Page 19 of Devil Black

“An acquaintance, and a gentleman of the district. Do not fash yourself, lady, he will come.” Dougal poured himself more whisky, then went to the door and bellowed a third time. “Meg!”

His sister must have been lurking in the vicinity, pretend otherwise as she might—she arrived far too swiftly, in response to his call, to have been far distant.

Without preamble, Dougal commanded, “You will stand witness for me. We are to wed this night.”

Meg bent a look on him before sweeping his captive with an incredulous glance. “What new madness is this?”

“No madness.”

“Aye, so—perhaps it is, rather, revenge. You want her because she was to be MacNab’s?”

He wanted her because the blood in his veins demanded it. He said, “O’Rourke is on his way. Take our guest to her room, send her your maid, and help her—” he waved a hand, “prepare.”

“Prepare?” One of Meg’s eyebrows ascended. “For you?”

“Just do it, Meg. I mean to accomplish this respectably.”

Meg laughed harshly. “You snatch her off the road, another man’s bride, and then speak of acting respectably?”

Dougal met her stare with one of iron and, miraculously, she backed down.

“Come,” she said to his captive, who shot to her feet, strung tight and trembling, and followed Meg out.

Damnation, Dougal thought when they had gone, and splashed more whisky into his cup. He felt keen as a knife’s edge and had to fight to find the patience that had stood him in such good stead these last years. All would come in time, revenge and pleasure. He had never dreamed they might be so intertwined.

****

In silence, Isobel followed the beautiful woman—Meg—back to her room, where Meg brushed past the guard as if he did not exist.

Once inside, Meg closed the door and turned to regard Isobel carefully.

“This is a bad night’s work,” she said. “I tell you now, I cannot influence my brother. Even God—whom Dougal refuses to acknowledge—cannot influence him once he has something in his head. But I swear, if he is forcing you to this, I will do my utmost to stop him.”

Isobel heard no sympathy in Meg’s voice, no softness—just the same savage certainty that emanated from Dougal MacRae.

“I appreciate that,” she said.

“Oh, I do naught for you—and I stopped fretting for his soul long ago. But he is taking you to further a dangerous feud, and if he winds up on the losing end, it shall benefit me not at all.”

I have landed in a nest of vipers, Isobel thought, each more selfish than the other.

Cautiously, she said, “This feud of which you speak is with MacNab?”

Emotion sparked in Meg’s eyes. “My brother may be many things—hot tempered, hard-headed, misguided—but his memory is long and his mind set on revenge. You find yourself, now, a pawn in his game.”

“For what does he seek revenge?”

Meg shook her head. “That is not for me to tell. But know MacNab once took something that was Dougal’s alone. He has waited long to strike back.”

Isobel’s mind raced, trying to make sense of disjointed thoughts and emotions. “And I am the means of striking back?”

“So it would appear—at least for the present. What he may do anon, even the devil cannot say.”

“Can you get me out of here?” Isobel asked frankly. “Persuade him to send me home?”

Meg shook her head. “I might convince him to ransom you, though quite frankly I doubt it. If you ask me, woman to woman, I will try.”

And there lay the dilemma, thought Isobel, in the starkest of terms: marriage to Bertram MacNab, for which she had already steeled herself for Catherine’s sake, or to this man who turned her bones to water with a single glance. A choice—at last.