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  He started back when he saw Rupert, but, before he could retreat, Rupert had one arm around the man’s head, his hand stifling his cries.

  With his other hand he held the knife Duncan had given him against the man’s throat.

  “Ye’ll ken fine well yon skean dhu is such a trusty weapon,” he had said, handing it over before Rupert set out to Drumlanrigg. “Ye’ll not have me with ye and I dinna trust those MacLeans. A gun is all very well, but a knife disna need reloading. Stick it in yer belt. If ye were wearing the kilt, it’d go into yer stocking, but a belt will be best for it.”

  “Take me to where Mistress Celina is being held,” he hissed into the man’s ear. “Or this will see your end.”

  The man dropped the linen he was holding and his eyes rolled frantically as he tried to nod.

  Rupert transferred his grip from the man’s mouth to his arm.

  “One squeak out of you and you’re a dead man,” he growled.

  The servant gulped and started up the stairs.

  “My Lord, Miss Celina is not being held prisoner – she is free to come or go as she pleases.”

  Rupert saw this as a trick and kept hold of both the servant and his skean dhu as they climbed the stairs.

  He opened a door – no key was necessary – forcing the servant into the room.

  Celina was sitting in a wooden chair, gazing out of a window.

  No ropes bound her hands or arms, no shackles were on her feet and she was wearing the same clothes she had donned that morning.

  “You have been quick, Thomas,” she said without turning her head. “Put the clean linen on the bed and leave me.”

  The servant cleared his throat.

  “Miss – ” he stuttered, his voice a croak.

  Celina turned and for a moment seemed transfixed.

  “My – Lord?” she breathed as though he might be a phantom conjured up out of a Scottish mist.

  Then she ran over to him.

  “My Lord!” She held out both her hands to him. “I thought you were dead!”

  She reached out as though to check his wound.

  Rupert jerked his head back.

  “As you can see, I am very much alive. I thought the MacLeans had kidnapped you and you were being held here against your will.”

  She gazed at him, looking bewildered.

  “You mean – you came to rescue me?”

  “He thought the Laird had locked you up, miss,” gasped Thomas, trying to free himself from Rupert’s grasp.

  Rupert tightened his hold on the man’s arm.

  “I’ll not have you raise the alarm,” he said through gritted teeth.

  He could not make sense of the situation.

  If Celina was free, why was she here?

  “Well, Mistress Stirling,” he ground out. “What do you have to say for yourself? Did you come back here like a dog to its kennel?”

  Her eyes blazed in sudden fury.

  “How dare you question my presence here? Castle Beaumarche has been my home for more than ten years, where else should I go?”

  “Why to Lady Bruce. You claimed that she was your refuge and that you could no longer bear to live with the MacLeans. Or was that all a pretence? A ruse to make me think I could trust you?”

  Celina stared at him, her face white with shock.

  “Once you knew where the treasure was hidden, did you alert the MacLeans and lead me into an ambush this morning?”

  “No!” she cried, her voice deep with anger. “If that had been the case, don’t you think I would have taken them straight there, leaving you dead upon the moor?”

  “If I was dead, you would not have to hurry to find that cursed heirloom.”

  The servant made another attempt to free himself and Rupert, angry with a sense of terrible disappointment, suddenly forced him to the ground, whipped the cover off the bed and bound it round him, making a helpless parcel of the man.

  Then he gagged him with his own handkerchief and flung him onto the bed.

  “There, that will keep you from raising any alarm. Do I need to do the same to you?” he snarled at Celina.

  Every line in her body spoke of frustrated fury.

  “I could almost wish you had been killed and were lying dead by that road. Cannot you understand that I want nothing more than to bring this stupid feud to an end?”

  Suddenly a thought seemed to strike her.

  “What have you done with my uncle and Hamish?”

  “Nothing.”

  “They would not have allowed you to walk up here without a fight. I cannot imagine how you beat them off. Did you take them by surprise? Have you killed them?”

  She sounded distraught.

  He smiled grimly.

  “There was no fight, Celina. You say you want to end this feud by finding the heirloom. Will you then prove it by coming with me now?”

  She gulped hard and looked steadily at him.

  “If you can prove to me that you have not harmed my uncle and cousin – yes, I will.”

  “Then follow me.”

  Rupert started down the stone staircase and then he realised that Celina was not behind him, and turned back to find she was picking up the drawstring bag she had taken with her when they set out from Drumlanrigg.

  “Go before me,” ordered Rupert.

  Much as he wanted to, he did not feel he could trust Celina Stirling.

  “What about Thomas? We can’t leave him bound up like that.”

  “He will soon be able to free himself, as I did no more than wrap him up. Now – move on.”

  He spoke to her more harshly than he had intended and heard her take a quick inward breath.

  He followed her down the stone staircase.

  At the bottom he whispered,

  “If you look through the screen, you will see your uncle and cousin both sprawled across the table, happily inebriated!”

  She walked up to the screen.

