Cottage in the Mist Read online

  "Lily, take the ticket. I'll deal with the fallout. I can handle it." As if to prove the point, the phone rang again, and Valerie answered, her clipped voice putting a quick end to the attempted conversation on the other side. "See? I'm good at it." She smiled, her gaze locking with Lily's. "Darling, go to Scotland. Let your heart heal."

  Lily closed her hand around her father's wedding ring, the cool metal giving her strength. "All right, then. I'll go."

  CHAPTER 2

  Scotland – 1468

  THERE WAS DANGER. He could feel it all around him. Fire raced up the wooden steps that led up to the door leading into the tower. And he could see more flames thrusting out of the windows, black smoke spiraling into the windswept sky. He ran up the steps, but was stopped by one of the tower's guards.

  The man raised his claymore, his eyes narrowed as the deadly blade began its descent. Bram pivoted and then swung his own weapon, confused as to where he was and why he was fighting. The man fell, only to be replaced by another. Bram called to him, some part of him recognizing a face that still seemed a stranger, but this man, too, seemed intent only on stopping him.

  His mind argued that nothing made sense, even as his heart screamed that he must get inside. If he did not, then that which was most precious to him would be lost. He knew this as surely as he drew breath.

  With a twist and a parry he drew the man off, and then made quick work of him, dashing through the opening of the tower, down the hallway and into the great hall. A place meant for comfort, it offered only danger now. It too was full of flame, and lined with enemies.

  Again the thought brought him up short. But there was no time to try and understand. Fear pushed him forward. He surged into the fray, moving toward the stairway at the far end of the room. It gave access to the chambers above and it was there he knew he would find her.

  His brain recoiled. Find who? But his heart urged him forward, and he fought his way to the bottom of the steps, then ran up them, taking them two at a time, knowing the other swordsmen were fast on his heels.

  At the top, he froze for a moment, the thick smoke disorienting him. The fire was much worse here. Pushing forward, he breathed through the heavy wool of his plaid, keeping his sword at the ready. The first chamber was empty. As was the solar and the chamber beyond it. But then from down the narrow hallway he heard a cry.

  Heart thundering in his ears, he ran through the flames and smoke. A timber fell, glancing off of his shoulder, and he hardly felt it, the need to find her overriding everything else.

  He called for her, his voice swallowed by the raging fire. Another timber fell, and a wall collapsed. He jumped across a gaping hole in the floor, landing hard, but still moving. The doorway ahead was edged in flames, the smoke and fire roiling like some kind of evil spirit.

  Ignoring the danger, he sprinted forward, bursting through the opening, again calling her name.

  And then, through the shimmering heat, he saw her, tied to the bedpost, her long hair unbound, her green eyes wide with fear.

  A shadow moved behind her. Rage threatened to engulf Bram. "God's blood, what have you done?"

  "Naught but what you deserve," came the answer. Other shadows moved. He was surrounded.

  "Go back," the woman screamed.

  But he pushed onward, stumbling as still more of the burning tower fell. "I'll no' leave you." His words were whipped away by the inferno surrounding them. But he knew that she had heard him. The men from the shadows rushed him, but still he pushed forward, his entire being focused on her.

  There were only a few feet separating the two of them now. There was bruising on her face and a trickle of blood at the corner of her beautiful mouth, and he swore there would be hell to pay.

  But first, he had to free her.

  He reached out a hand, but as he did so the floor in front of him collapsed, crashing to the ground below. One moment he was looking into her eyes and the next, she was gone.

  "Wake up, lad," a voice called urgently.

  Bram shook his head, his mind still filled with smoke and fire. The rubble threatening to bury him. He had to reach her…

  "Bram, I beg you. Wake now, for they're coming. And they'll no' spare you."

  Someone was pulling him back, the images fading, the dream dissipating into the night. Bram struggled from sleep, his heart still pounding. "I'm awake. What in God's name has gotten into you?" He stared up into the ruddy face of his friend Robby Corley.

  Robby, the Macgillivray horse master, wasn't a man easily frightened, but there was fear present now, and Bram's brain cleared in an instant.

