused the titles in the glass-fronted bookcase as she’d done a thousand times before. But this time, a thick book covered in tooled, dark green leather with distinctive gold lettering caught her eye: Architectural Antiquities of Scotland by J.M. Arbuthnot .

How odd she hadn’t noticed it before. Though it was not the sort of book she was usually drawn to, it might be sufficiently diverting to take her mind off her troubled thoughts, at least for an hour or two.

Pulling it from the shelf, Sarah took it to the window seat and began to peruse the musty, yellowed pages. There were fine, detailed etchings of many of the former royal residences of the deposed Scottish monarchy—the Royal Palace of Holyroodhouse, Edinburgh Castle, Linlithgow Palace, Falkland Palace, and Stirling Castle—as well as lesser-known manor houses and castles.

And that’s when she saw it, a few pages past a section on the tower house of Balmoral...a small lithograph entitled Blackloch Castle on the Shores of Loch Rannoch, Perthshire . Above the forest, behind the castle, a distinctive sharp peak jutted into the sky. It was the very same peak that could be viewed from all of Eilean Dubh’s west facing windows.

Heart pounding, Sarah rushed over to the window to compare the vista to the one in the book. And her breath froze in her chest.

Oh, my God. I know where I am.

With trembling fingers, Sarah turned the page and read a short paragraph on the history of Blackloch Castle. Phrases jumped out at her: the Lairds of Blackloch... Seat of the Chief of Clan MacIvor... Baron Rannoch... Vast holdings in and around Loch Rannoch and Rannoch Moor.

And farther on: Eilean Dubh, a ruined medieval tower house situated on an island at the western end of Loch Rannoch... Sacked by Fergus Campbell, the first Earl of Tay, in the fourteenth century...

Taymoor Castle, Malcolm’s ancestral seat was in Perthshire too.

Her knees like water, Sarah collapsed onto the window seat. Alexander Black was really Alexander MacIvor, she’d stake her life on it. Perhaps he was even Baron Rannoch. Hadn’t Isla called him “lord” on Sarah’s first morning here?

The MacIvors and the Campbells of Tay had apparently been feuding for centuries, but that didn’t explain why Alexander had such a personal grudge against Malcolm. It was the one last piece of the puzzle Sarah was burning to discover.

She stared at the picture of Blackloch Castle again for another full minute to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. Then, with the book in one hand and her skirts in the other, she rushed down the stairs to question Isla.

The maid was in the kitchen, kneading a large mound of soft, white dough on the oak table. She didn’t even look up when Sarah entered the room, just kept on pushing and folding and pummeling the dough as if her life depended on it. Perhaps Isla imagined she was pummeling her master’s Sassenach prisoner.

Sarah cleared her throat. “Isla, I need to speak with you about something most urgent.”

Isla turned the dough over and dusted it with a handful of flour. “What is it?” she asked in a tone as sour as the weather outside.

Sarah thrust the book in front of the maid’s nose and pointed to the picture of Blackloch Castle. “I found this. Your master is Alexander MacIvor, the Laird of Blackloch, isn’t he, Isla? Or should I call him Lord Rannoch? Eilean Dubh belongs to him too, doesn’t it?”

Isla’s cheeks turned bright red and she immediately stopped kneading the dough. “Where did you find that, miss?” she whispered.

“In the bookcase upstairs.”

“Och, no.” The maid closed her eyes and shook her head. “I…I dinna ken what to say.”

“Just tell me, Isla,” Sarah demanded, pulse pounding. “Am I correct?” Her voice cracked as she added, “Please. I have to know.”

Isla’s thin shoulders rose and fell with a shaky sigh as she sank onto a chair. “Aye, miss. Ye are. Aboot everything.”

The relief that washed over Sarah was so great, she nearly burst into tears. At long last she’d found out the true name of her captor and where she was. She dropped into a chair beside the maid and took one of her flour-dusted hands in hers. “Thank you.”

Isla shook her head. “I shouldna have said anythin’, miss. Lord Rannoch will be most displeased. But I canna...”

“You can’t what, Isla?”

“I canna do this anymore. Watch the master keep ye here, knowin’ that in less than two weeks he’s going to—” Isla bit her lip and twisted her apron with white-knuckled fingers. Fear flickered in her eyes before she looked away.

A sharp spike of alarm shot through Sarah. “What is Lord Rannoch going to do in two weeks, Isla?”

