The Beast of Aros Castle (Highland Isles) Read online

  Grace exhaled through her pert little nose, her mouth tightening into a bow. “Hate’s a strong word. So no, I don’t think she hates either of us. She’s just worried and sad for Tor.”

  Ava felt the tears gather in her eyes again, and she nodded. “I am, too, which is stupid because I’m the one who hurt him, but it’s true.”

  Grace rubbed her hand. “It’s not stupid. None of that was part of the plan to save us.”

  “None of my disasters are part of my original plans,” Ava said, her eyes dropping to her naked toes on the looped wool rug. “I need to stop making rash plans,” she whispered.

  Grace set her hand on top of Ava’s and shook it back and forth. “If you had stopped before, where would we be?” Ava looked up at the force in Grace’s voice. “You didn’t see him last night,” Grace said, her face suddenly looking a shade paler. “Vincent is just as evil, just as manipulative. I can’t even imagine what horrors we would be living with at Somerset had we stayed. No, Ava…” She squeezed her hand, leaning forward with conviction. “Despite all this with Tor, your plans saved us, and I will be forever grateful. Sister.”

  Ava’s eyes welled with tears to match Grace’s. During the hours after Tor had left them, Grace had filled Ava in on every word Vincent had said. He hadn’t left their mother’s letter, probably hoping Ava would come to York to find it. Ava sniffed with a nod. “Even here where everyone almost hates me, I think we’re better off. At least we are free of Vincent.”

  Grace sat back in her chair and exhaled long. “Joan told me that Gavin overheard Vincent saying he’d be back for surprise visits, that he was renewing his father’s business contacts here in the north.”

  “Will he never relent?” Ava asked, more to herself. She leaned her head back, gazing at the exposed beams in the low ceiling.

  “Maybe we will have to leave Aros,” Grace said. “They can make my grave, too, and we can escape.”

  “With no money, no resources,” Ava said, studying Grace’s anxious face. “It will be a last resort. We can ask Cullen to help us if Tor won’t.”

  “Let’s see what happens when he returns and Mairi is safe,” Grace said. “I pray that she is well and strong.”

  Ava added her own silent prayers for Tor’s sister as she encircled her wrist where the emotional scars of Vincent’s brutality still lingered.

  “We should collect some of that feverfew I saw growing in clumps on the other side of the river,” Grace said. “There were also some rowan berries. If Mairi’s ill, it can help, and it will keep us busy.”

  Ava drank the rest of the warm raspberry decoction and rose to splash some fresh water on her face. She moved about the room numbly. Grace kept her comments minimal, most likely picking up on Ava’s misery, which she, of course, deserved. Even the nausea she felt this morning seemed fitting, a constant torture that she forced herself to move through. Grace plaited her hair and offered her a basket when she’d shrugged into her shawl.

  Ava ran her hand down the rough wall as she descended the curling stairs behind Grace. Her sister kept looking back over her shoulder to make certain she still followed. Sweet Grace. They’d been sisters of the heart before knowing of the blood link, if Vincent hadn’t just fabricated that to lure Ava back to Somerset. It didn’t matter. Ava considered Grace a sister either way. If only she could see the letter. Would it explain why she’d let Ava think she was orphaned her whole life? Would anything she wrote make up for a lifetime of exclusion? We all make mistakes, she thought. Some of them terrible.

  Relief washed through her when she saw the hall was empty. They walked out the back corridor that led to the kitchens, veering off through the gardens to the hidden back gate. Ava knew that, at some point, she’d have to face the people of Aros, the same ones who had celebrated her wedding, and had opened their hearts to her. But today her emotions were as fragile as thinly blown glass.

  The sound of the river beckoned through the browning vines that hid the exit in the thick wall. Ava held back tears as she emerged to see the clear pool that she and Tor frequented. She forced a swallow and followed Grace into the deserted forest. Many of the Maclean warriors had followed Tor and Cullen last night, leaving the area quiet. A few birds twittered high up in the remaining leaves.

  “Hamish watched Vincent sail away last night,” Grace said. “We are safe here on this island, surrounded by sea. And some fresh air and sun will help you think.” She smiled tentatively and walked deeper into the foliage near a series of large boulders.