  "The tower has been o'er run. They're coming to kill you," Robby said.

  "That canna be." Bram shook his head, wondering if he'd woken from one nightmare into another. "Where are my father's guard?"

  "They're either dead or they have thrown their lot in with the invaders."

  "And my father?"

  His friend's eyes cut to the floor. "He's dead."

  Pain ripped through Bram, his hands clenching with the enormity of what Robby was saying. "Dead."

  "Aye." His friend nodded with finality. "And so will you be if you dinna go now."

  Seamus Macgillivray had not suffered fools lightly, and he'd not be pleased if his only son were to let grief overcome his duty to the clan. With a grimace, Bram rose from the bed and wrapped himself in his plaid, still struggling to understand what was happening. "You're telling me that no one at Dunbrae remains loyal to my father—" He paused, the hard truth sinking in. "—Or to me."

  "Nay, there are a few left." Robby lifted his chin, his brown eyes steady. "Me for one. But that is no' enough. Come now. We must go."

  Bram grabbed his sporran and his claymore, following Robby to the door.

  "We'll take the front stairs. They'll no' expect us there."

  "But surely there will be guards," Bram protested, even as he knew it was the right move. In battle, surprise was everything.

  "Aye," Frazier Macbean, his father's captain, agreed as he rounded the corner. The three men stood for a moment, Frazier eyeing the younger men's arms. "I havna' a weapon," he said. "I barely got out of my chamber alive."

  Robby drew his dirk and tossed it to the man. "'Tis all I have, but 'tis better than naught."

  The older man deftly caught the knife and the three of them ran along the corridor. They could hear the clanking of footsteps on the back stairs behind them. Rounding a corner, they pulled to a stop as Bram took a look out onto the landing. Below, the great room was empty, but he could hear the sounds of men moving in the corridor that led to the kitchens.

  Silently, they made their way down the stairs and through the great room, pausing in the hallway outside the door.

  "There'll be men outside, surely," Robby whispered. "Take my clothes. And I'll wear yours." He was already pulling off his plaid and the course linen shirt that he wore.

  Frazier nudged Bram. "Hurry, lad. The boy is right, ye've a better chance o' makin' it out of here if yer dressed as a common man."

  Robby Corley was anything but common. But as the horse master, he wore only a muddy brown plaid and his shirt. Bram pulled his own plaid free and slipped out of his fine linen, quickly donning Robby's clothing. "I'll wear your clothes but you canna wear mine. To be seen in them would mean certain death."

  His friend held his gaze for a moment, jutting his chin out in stubborn defiance.

  "I need you alive, Robby. At the moment, I've got more enemies than friends, and I'll no' lose another this night."

  "So be it." Robby shrugged, pushing the plaid behind a barrel, clad now only in the linen shirt and his trews. "But you stay behind me. I'll no' have your blood on my hands either."

  Bram allowed himself a smile. "Agreed. We all survive this night."

  Moving low, they made their way along the shadowed walls of the tower's courtyard. The main gate was well guarded. And the only chance they had to escape was through a small gate in the back wall. Bram prayed that the key was
where his father had always kept it.

  As they rounded the final corner, a great commotion sounded on the steps in the front of the tower.

  "They've discovered you're gone," Robby said, pushing Bram forward, even as he raised his claymore. "Go now. We'll stay here and deal with anyone who tries to follow."

  Frazier nodded his agreement.

  "No." Bram shook his head. "If they think you helped me escape, they'll kill you both for sure."

  "Mayhap, but I swore an oath to serve and protect the laird of Dunbrae, and from where I'm standing that man is you." Robby's tone brooked no argument.

  "But I'll need you," Bram said, his gaze locking with his friend's then cutting to the other man. "Both of you. God's blood, if I'm going to fight this, I'll need all the men I can get."

  "Then we'll convince them we're on their side." Frazier swung his fist, connecting with Robby's chin, showing surprising strength for one so old.

  "Now, what did you go and do that for?" Robby asked, whirling angrily on the man, his claymore raised.