  “They look dead!” she murmured, alarmed.

  Then she recoiled as two deafening snores assured her they were indeed very much alive.

  With a sound of disgust, she exclaimed,

  “No need for you to defend yourself against them for the moment! They will not stir for several hours.”

  “It’s not the first time you have seen them in this state, then?”

  “It is really their idea of how to celebrate. I – ” she hesitated for a few seconds, “I have always found it such a repellent habit. They see it as behaving like brave Scots Highlanders!”

  “The sounds from the kitchen suggest the servants are downing alcohol with equal delight, perhaps if we walk out of the main door, no one will stop us.”

  She looked curiously at him.

  “Did you not enter that way?”

  “Indeed not. I expected to find the place armed and ready to withstand an invading force. I came by the tunnel route. Jessie and the trap are where you left Prince.”

  “Ah, of course! I think, however, we don’t need to use it now. We will leave via the garden.”

  She walked past the two drunken men splayed over the table and Rupert followed her into another part of the house that must have been built later and had more charm than the Great Hall.

  Celina opened a side door onto a pretty garden and they struck out across a lawn and through a yew hedge.

  It did not take them very long to come to where the horse and trap had been left.

  As they reached it, Rupert placed his right hand on her shoulder.

  “Mistress Stirling, are you certain that you wish to accompany me to the island?”

  She looked back towards him, her eyes filled with an unidentifiable emotion.

  “I wish you could believe you can trust me.”

  He returned her gaze for a long moment, feeling he was almost drowning in those lovely eyes and wishing the moment could go on forever.

  Slowly he nodded.

  “I do want to trust you, Celina.”

  She closed her eyes
and gave a deep sigh.

  “I am glad,” she responded simply.

  He looked up at the sun, now low in the sky.

  “I think it would be best to leave the island until tomorrow. We will return now to Drumlanrigg.”

  Nothing else was said as they drove to Lady Bruce.

  “My dears,” she greeted them. “How glad I am to see you back. Have you found it?”

  “I regret, Aunt Margaret, that again my wretched and perverse uncle and cousin decided to mount an attack. Lord Fitzalan sustained a nasty injury and I think he should receive some medical attention.”

  Immediately Lady Bruce was all concern and called for warm water, clean towels and salve.

  But when they arrived, it was Celina who insisted on attending to his wound.

  “Nasty, but I think it will soon mend,” she advised as she bathed it.

  He flinched as, despite the gentleness of her touch, pain seared through his head.

  After cleaning the injury, she applied the salve.

  “No need for any bandage. It has stopped bleeding and air will assist the healing process.”

  “Now,” suggested Lady Bruce with great authority, “you must tell me exactly what has happened.”

  Rupert allowed Celina to tell the story.

  He leaned back in his chair and watched her face as she gave brief details.

  Could he really trust her?

  She had come with him willingly enough, but would she turn on him once they found the heirloom?

  If indeed they did find it?

  “Well, now, that’s quite a tale,” their hostess added once it was finished. “What a very stupid man your Uncle Robert is, Celina. I hope you told him just how stupid?”

  Celina nodded, a flush rising to her cheeks.

  “Lord Fitzalan looked as though – he was dead and Uncle Robert told me that he was. I – well – it was such a shock! It all happened so quickly. One moment we were trotting happily along and the next we were surrounded by MacLeans. I hit Uncle Robert with my fists and called him some dreadful names.”

  “I should think you did and in what state is he now? Did he try to stop you leaving this second time?”

  Celina shook her head.

  “When we returned to Beaumarche, he said that I must now know where the heirloom was hidden and should take them to it. I refused.”

  “You did not deny you knew its location?” Rupert quizzed her, again feeling that his trust in her was slipping away.

  Celina shrugged.

  “I preferred to tell him that I would not help in any way.”

  “But if you thought Lord Fitzalan was dead,” asked Lady Bruce, “what harm could there be in telling them?”

  A red flush appeared on Celina’s cheeks.

  “And let the MacLeans benefit so fully from their treacherous behaviour? I could not allow that and I am surprised, Aunt Margaret, that you think I might have.”

  Lady Bruce then inclined her head in apology and Rupert admired Celina’s spirit.

  If she spoke the truth, she was a remarkable girl.

  If only he could trust her!

  He realised that he wanted to do so above all else.

  “So when we reached Beaumarche and they called for alcohol, I took myself to my room. By the time Lord Fitzalan regained consciousness and had made his way to Beaumarche, Uncle Robert and Hamish had drunk so much they were out cold and he had no need to defend himself – thank Heavens.”

  “I am not one to countenance heavy drinking, but in this instance it has undoubtedly saved further bloodshed!”

  Lady Bruce looked at both of them.

  “What will you do tomorrow?”

  “Take another road to that loch,” answered Rupert promptly. “Can you find us a different way please, Lady Bruce?”

  The map was once again produced and his hostess showed him how he could take a more circuitous route – it would take somewhat longer, but it was one no one would be likely to suspect him of taking.