The maid lifted her gaze to Sarah’s face. “When Lord Tay doesna pay the ransom, and we know he willna because he canna, Lord Rannoch is going to...” Isla’s face crumpled. “Ye are not safe here, miss. And now that ye ken who the master really is, things are even worse. If he finds out ye know the truth aboot him...” Isla reached out and gripped Sarah’s hand. “I’m verra scared he will try to silence you.”

“Silence me? Do you mean he would…he would do me harm? Perhaps even—” Sarah halted. She couldn’t complete the terrifying thought.

“Aye, miss,” whispered Isla, her face pale with fear. “I think that’s exactly what he plans to do. But…but I ken where he keeps his flask of laudanum. And he kens ye canna swim... ‘Twould be easy enough for him to...” The maid’s throat convulsed before she all but wailed, “Oh, dinna make me say it!”

Oh, dear God. Ice-cold terror gripped Sarah’s heart. Would Alexander really render her unconscious then drown her? He’d promised over and over again that he’d never hurt her. Despite his harsh words and rejection last night, Sarah had even come to believe he cared for her a little.

But that was before I knew his true identity...

Sarah swallowed past a throat tight with fear. She must not panic. Whether she believed Alexander MacIvor really was a wolf in sheep’s clothing who was capable of murder was almost immaterial at this point. Because now she had an ally. And an opportunity.

“Isla, please help me escape.” Sarah squeezed the maid’s hand. “I promise not to tell anyone what I have learned about your master. I do not want retribution either. Just my freedom.”

Beneath her linen and lace cap, Isla’s brow furrowed with uncertainty. “What aboot yer Lord Tay? He is a powerful man.”

“I can assure you, I do not wish to marry Lord Tay anymore and I will never divulge who was behind my kidnapping. I know the earl is not a good man. In fact, I never want to see him again. I just want to return to Linden Hall, my home in Northumberland. I can pay you?—”

Isla shook her head. “Och, I dinna want yer money, miss. But aye, I will help ye.”

Oh, thank God. Unbidden tears welled in Sarah’s eyes, blurring her vision. “Thank you.’

“Och, dinna cry, miss. Ye dinna have time for that.” Isla stood and dusted off her hands. “I have a canny plan and the sooner we begin, the better. First, we must get ye into more suitable clothes. Ye have a long way to travel.”

“Of course.” Fear and excitement thrumming through her veins, Sarah returned to her bedchamber where Isla helped her change out of the apricot silk gown and matching embroidered pumps into her blue woolen riding habit, thick woolen stockings, and sturdy black boots. Black kid gloves and her black hooded cloak completed the ensemble.

“Now, miss. Ye must take something to eat with ye,” said Isla, ushering her back into the kitchen. “There’s bread and cheese on the table. And apples in the bowl on the dresser. And while ye are readyin’ that, I need to take care of MacLagan.”

Sarah took a clean linen napkin from the dresser to wrap up the food. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he willna let ye go, so I’m thinkin’ he might be needin’ a wee nap.” Isla disappeared into the small chamber Black—or rather, Lord Rannoch—slept in, and emerged a minute later with a silver flask.

Sarah recognized it at once and shivered. “You’re going to dose him with laudanum?”

“Aye.” Isla filled up a tankard with small beer then measured out a large spoonful before stirring it into the ale.

“That seems like rather a lot.” Aunt Judith sometimes took laudanum for her megrims but never more than a teaspoonful.

Isla shrugged. “MacLagan is a fair-sized man and we want to make sure he goes to sleep quick, and for a while. Ye need to be well away from here before Lord Rannoch returns. MacLagan is supposed to row over to the mainland at noon and pick him up.”

Noon? Sarah’s gaze darted to the mantel clock. That was only two hours away. Good Lord. Isla was right, about everything. She needed to make haste.

Sarah quickly cut off a hunk of bread and wrapped it up in the napkin. “I take it you’ll row me over to the shore?”

But Isla shook her head. “Nae, ye will have to row yerself.”

Sarah’s stomach tumbled over with panic. “But...I don’t know how to.”

“I’ll show ye.” Tankard in hand, Isla unlocked the door with the key she kept at her waist. “’Tis not verra hard. Ye will manage, miss.”

The door closed and Sarah looked about the room. Bandit sat by the fire, watching her with sad brown eyes. Did he sense she was leaving? “I’m afraid it’s time for us to say goodbye, my friend.”

The collie whined and sidled over to her, his bushy tail swishing back and forth. Tears in her eyes and a hard lump in her throat, Sarah ruffled his soft fur. “Thank you for keeping me company. I will never forget you.”

