“Ye wicked lass,” she spat, her voice shaking with fury. “James will…”
“James will do nothin',” Mairead cut in, her tone sharpening. “Because by the time he learns anythin', ye will be far beyond his reach.”
Eloise’s stomach dropped, a cold wave of terror washing over her.
“I heard ye,” Mairead went on, stepping closer, her voice lowering. “In the gardens, speaking to yer cousin. Ye ran from Drummond, did ye not?”
Eloise’s throat tightened, her mind racing.
“So I sent word,” Mairead said calmly. “I told him where ye were. I said if he sends me men, I would give him ye in return.”
Eloise shook her head, her voice breaking. “Nay… ye wouldnae…”
“Aye,” Mairead said simply. “His men are here, holdin' ye now. And ye will be returned to him before the night is done.”
Eloise’s breath came fast and shallow, panic clawing at her chest. “Ye cannae do this,” she said, her voice trembling. “James will come for me.”
For the first time, Mairead’s smile faltered into something sharper. “He will be too late,” she replied coldly. “And once Drummond has ye wed and bedded, there will be nothin' left for James to claim.”
Eloise’s heart pounded wildly, fear surging through every part of her. She opened her mouth to scream, desperation rising, but Mairead moved swiftly.
A cloth was pressed hard over her mouth and nose, the scent sharp and unfamiliar. Eloise jerked against the men holding her, her vision blurring almost instantly.
“Daenae fight it. All of this will be over soon and I will be with James, as was meant to be,” Mairead said.
Eloise tried to resist, tried to cling to consciousness, but the room began to spin. Her limbs weakened, her strength slipping away despite her will.
James.
Darkness closed in around her, swallowing the last flicker of light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
James stood before the tall mirror in his chamber, fastening the clasp of his plaid with practiced precision as the pale light of morning crept through the narrow window. A sudden, frantic knock sounded at his door.
The urgency in it made him frown, and he crossed the room in long strides. Pulling the door open, he was met with the sight of Fiona and Beatrice, both pale and breathless.
“What is it?” he demanded at once, his voice low but edged with concern.
“Me Laird,” Fiona said, dipping into a hurried curtsy, her hands trembling.
Beatrice stepped forward before the maid could continue, her eyes wide with panic. “I cannae find Eloise,” she said. “I thought she might be here with ye.”
James stilled, his expression hardening as a chill ran through him. “She is nae here,” he replied, his tone sharpening. “I have nae seen her since the ceilidh.”
Fiona wrung her hands, glancing between them. “She is nae in her chamber, me Laird,” she said quickly. “The bed… it has nae been slept in.”
Beatrice nodded rapidly, stepping closer. “And there is more,” she added, her voice dropping. “There is sign of struggle. A broken glass upon the floor… and a chair knocked over.”
The words seemed to hit him hard, and James went utterly still. His mind raced, piecing the fragments together with brutal clarity.
“Nay,” he muttered under his breath, his expression darkening into something dangerous. “Where can she be?”
His gaze snapped to Fiona. “Go,” he barked, his voice rising with command. “Tell the guards to sound the bells.”
Fiona straightened at once, fear replaced by obedience. “Aye, me Laird,” she said, turning and running down the corridor without hesitation.
James stepped out into the hall, already moving with purpose, his long strides eating up the distance. Beatrice hurried after him, struggling to keep pace.