  “We should start even earlier tomorrow morning,” suggested Celina.

  Rupert looked up from the map warily.

  “You still intend coming with me?”

  “Of course. I mean to see a definite end to this feud.”

  He looked at her beautiful and determined face and knew he longed to be able to see her without this wretched question of trust hanging over them.

  He hoped fervently that the next day would see the end of their search.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Celina looked at Rupert and realised that, despite what he had said beside the trap that afternoon, he still did not altogether trust her.

  But in turn could she totally trust him?

  Had he really believed she was being held captive by her uncle and Hamish?

  Had he come to Beaumarche because he felt that he owed it to her for rescuing him from that dungeon?

  If he had wanted to kill her uncle and cousin he had ample opportunity with both of them in a drunken stupor, but she did not really think he was capable of such an act.

  She went upstairs to change her gown.

  It was a relief to escape Rupert’s scrutiny.

  He had such a strong face and such magnetic eyes.

  Celina knew she wanted to trust him and the steady gaze of those eyes.

  If only he trusted her!

  But how could he when her relations behaved so disgracefully?

  For so many years Celina had accepted her Uncle Robert and Cousin Hamish as roistering men who were full of life and excitement.

  They had helped her to accept the tragic death of her parents and helped her to build another life for herself. Believing that she was in love with Hamish as they grew up had seemed a normal development from all the fun and affection that they had shared together over so many years.

  But now she was not so sure.

  Celina changed into an evening gown of bronze silk and tried to sort out her tangled emotions.

  Initially she had hated Rupert, not because she had been told to, but because of the revelation he had brought when her eyes had been opened so brutally to the true nature of her uncle and cousin.

  Horror had filled her when she saw the way they had treated their prisoner.

  Her own sense of honour had meant she had to help him escape, even though she believed she still hated him.

  Since he had arrived at her Godmother’s, she had gradually been forced to change her opinion.

  The attack on the trap and the shock of hearing her uncle declare that Lord Fitzalan was dead after Hamish had thrown him to the ground had been devastating.

  No wonder she had lost consciousness.

  It had only been for a few moments and when she had come to, the MacLeans had tried to get her to disclose where she and Lord Fitzalan had been going.

  The more she had refused, the more determined her Uncle Robert had become. Finally he had struck her across the face and ordered Hamish to take her up on his horse. They were all to return to Beaumarche.

  “But what about him?” Celina had cried, pointing at the lifeless figure on the ground.

  Lord MacLean scrutinised her closely.

  “Why on earth should you care what happens to a dead man?” he grated. “The carrion crows will deal with his body!”

  His callousness made Celina speechless.

  She resisted Hamish’s attempt to pull her onto his horse and ran for the trap.

  “I will take his body back to Castle Fitzalan, then,” she shouted.

  Hamish caught her and cuffed her around the head.

  “Try that again and I will tie you up and sling you over the back of my horse,” he snarled with a laugh.

  Bruised and faint, her head swimming with the force of his blow, Celina could see no alternative to going to Beaumarche.

  On arrival she went straight to her room, followed by the voice of Hamish saying to his father in a cruel voice,

  “I’ll drag the information out of her!”

  He
forced his way into her room and threatened her with the same treatment they had given Lord Fitzalan if she did not tell them where they had been going.

  Celina had stubbornly refused.

  Although she noticed his hands itched to strike her, it seemed he could understand that a beating was not going to help his cause.

  Finally he told her that she had until that evening to change her mind.

  After Hamish had left her, Celina tried to reconcile the cruel behaviour of the MacLeans with her memories of life with them since the death of her parents.

  Was it their current money worries that had brought these violent urges to the surface or had the terrible rages and cruelty always been present?

  Comments heard from some of the retainers on odd incidents that she had chosen to ignore came back to her now, and she decided that father and son had taken great care to shield her from this odious side of their characters.

  She tried to forget the picture of Rupert’s body, that vibrant figure drained of his life and slaughtered by her relations.

  It was then she realised how much she had enjoyed the time spent in his company.

  She thought how wonderful it would have been if together they had found the heirloom and managed to solve its ownership and so bring this horrible feud to an end.

  A vital force had disappeared from her life and she realised for the first time how much she had been attracted to this Scot who spoke with a slight American accent.

  She wondered if she would have mourned as much if it had been Hamish who had died.

  When Rupert had appeared in her room, at first she thought he must be a ghost.

  When she realised that he was really alive, Celina had felt an overwhelming delight flood through her veins as she fully recognised how much poorer her life would be without him.

  Almost immediately, however, he had accused her of betraying him to the MacLeans.

  Much of her joy had then drained away and a deep bitterness took its place.

  Even as she swore that he was wrong, Celina once again almost hated him for making her understand the true nature of the MacLeans.

  When she saw the two men spread-eagled over the table, their drunken state disgusted her.

  She fastened a topaz necklace around her neck and checked her appearance.