  "So they'll believe I took your clothes." Bram laid a hand on his friend's arm. "You'll make sure Frazier comes to no harm?"

  "I'll do what I can." Robby shrugged, rubbing his chin, his gaze still angry. "Now go. Or it'll have all been for naught."

  Bram took one last look at the two men and the tower behind them. "I'll be back," he promised. "And we'll avenge my father's death together."

  The two men nodded, their expressions fierce, and, fighting a surge of emotion, Bram sprinted into the shadows, the noise behind him growing louder. Slipping behind the small stand of bushes that grew in front of the gate, he prayed that the invaders wouldn't know of its existence.

  For a moment he grappled with the pain of losing his father, his mind turning to the men he was certain were behind all of this.

  Comyns.

  He could think of no other enemy strong enough for an assault on the scale of this one. But even if he was right, someone still had to have betrayed them. Someone on the inside. He fought a wave of anger, pulling a loose stone out of the wall and reaching behind it for the iron key that opened the gate.

  His fingers hit cold metal and in a few moments more he'd unlocked the gate and pushed it open, slipping outside into the relative safety of the moonless night. His fist tightened on his claymore, his heart screaming for him to stay and fight. To avenge his father, here and now.

  What else was there for him to do?

  And somewhere deep in his mind, even as he moved back toward the tower, his rage building, a soft voice soothed him, the memory of a face floating through his mind.

  "Live," she whispered. "You must live."

  *****

  "You must be Bram Macgillivray," Katherine St. Claire said as she moved into the chamber off of the great room where he'd been taken to wait.

  Iain Mackintosh's wife was more beautiful even than the stories he'd heard, tall and regal with a heavy plait of golden hair coiled at the nape of her neck. Her smile was warm and welcoming, and for the first time in days, Bram felt himself relax.

  "I thank you for agreeing to meet with me." He stood and gave a terse bow, uncertain of the protocol. With his mother dead, there'd been no one to teach him the finer arts at Dunbrae.

  "And why wouldn't I? You're my husband's cousin, which makes you my family too." She motioned for him to take a seat and then sat across from him, her chin resting on her hands as she studied him. "I'm only sorry that it's me here to greet you and not Iain, for I suspect he's who you've really come to see."

  There was something melodic about her cadence. Different from the voices he heard daily in the Highlands. There were rumors that she'd come from a strange land. And people who even thought she was something more than human. But Iain loved her. And so, for that matter, did Bram's other cousin, Ranald Macqueen. And since the two men were the closest Bram had come to having siblings, he trusted their judgment.

  "I went to Tur nan Clach, but they told me that Ranald and Ailis were here." Ailis Davidson was Ranald's wife. Although he'd served as Iain's captain for a brief time, Ranald had inherited his wife's holding when they'd married.

  "And so they were," Katherine replied. "But Iain was called to Moy and Ranald and Ailis decided to accompany him." Moy was home to the Chief of Clan Chattan, Iain's uncle Duncan.

  "But you stayed here?"

  "I've just had a baby." Her smile grew wider. "And at the moment, neither Anna nor I are up to that kind of a journey."

  "Tis sorry I am then to have intruded." Bram made to rise. "If they're no' here, then I should take my leave."

  "Nonsense," Katherine said, waving him back into his seat. "Iain would kill me if I let you go."

  Again, her wording seemed a bit strange, but he was too grateful for the welcome to worry over it much.

  "So tell me what's happened," she said, her expression growing pensive. "We've heard about the troubles at Dunbrae. So I'm assuming that you're here to seek Iain's help."

  "Aye." He nodded. "How much do you know?"

  "Very little." She shrugged apologetically. "We're isolated here and so news is often garbled. Fergus told me this morning that there was some kind of coup."

  He shook his head, not understanding her words.

  "Sorry." She shook her head with a smile. "An uprising. He said there'd been bloodshed."

  "My father," Bram said, the pain still twisting in his gut. "The intruders killed him."

  "While you were at Dunbrae."

  Katherine St. Claire was more than a pretty face. Bram should have known that Iain would never have fallen in love with a fool. "Aye, and they tried to murder me in my bed."