  Ava wasn’t sure she wanted to think. She’d thought all last night, examining every aspect of the last few months on Mull. How she’d started out from York only thinking of saving herself and Grace from Vincent, to slowly learning to care for the Macleans, tending their wounds and learning about their lives. And eventually…falling in love with Tor. She stopped, as the truth washed another wave of remorse over her. It was the only explanation for her grief. She loved Tor Maclean, loved him and had betrayed him by not telling him the truth. Ava held to the rough bark of a tree, her eyes squeezed shut. She stood there for long minutes, trying to numb herself again.

  A twig snapped ahead, the birds going silent. Ava leaned against the sturdy tree and opened her damp eyes. She looked around, the thick tree trunks standing about like faceless sentries. “Grace?” she called. How long had she been standing there? “Did you find the rowan berries?” She listened, but Grace didn’t reply. Ava trudged forward up the gentle incline. “Grace,” she called, rounding the boulders.

  Grace sat on the forest floor, gagged with her knees bent, wrists bound together over them. Her round eyes cut desperately over Ava’s shoulder. For a second Ava couldn’t move, the shock and terror immobilizing her as her mind tried to comprehend what she was seeing.

  “Well, well.” A familiar voice, the one straight from her nightmares, shot through Ava. “It seems there’s been a resurrection.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ava spun around to face three men: Captain Thompson, his soldier, and a very smug-looking Vincent Ellington. She blinked, donning the old mask of mild interest that she had worn at Somerset. Her gaze slid to a rather rumpled-looking Captain Thompson. “I am appalled, Captain, that you condone such treatment of ladies.”

  The English captain’s cheeks flushed red as he frowned. “I hadn’t believed Lord Somerset when he’d insisted we turn around last night and see if you were, in fact, still alive. I’m not certain of why there’s been such duplicity, but deceiving a representative of King Henry’s army is against His Majesty’s law.” His gaze flitted to Grace. “Although, I think we can release Lady Maclean and return her safely as we discuss the meaning of all this with the Maclean chief.”

  Vincent frowned. “It is best to leave Lady Maclean here while we row Aveline back across to Oban. If these Scots were willing to change a headstone, they will interfere with English law and try to retain her, when legally she falls in my custody as her stepbrother.”

  “I will scream if you touch me,” Ava said, walking slowly toward Grace to untie her. “So will Grace. All of Aros will come racing in. You’d best just row away now.”

  Vincent’s eyes nearly glittered in their blackness. “Not without my prize,” he said through gritted teeth. He lunged across the space, grabbing Ava around the waist.

  “Good Lord,” Captain Thompson yelped.

  Ava opened her lips to scream, but she hit the ground hard, Vincent’s full weight over her body. The impact knocked the breath from her, and Vincent’s grimy hand clambered over her mouth. His lips pushed hard against Ava’s ear as she struggled.

  “If you don’t go willingly, my paid man there will slit the good captain’s throat, bleed him like the suckling pig he is.” Ava froze, breathing loudly through her nose as Vincent continued. “He will swear that the deed was done by Tor Maclean. The English army stationed in Oban will hasten across to destroy Aros. Maclean blood will be on your hands, Aveline.”

  His words penetrated her mind like
a knife, inching deeper and deeper, creating bloody scenarios of English troops overrunning the streets and castle, lighting fires and massacring these good people. Not only had she not been a noble English lady to protect Aros with her status, but if she didn’t go with Vincent, she would be responsible for bringing down England’s wrath.

  “Lord Somerset, that’s no way to treat a lady,” Captain Thompson scolded.

  “You are right,” Vincent said and slowly withdrew his weight. His gaze trained directly on Ava’s. He kept his hand in place over her mouth and whispered to her, “It will be all your fault.”

  Tentatively, Vincent removed his hand, and Ava wiped the taste of grime from her lips. She cast a glance at the large man standing behind Captain Thompson. His eyes shifted from Vincent to the captain, waiting for a signal. A signal that would end poor Captain Thompson’s young life.

  Vincent offered Ava his hand. She stared at it for a long second and swallowed hard before taking it. Behind her, Grace made a muffled whimper. She didn’t turn, but looked directly into Vincent’s eyes. “You will not harm Grace. You will untie her and leave her here.”

