Highland Thunder (Isle of Mull Series) (22 page)

“What?” she cried as she pushed with all her might. Then a horizontal shadow caught her eye. Her legs threatened to give way as she glimpsed the wooden plank at rest in its braces. Someone had barred the door.

They were trapped.

Chapter 23

Brenna pounded the door with her fists.

“Open this door,” she screamed over and over again.

“She is
my
daughter. Mine!”

Her own pleas mingled with Bridget’s. Together their voices carried into the yard but in Brenna’s heart, she knew no one would hear. The isolation of her home ensured their capture. Her knuckles shone red with blood as she continued to thrash against the wood, but the door withstood the battering without a chip or even a creak to show for their effort.

“Nellore,” Brenna screamed.

Her will would have stopped at nothing, but the pain, which tore down the length of her arms and mingled with the blood dripping from her battered fingers, demanded she quit.

“Let us go,” Brenna whimpered as she collapsed to her knees. “Please, I am begging you. Let us go.”

But then fury and terror surged through her once more, and she forgot her pain and resumed her struggle.

“Do not touch her. Do not touch my child. Nellore!”

She did not know for how long she screamed, but suddenly she was aware of someone shaking her.

“Brenna, stand up,” Bridget snapped.

Slowly, Bridget came into focus, and Brenna silenced her screams. She was spinning and panting, unable to catch her breath. Bile rose in her throat at the image of her daughter lying on her pallet while bony, white fingers pulled back her covers.

“Oh God,” Brenna cried as her stomach wretched all over the floor.

“Enough, Brenna,” Bridget shook her again. “Stand up and take hold of the wood.”

Brenna looked up to find Bridget holding a long, thick plank.

“We are going to ram the door. Grab that end,” Bridget shouted, her eyes burning with steel fire.

Brenna scrambled to her feet and took hold at the fore of the ram.

“At my command,” Bridget shouted. “Now.”

They charged forward with all their might, shrieking their fury. The plank rammed the door with such force, they rebounded back and slammed into the ground.

“Again,” Bridget shouted.

Brenna heaved herself onto her feet and once again took hold of the plank.

“Now,” Bridget commanded.

The shock of the impact reverberated through Brenna’s arms as they were once again thrown back from the door.

“Again,” Bridget cried.

Over and over again, they drove the plank into the door, straining under its weight. Still, they did not give up. At Bridget’s command, they charged forward once again. Ricocheting back, the air rushed from Brenna’s lungs, but a sound like sweet music tore through the barn—the sound of splintering wood.

After she landed, Brenna’s eyes flew open ready to behold the shattered door, and yet it stood strong and impenetrable as ever. Bridget crawled forward on her knees and lamely lifted a piece of broken plank.

“’Tis no use,” Brenna sobbed.

“Do not give up, Brenna,” Bridget said, grabbing her by the shoulders. “Never give up.”

“What are we to do now?”

“Scream,” Bridget said as she started beating the wall with a stick. “Make noise. Whether our men return or the watch draws close, the sooner we are heard, the sooner help reaches Nellore and Anna. Scream!”

Terror, desperation, and a pain the likes of which Brenna could never have conceived fueled the cries which tore over and over again from her throat. Her cries fused with Bridget’s. It was a shrill choir that rent the air in search of salvation.

***

Frustration fueled Duncan’s ire. Despite the passing of several hours, their search of the caves proved fruitless. At one moment, both Duncan and Ronan thought they might have found the intruder’s hiding place. Grunting noises had poured forth from deep within the shadows of a long cave, but as they barreled inside with torch and blade in hand, the light revealed young lovers in the midst of a clandestine affair.

Both scurried into their clothing as a string of apologies and explanations flew from their lips, clearly terrified to be caught in the act by their laird.

“Better me than your parents or Father Colin for Christ’s sake,” Ronan said. “But let it be a lesson to you all the same. Now, be gone from here.”

