Page 46 of Devil Black

“Dougal! I will come with you, tell the King’s men I am here voluntarily. That—that I wish to remain your wife!”

“You will stay here.”

“Dougal, no! I—”

“You will stay here with a guard at the door.” He shouted it at her and went out.

“Damned if I will,” Isobel muttered, and began dressing as hastily as he. She must act quickly before he had time to post a guard who would keep her in. Because, if her fate rested on what happened downstairs, she meant to take part in it.

Her fingers tripped over themselves as she struggled to fasten herself into last night’s gown. She gulped air as she tried to bundle her hair into some kind of order—she did not want to go below looking the wanton but a respectable matron content with her lot.

When she opened the door mere moments later, she could hear voices from below, hear shouting and MacNab the Junior’s unmistakable, raging whine countered by Dougal’s biting lilt. Her heart began to pound double time, and she headed for the stairs, only to find her arm caught in a fierce grip.

“Do not go down!” It was Meg, herself fully clad but with her black hair down. In the dim light at the top of the stairs, she looked every inch the witch, eyes narrowed and filled with cunning.

“I must. They mean to decide my fate. Let go of me!”

“They cannot take you. Surely this is just harassment on MacNab’s part. Let Dougal handle it.”

“But I must show I am willing to remain here.”

Meg examined Isobel slowly. “Are you, then? Has the Devil Black woven a spell that has ensnared you?”

“I love him,” Isobel said, speaking the words she had sworn she would not. She tore herself from Meg’s grip and flew down the stairs.

The scene in the great hall screamed of danger. Men stood everywhere, all of them armed. Most were Dougal’s warriors, his household guards, one among them no doubt the fellow assigned to guard her door, unable to tear himself from this tableau.

Among this rough crew, the King’s guard stood out like silver from dross, in bright red jackets and with glittering swords. With dread, Isobel counted them: only five, one obviously an officer, yet Randal and Bertram MacNab stood at their back, with at least six of their own warriors in tow.

Madly, Isobel wondered who had let them all in. What had been the meaning of keeping a watch and staking men at the gates if the enemy were permitted to walk right in?

She paused in the doorway and her eyes sought her husband. There—in his shirtsleeves and with his sword strapped on, the black hair streaming across his shoulders. He faced Randal MacNab and did not yet see Isobel, but others of the men did, including MacNab himself.

“You see her!” he declared, his voice throbbing with indignation. “That is the woman in question. Abducted against her will, her attendants murdered! Imprisoned here, forced into marriage by this man. He deserves, I tell you, to be tried, sentenced, and hanged!”

Chapter Twenty

“That is a lie!” The words burst from Isobel, sounding clear and certain despite the fact that her legs had no strength beneath her and for one terrible moment she feared she would fall down. Every face in the hall turned toward her, expressions ranging from curiosity to outrage. Isobel could not identify what she saw in her husband’s eyes, but his head came up when he saw her, like a horse with the whip laid on.

The captain of the King’s guard, identifiable by the amount of silver on his jacket, stepped forward. “You say, Lord MacNab, this is the woman in question?”

“It is! Daughter of a dear friend of mine who sent her north from Yorkshire, in all good faith and trust. I have already notified him of his daughter’s abduction, and he repairs here with all haste.”

Her father? On his way? The knowledge hit Isobel hard. She’d believed her father would never stir himself for any reason but estate business.

“But I,” MacNab went on, his voice rich with indignation, “will not rest until she is out of this blackguard’s hands and somewhere safe.”

“She is somewhere safe,” Dougal snarled, snapping his gaze back to Randal MacNab’s face. “In her own home. The woman is my wife.”

“Forced into marriage, as I say!” MacNab bellowed. “The good God knows what torments he employed, to bring her to it.”

“Enough!” The King’s captain, a handsome man of perhaps thirty-five, held up a hand, looking pained. “Since the lady in question is here, I shall inquire of her and determine just what has occurred.”

MacNab tossed his head. “Unacceptable, sir! You know the nature of this man.” A bit wildly, he indicated Dougal. “We have appealed before to the King concerning him. Many in the district have complained. He is a devil, his sister is a witch, and he may well have employed dark arts to turn this woman’s mind. I say you cannot trust anything she tells you.”

“I shall speak with her, and all involved parties, nonetheless.”

Bertram MacNab, stationed at his father’s side, spoke up. “Better to take MacRae into custody. Question him in the King’s dungeons!”