  Vincent’s lips pinched in a lopsided grin that showed his teeth, teeth that Ava thought of as pointed razors. “Certainly. Grace can continue on here at Aros while you come home to Somerset. All will be as it should be.”

  Captain Thompson pulled the gag from Grace’s mouth and helped her stand.

  “No, Ava,” Grace said, and Ava rushed over to her. She brushed her hair back from her damp face, shushing her. “You can’t go. You can’t. You’re mar—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ava said over her words. In all truth, Tor had married Lady Aveline Sutton Ellington, a woman who never existed. Ava looked at Captain Thompson as he finished untying Grace’s hands. “Can I speak to my sister alone for a moment?”

  “Of course,” he said, backing up with a tug on his wrinkled jacket.

  Grace grabbed her arms, her fingernails digging into the flesh. “You can’t go with him, Ava. You’ll be killed or worse at his hands.”

  Ava couldn’t let her mind go there. She had to make sure the Macleans were safe, then she’d figure out a way to escape. “He will kill Captain Thompson right here and blame it on the Macleans if I don’t go, Grace.”

  Grace’s eyes widened, her forehead crinkling with worry. “No,” she whispered.

  “He has it all planned. The soldier works for Vincent. The English will seek revenge on Aros and the Maclean clan. I can’t let that happen, especially not after all this mess.”

  “But you’re married to Tor.” Grace clung to her arm, refusing to let Ava disappear. If only she could.

  “Tell him…tell him that he married a woman who doesn’t exist. A woman who is sorry. A woman who…loved him.”

  “What if you’re with child?” Grace asked. “He won’t abandon his child.”

  Ava’s hand moved down her stomach. “I will get away from Vincent before I show. Somehow. I’ll get word to you, to Tor, about the baby.”

  “Ava, no,” Grace cried.

  “We must go now,” Vincent said, coming up beside her. “Farewell, Grace. Come, Aveline. If we don’t arrive back at the captain’s barracks by noon, Captain Taylor is planning to send a full force of soldiers over to Mull to see what treachery the Macleans have committed.”

  Vincent turned to Grace. “And you will not give us away while we row, or an accident is sure to happen.”

  Grace stood, leaning back against the boulder, letting its unmovable mass hold her upright. “Ava doesn’t belong with you, Vincent. You are an evil, vile man.”

  Vincent laughed. “No, sister, I am just a man used to getting his way in this world, and a pair of silly women aren’t going to change that.”

  …

  “Mairi, open the door!” Tor yelled through the heavy oak as he pushed against it.

  “Tor? Is that you?” Mairi called.

  “Aye.”

  “We’re here to rescue ye, lass,” Cullen called.

  Tor heard what could be a heavy bar lifting, scraping upward to fall on the floor. The door swung inward. Mairi stood there, face streaked with tears. Her cheeks looked hollowed, and a bruise colored her jawline.

  “I’m killing the bastard,” Tor said, stepping forward to pull his sister into his arms. He felt her tremble. “Normond MacInnes did this to ye?”

  “He thought to starve me out of my room.” Her words were muffled against his chest. “Force me to wed him by raping me first.”

  Cullen growled behind Tor. “I don’t care if he is passed out downstairs, I’m killing him now.”

  Mairi backed up, looking between them. “He’s drunk?”

  “In his own foul puke,” Cullen said.

  “That’s why Cullen wouldn’t let me kill him,” Tor said. “But I’m going to anyway.” He looked down at Mairi’s wrists, bruised and tender. “Damnation. Did he bind ye?”

  She snatched them back into the folds of her dress. “Just with his own hands.”

  Cullen cursed and pivoted on his heel to jog below.

  “Come along, Mairi. Ye’re widowed and coming home to Aros.”

  Mairi rushed back inside to grab a bag she had packed and wobbled slightly at the door.

  “And we need to get ye something to eat,” Tor said.

  “More to drink,” she croaked, and he noticed just how parched her lips looked. He grabbed his bladder of watered ale and uncapped it for her. “Thank ye,” she said, tilting it up.

  “Tor,” Cullen yelled from below.

  Tor and Mairi descended quickly to find Cullen with several other MacInneses. “The bastard escaped while we were upstairs.”