When Isla appeared in the doorway again, Sarah was ready. She’d packed her rations into a small willow basket, along with a number of items she hoped to barter in exchange for a horse somewhere along the way: the silver-backed mirror and matching brush; the ornate embroidery scissors and thimble from the sewing box; and a pretty comb decorated with seed pearls. Small, easily portable, and precious. Black—or should she say Lord Rannoch?—would hardly miss them.

“MacLagan was beginnin’ to nod off when I left him, miss.” Isla beckoned her over to the door. “So it’s best ye leave now.”

Her pulse racing, Sarah followed the maid down the stairs and sure enough, the footman was slumped on the ground in a relatively sheltered alcove in one of the courtyards ruined walls, empty tankard in hand and his chin on his chest, snoring away. Nevertheless, they both tiptoed across the flagstones, heading for the garden gate.

“Do you have the gate key, too?” murmured Sarah as they drew close.

The maid nodded. “Aye.”

Within seconds, the gate was unlocked and Sarah was outside, following Isla along the barely discernible pathway toward the stony shore. But trepidation quickly replaced exhilaration when Sarah saw how far she needed to row.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Isla,” she said, staring with longing at the far bank. A bitterly cold wind carrying the scent of rain ruffled the surface of the loch’s dark waters. “Won’t you reconsider and come with me?”

Isla shook her head. “Nae, I canna. It needs to look like ye escaped withoot any help. If I take ye, I will be on the wrong side.”

“But couldn’t you row back?”

“Aye, but then the boat would be on Eilean Dubh, which means Lord Rannoch will know I helped ye. I dinna want him to suspect I was involved in yer scheme.”

Sarah frowned. Isla spoke sense and of course she didn’t want the girl to get into any trouble. But why did a prickle of apprehension suddenly creep down her spine? Isla had clearly put some thought into all of this.

Sarah studied the serving girl’s face. She seemed earnest enough. Perhaps she simply wanted Black all to herself and that was why she was helping. It was clear the lass had developed a tendre for her handsome master. Regardless of Isla’s motive, this was Sarah’s first, perhaps only real chance to escape and she’d be foolish to throw away the opportunity.

“Very well,” she said. “But before you show me what to do, you must tell me where to go once I get to the other side.”

Isla pointed to the east. “Blackloch Castle is that way, miss, and farther on is the village of Kinloch. The folk there are loyal to the master so dinna head that way, whatever ye do. Ye must head west, in the other direction. Go into the woods and follow the shore until ye get to the end of the loch. Then just go straight across Rannoch Moor. There’s a small river that flows west so if ye follow it, ye canna go wrong. Ye only need to travel aboot three or four miles to get to the next village. There’s an inn where I’m sure ye will be able to borrow a horse and get directions that will take ye back to Edinburgh.”

“Are...are Lord Tay’s lands that way?”

Isla shook her head. “Nae, miss. ‘Tis Clan Robertson land. The Earl of Tay’s lands are over twenty miles away or more. Over the mountains to the south-east.”

Isla showed her how to work the oars and after Sarah placed her wicker basket in the boat, they both pushed it down the shingle into the water. Picking up her skirts and cloak so they wouldn’t get soaked, Sarah climbed in and once she was seated, Isla gave the boat another hard shove—and she was away.

The icy water lapped at the sides of the boat and Sarah had to close her eyes for a moment to tamp down a surge of panic. You won’t fall in. You’re not going to drown. The shore is not far. You can do this, Sarah Lambert.

Sarah gripped the oars tightly, leaned forward, then pulled them back toward her chest. The boat moved forward and she released the tight breath she’d been holding. The going was slow and more than once, one of the oars slipped and splashed in the water ineffectually, but within the space of a quarter hour, she’d reached the other side. When the prow of the boat slid onto the shingle, she almost cried with relief.

At long last, she was free.

As Sarah turned back to take one last look at Eilean Dubh, a squall of freezing rain hit so she dashed into the trees to take cover. It was only after she’d reached the end of the wood and gazed out upon the vast stretch of desolate moorland that she realized the strange gripping ache in her chest was…loss. She’d never see Alexander MacIvor again.

Pulling her cloak tightly about her body, she trudged along the rough ground along the river’s edge, her vision blurred by mizzling rain.

Not tears.

At least, that’s what she tried to tell herself anyway.

Alex cracked open his eyes and groaned when his valet, Gordon, drew back the heavy damask curtains, revealing a miserable day.