  "But you managed to escape."

  "With the help of my friend Robby and my father's man Frazier. If no' for them, I wouldna be here now."

  "Do you know who it was who did this?" Katherine asked.

  "Nay. No' for certain. But if I had to wager I'd say it was Alec Comyn. There's no love lost between my father and his. And the bad blood between the clans goes back longer than I can remember. The Comyns and the Macgillivrays are sworn enemies."

  "But I thought a peace had been brokered."

  Bram nodded. His great uncle was the head of the Macgillivray clan, and he had held it with an iron fist, but the old man was beginning to soften with age. "There was an agreement. But clearly the Comyns have no' honored it."

  "And you think they're still looking for you?"

  "Aye. As long as I live, I'm the rightful heir. And Alec knows I'll fight for what is mine. But if I'm dead…"

  "Won't your great uncle have something to say about that?" she asked. "Shouldn't you have gone to him?"

  "My great uncle turned his back on my father years ago. I canna expect him to help me now."

  "Well, then you were right to come here," she said, resolve strengthening her voice. "Ranald and Iain both think of you as their brother. They'll be only too willing to aid you in regaining what you have lost."

  Bram nodded, thinking of his cousins. He was related to Ranald through his father and Iain through his mother. And because of that, when he'd been sent to foster at Moy, Ranald and Iain, only a couple of years older, had taken him under their wing. They'd been like brothers, dispensing equal parts of advice and mischief.

  "Aye," he said, pulling from his thoughts to focus on Katherine, "but they're no' here. And I canna put you and your bairn in danger."

  "I have quite a company of men at my disposal. Iain never leaves me without protection."

  Bram nodded, remembering that Katherine had been kidnapped not long ago. "I'd expect nothing less, but…"

  Katherine raised a hand to cut him off. "And if that's not enough security for you, I've also got fifteen of Ranald's men here as well. They came with Ailis and Ranald, but weren't needed in Moy. So they're here waiting to escort their laird and his lady home as soon as they return. Anyway, as you can see, we have more than enough men to guarantee your safety. So I'll not hear another word a
bout your leaving."

  Bram nodded, surprised at the relief that flooded through him. When he'd set out to find Ranald and Iain, he'd not considered the possibility that neither man would be at home.

  "They'll be back before you know it," Katherine said, reaching out to cover his hand with hers. "And in the meantime, I'll be glad of the company."

  "But if my enemies were to come here, looking for me, then it would be dangerous for you. Even if ultimately your men held the day, there would still be a battle. I canna put you in that kind of danger."

  Katherine considered his words, then nodded resolutely. "Very well, then we won't house you here. But I'll still see you safely under my watch. There's a cottage just across the river. It belonged to a crofter, but he died recently. So the place is empty. And it's tucked away in a stand of trees. No one would ever think to look for you there. I'll have Fergus assign men to keep watch. Then when Iain and Ranald come home, the three of you can figure out how to get your holding back."

  She rose and he followed suit.

  "But before you go," she said, "let's get a hot meal in you. And I'll have Flora put together a basket of food to take with you—along with anything else you might need." She glanced at his threadbare clothing. "Like maybe a clean shirt and a plaid. If you dress as a Mackintosh, you'll be that much less likely to be discovered."

  Bram nodded, grateful for her foresight. There was something comforting in handing oneself over to a woman. For a moment, his mind filled again with the memory of haunted green eyes, but he shook his head. There was no time now for dreams.

  Instead, he'd fill his belly and then hunker down to wait for Iain and Ranald. Katherine had the right of it. He'd survived the horror at Dunbrae for one reason only—for the chance to avenge his father and take back that which was rightfully his.

  CHAPTER 3

  Duncreag, Scotland – present day

  "SON OF A …" Lilly slammed on the brakes, swallowing the rest of the curse as she jerked the wheel to the right, the rental car shuddering as she struggled for control. Directly ahead, a startled sheep emerged from the mist, its mouth open in bawling protest as both machine and animal came to an abrupt halt.