  “We’ll find him,” one of the men said and spit on the dirty rushes.

  “String him up for his deeds,” another said and nodded to Mairi. His gaze turned to Tor. “I hope ye know that Normond MacInnes doesn’t represent the MacInnes clan. We didn’t know he was up to no good in here.”

  “We’ll be choosing a new chief,” the first said.

  Cullen turned to Tor. “Several of my men and I will stay to see if the bastard turns up. Ye should take Mairi home to Aros so Joan and Ava can tend her.”

  Cullen had no idea what had been going on at Aros. There’d been no time to tell him.

  “She knew something was going on,” Mairi said softly. “The bruises.”

  Tor led his sister to the table where some day-old bread sat and broke a piece for her. “Ma knew?”

  “Nay. Ava. She saw the bruises on my wrist, but I refused to say anything. I thought that I could outwit the bastard. I didn’t want to cause an issue with the MacInneses.”

  “Ava saw and didn’t say anything?” he asked, his mouth tight.

  “She followed me everywhere, asking me, but I said they were from an injury with a pot in the kitchen.” Mairi looked down, her cheeks red. “Even when she told me about her own bruises.”

  Ava’s panic on their wedding night had been churning in his mind ever since the Earl of Somerset’s visit. Was he the bastard that had held her wrists, pulling them up over her head against the wall? “She told ye about bruises? On her wrists?”

  Mairi nodded while she chewed. “She had her own devil to deal with, apparently. It’s an unfair lot we women are given. Monthly pains, childbirth, and no physical strength. We have to use our wits to trick our way out of being attacked by the bloody Normonds and Vincents of the world.”

  The air in Tor’s inhale soured, and he coughed an exhale. “Vincents? Vincent is the man who left bruises on Ava’s wrists, held her captive like Normond held ye?”

  Mairi’s eyes widened at his outburst, and he realized he’d yelled the question. She nodded. “She said his name was Vincent. I think she told me so I’d tell her something, but I kept my bloody lips shut. ’Tis not her fault. By the time I left, I’d convinced her that I was fine returning to Kilchoan.”

  “Vincent Ellington is her stepbrother, the Earl of Somerset.”

  M
airi set the cup she’d been holding down with a clunk. “Earl of Somerset.” Her gaze looked off to his right, her face pinched in thought. “He was here, a fortnight ago, talking with Fergus. I only saw him at dinner, and he didn’t say his given name at all. The next day, Fergus left with a band of men to raid the MacNeils. Fergus told me the earl said the MacNeils were in league with the English. I was going to send word to ye, but Normond started stalking me, and I set up to barricade myself in my room. Do ye think Vincent Ellington had anything to do with Fergus dying?”

  Tor’s hand clenched the back of his neck where a chill was spreading up his scalp. “If he knew ye are my sister and were married to Fergus, and that most of Aros would leave to help ye if he was killed or Kilchoan was attacked…leaving Aros unprotected.” Leaving Ava unprotected.

  And that’s exactly what had happened, except the timing had been off, and Tor had been home when the bloody earl had arrived. Had he thought to find Ava and thieve her away?

  Tor glanced around, his instincts hammering at him. Cullen spoke with a tall MacInnes who seemed to have charge of the others in the room. Would Vincent Ellington plot to kill Fergus MacInnes to get Tor away from Aros? A man capable of plotting and executing a plan like that wouldn’t just leave Mull after seeing a freshly painted cross.

  Tor’s blood surged through his veins. Even as his gut clenched, making his breath seem to drop deep into his middle, he turned away from the table to stalk toward the group of men. “Bloody bollocks,” he swore beneath his breath. “Cullen. Let them hunt Normond. We’re leaving for Aros now.”

  …

  Ava concentrated on breathing. Without breath, she couldn’t think, and she’d need all her wits to escape Vincent. Exhaustion plagued her with weakness and self-pity, something she despised. Vincent had kept her hands and feet tied in her room last night after arriving in Oban. Through the dark hours, she’d balanced between forming rash plans and swallowing tears.

  “I thank you for your help, Captain Thompson,” said Vincent as they stood by his black coach, the Somerset crest emblazoned on the side. “But we definitely need to proceed home in order to beat the coming frost. I wouldn’t have my bride frigid.”