“Forgive me, milord, but you said ye did no’ wish to sleep away the whole day. That ye wanted to rise by eleven o’clock.”

“Aye, I did.” Alex dragged himself upright out of the tangled sheets and burgundy silk quilt, ruing the fact he’d drunk far too much whisky last night. His right temple throbbed dully and his mouth was as dry as the Sahara. However, the guilt roiling in his gut was the worst sensation of all. “Might I have some coffee, Gordon?”

“Of course, milord. I hope ye dinna mind, but I took the liberty of bringing up a tray already.”

“Excellent, man. Thank you.”

As Alex washed down his hearty breakfast of eggs, haggis, and toast with bitter black coffee, he mulled over how he would approach Sarah. He’d pushed her to the brink of desperation and had then grievously insulted her by suggesting she was prostituting herself. She had very good reason to hate him.

He prayed she didn’t.

He hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself—in fact, he hadn’t been able to for days—but he had truly begun to care for Sarah Lambert. Deeply. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on his part, but his gut told him that despite everything he’d done, she had begun to develop feelings for him too. Feelings that went beyond mere physical attraction. During the dark hours of the night, as he’d steadily worked his way through the bottle of whisky, he’d gone over everything she’d said to him during those fraught, passionate minutes in her bedchamber. Hadn’t she told him her heart raced just for him...? That she no longer cared for Tay?

He hadn’t believed her last night because his own guilt had made him blind to everything else. But oh, he did so want to believe her.

He had to make things right between them.

He had to say he was truly sorry.

He had to take a leap of faith and tell her the truth.

Those three thoughts were uppermost in his mind an hour later as Alex rode the short mile from Blackloch to Eilean Dubh. After he’d tethered his mount to an ancient pine, he made his way through the trees to the shore. MacLagan was supposed to meet him here at noon and ferry him back across to the island.

And then Alex frowned in confusion for there, on the shingle, was the rowboat…but there was no sign of MacLagan who’d always been reliable as clockwork.

What the hell? The skin at Alex’s nape prickled. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones.

He frantically scanned the surrounding shoreline—the coracle was still in the boatshed where he’d left it last night—then he retreated into the woods from whence he’d come, but there was no sign of the footman or Isla for that matter. Alex hadn’t seen either of them on the route from the castle to Eilean Dubh.

So why, in God’s name, was the rowboat on the wrong side of the loch?

Alex examined the ground at the edge of the woods—even though sleet and rain had been falling on and off all morning, there were still large patches of snow lying between the trees— and within the space of a few minutes, he found what he’d been looking for. A footprint in the muddy snow.

A small woman’s footprint made by a boot. And there were several more farther on.

Devil take him. They had to be Sarah’s footprints and she was heading west, straight toward Rannoch Moor. Alex’s chest tightened while a volley of questions slammed into his mind thick and fast.

How had she managed to escape? And how long had she been gone? She couldn’t have run off last night—she hadn’t a key to the garden gate and no boat to row across. And surely MacLagan and Isla would have come back to the castle early this morning to raise the alarm if they’d discovered that Sarah was missing.

But the rowboat was definitely here on the wrong side…

His heart in his mouth, Alex pushed the rowboat out, leapt in, and rowed himself across to the island. Sprinting through the trees he spotted that the gate was open, and on entering the courtyard he discovered MacLagan, out cold and virtually insensible. An empty tankard lay beside him.

Bloody hell.

Alex bolted up the stairs and as he’d expected, the door was wide open. Isla lay slumped on the table, a half-drunk cup of small beer beside her. He took a sip and grimaced. There was a distinct bitter after-taste. Laudanum . Christ, Sarah must have got her hands on his silver flask and laced the beer.

“Isla, wake up, lass.” Alex shook her gently. She moaned a little and her eyelids flickered but that was all.

Damn. He couldn’t waste time trying to rouse her and MacLagan. Or fetch extra help from Blackloch Castle.

Bandit nudged his leg with his nose, his tail wagging. “You’re going to have to help me find Sarah, lad.” Alex started for the door. “Come.”

Another freezing shower of rain gusted across the loch as Alex rowed with all his might for the shore. As soon as he mounted his horse, he kicked it into a canter. Bandit would keep up. He had no idea how much of a head start Sarah had on him, but he had to find her, and soon. Rannoch Moor was treacherous even in high summer. In this kind of weather, it was deadly.

If anything happened to Sarah Lambert, Alex would never be able to live with himself.