As they fled from the mouth of the cave, Duncan turned to Ronan. “The sun begins its descent. We must turn back. We cannot leave them to face the darkness alone.”

“Aye,” Ronan agreed. “And I shall stay at Brenna’s tonight. If the prowler comes, we shall be ready.”

They rode hard against the setting sun, Ronan in the lead. When Ronan reined in his horse, it was so unexpected Duncan barely kept his seat as he maneuvered around him.

“God’s blood, Ronan, you almost killed me.”

“Quiet,” Ronan growled as he trained his ear in the direction of Brenna’s hut.

Sounds drifted on the wind, muffled, subdued by distance and barely distinguishable.

“Come on,” Duncan urged. “We must get closer.”

Then a piercing note sounded above the others. Both men knew the sound. A woman’s scream impacted a warrior’s heart like nothing else. Duncan kicked his horse and charged forward. His only thoughts were of Brenna.

As they drew closer, the screams continued, hoarse and anguished. Each one felt like a knife laying open his heart. Images flooded his mind, each one worse than the last. Torture, fire—what manner of foe brought forth such agony from Brenna’s lips?

The final strides over the slope that would at last reveal Brenna’s hut passed like a slow dream as though time stood still.

“The barn,” Ronan shouted, his eyes shining with amber fury.

Duncan slid from his horse before the beast could stop. Screams split the darkness as night ascended.

“Brenna,” he yelled as he threw off the plank. Ronan heaved the door open. Then they both barreled inside.

Arms tangled around his neck as Brenna shook with sobs.

“Are you hurt?” he said. “I did not know what to think. I thought I was losing you.”

Brenna clung to Duncan, but he yanked free from her grip and cupped her face in his hands. Torment and fatigue ravaged her eyes as she choked out, “Nellore. Anna.”

Both men turned then and raced toward the hut. Throwing open the door, Duncan charged inside. Anna lay faced down on the floor, unmoving.

“Anna,” Ronan cried as he pulled his daughter into his arms.

Duncan whirled around, calling for Nellore. Her pallet laid empty and the covers askew.

“Nay,” he roared as he picked the table up and with a crash it shattered against the wall.

He turned toward the doorway where he met Brenna’s hard gaze.

“She is gone,” she said.

“Aye, Brenna.”

Brenna gripped the door frame. Her stark pallor gleamed in the darkening hut. Duncan wrapped his arm around her to catch her fall, but she shook her head and drew in a deep breath.

“I will not weaken,” she gritted as she knelt by Anna’s side.

Just then Bridget appeared at the door. “Anna?” she said, looking to Ronan.

“She lives. She has been rendered unconscious,” Ronan said.

Bridget closed her eyes and inhaled deep relief, but then her eyes snapped open as she thrust her hand out for all to see. “I found this just over the slope, heading toward the coast.”

“’Tis the rag baby Jamie gave her,” Brenna exclaimed as she grabbed the figure and held it close. “She had it when she slept. She must have dropped it.”

“Barricade the door until Anna wakes and then ride to the keep,” Duncan said. Then he pulled Brenna into his arms. “I will find her. Do you hear me? I will find her.”

“She is everything to me, Duncan,” Brenna said as she stared past him into the darkness.

He pulled her close and rested his forehead against hers. Stricken blue eyes met his.

“I will not fail you, Brenna,” he said. Then he turned and without hesitation, he went out into the night.

Chapter 24

Darkness settled over the land as they once again raced over the sloping earth toward the cavernous shore. A cloudless sky revealed the ubiquity of the stars and a bright half-moon cast enough light to aid their quest.

As grass gave way to rocks, they dismounted and trekked down the steep ravine to the rocky coast below. Having searched most of the caves on the northern shore, they headed east toward a cave carved into cliffs rising from a bank separated from the isle by an inlet of swiftly moving water.

They scanned the opposite shore across the waves and spotted a small boat moored near the cave. Its bow was touched by moonlight, but the rest of the vessel hid in shadow. With grim determination, Duncan dove into the water. The current fought to pull him under but to no avail. He wrenched free from the black swells and emerged to join Ronan on the other side.

Soundlessly, they traversed the rocky shore to examine the small vessel. It was battered and rank.

“What is that smell?” Ronan whispered.

Duncan shook his head. He could not imagine the foulness of a woman that could smell so putrid. He suddenly began to doubt his conviction in her humanity. Mayhap, she was some fey creature after all.

He strained his neck to see the ceiling of the cave, which was nigh the height of three men, but its passage was narrow. He entered and all at once, his senses were assaulted with a thick, fetid odor. Motioning, for Ronan to follow, he unwrapped the top of his plaid and used it to shield his face from the foul air. The smell was overwhelming and inescapable. His leather boots were lined with holes to allow water to drain should the need arise, but now waste and mud oozed into the openings, adding to his disgust. The deeper they walked into the cave the worse the smell became. At his rear, he heard Ronan retch.

The tunnel continued to narrow, but Duncan glimpsed light up head. He shimmed along with his back pressed tightly against the cliff wall, taking great care not to lose his footing or face falling into the filth clogging his boots. A new wave of nausea battered his stomach, but he swallowed the bile that rose in his throat. The light was getting closer. It cast shadows on the tall ceiling above, which shifted like banshees adrift in the deep.

He froze as a terrified sob cut the silence and twisted his heart.

Nellore was calling for her mama.

“Nellore,” he shouted as he hastened through the last of the cramped passage, sidling as fast as his size and bulk allowed. He burst through the narrow divide into a towering alcove alight with candles. The fire illuminated the deep, tall cave with an orange glow, and as the sea breeze tunneled into the cave’s belly, it danced with the flames, causing a swirl of shadow to creep ghostly fingers across the cavern ceiling. First, his eyes settled on Nellore who sobbed harder when she saw him, wriggling against the filthy arms that squeezed her tightly. Then his eyes moved from Nellore to the villain who held her captive.

She truly was a monster. Stiff, filth coated hair hung in front of a face shadowed with dirt and barely visible beneath the hood of a tattered cloak. She was like death resurrected. Her stench of waste and rot made him gag even while he held his stance firm.

She recoiled back against the cave wall. Her body shuddered and trembled, but her long, boney fingers held fast to Nellore. The fear in Nellore’s eyes wrenched his heart, but he stayed his ground not wishing to underestimate the feral creature before him.

“Duncan,” Ronan said in a hush toned. “’Tis too narrow for me to pass. I can go no further.”

“’Tis better that way,” Duncan said as he slowly crouched to the ground.

The woman began to scream as she cowered into the corner, crushing Nellore against her soiled robes. But then her head jerked up, the motion pushing her hood back, and he met wide, green eyes sunken amid purpling flesh.

Recognition shot through him like a bolt of lightning, knocking him off his heels. He remembered the girl he encountered on the mountain with long, silky brown hair and bright green eyes. He remembered the seductive sway of her hips and the lush fullness of her lips, and then he remembered the vicious light in her green eyes as she lashed out for his throat with her dagger. His quickening heart thundered in his ears as he stared into knowing eyes.

“Davina?”

A slow grin stretched across teeth beginning to show signs of rot.

“’Tis you,” she whispered. “You are the man I found on the mountain. You gave me this child.”

Long fingers stroked Nellore’s hair as she crooned fragile notes like a dark lullaby, but her eyes never left Duncan’s.

“I did not give you that child. You’ve stolen her,” Duncan said as he stood to his full height and drew closer. He could not believe the transformation from the beauty on the mountain to the dark creature standing before him, starved and covered in her own waste. Madness had ravaged her beauty. She scrambled further from him, and he noticed her foot was twisted like it had broken and then healed with the bone in the wrong place. She cowered, burrowing inside her cloak with Nellore, but then a quiet chuckle crept from the folds, chilling him to his bones.