Page 72 of Highland Storm

Phoebe bent down and checked her throwing knives – her only protection. “I have to try,” she told Osla.

“Then let me come with ye.”

“Nay. Ye stay here and watch over yer children and also my siblin’s. Please.”

“All right,” agreed Osla, sounding dejected. “Whatever ye say, Phoebe.”

Phoebe slipped through the shadows, avoiding Hawke’s friends who were looking up a tree while the wolfhound barked at something. It was her perfect opportunity to slip away in the dark. She made her way to the stable to get a horse and follow Hawke. Phoebe would not let the man she loved die without trying to do something to remedy this horrible situation.

* * *

Hawke shimmied the wall of Crookston Castle with his dagger clenched between his teeth. His blood boiled and he no longer cared how dangerous the mission was. He was going to put an end to this immediately. No more waiting to negotiate, no more letting more people die. Euan and his men would be stopped and Hawke would save his grandfather. Now, if only he had a plan.

Figuring his grandfather was being imprisoned in one of the tower rooms, he’d brought with him a grappling hook and rope. It seemed their guards were scarce and he hoped most of them had gone to help fight the English on the coast. If so, this would be easy.

Choosing a tower, he started to climb, hoping this was the right one.

After making it to the top, he gripped his fingers on the edge of the sill and pulled himself up and over the window, landing with a soft thump inside the room.

“Grandda,” he called out softly, trying to see in the dark. The sun had just started to rise but the room was dim with no candle burning or fire on the hearth. “Grandda are ye in here?”

He took two steps into the room and stopped in his tracks. A man lay on the bed without moving. He was either sleeping . . . or dead. Hawk slowly walked up to the bed, hoping not to find his chieftain murdered. He let out a sigh of relief when he realized it wasn’t his grandfather, but rather the MacNab chieftain. It was Phoebe’s sick father, Angus.

The man looked thin and pale, and near death. He appeared very different from how Hawke remembered him from ten years ago when he’d married Osla. Angus’ eyes were closed and his cheeks looked hollow as the first rays of sun hit him in the face from the open window. This wasn’t why Hawke was here. There was nothing he could do to help this man. He turned to leave, but stopped when he heard a faint voice from the bed.

“Hawke. Is that ye?”

He turned around, not sure what to say to the man. “Aye,” he answered, feeling choked up.

“Is – is my daughter . . . alive?”

Suddenly, Hawke felt no better than Euan. For all this man knew, Hawke could have killed Phoebe. After all, he was her captor.

“She is safe,” he told the man, walking closer to the bed. He wanted to give him hope if he could. “I took her to the Isle of Kerrera to get herbs. To cure ye,” he added. “She’ll bring ye back to health.”

“Please, dinna hurt her. She means everythin’ to me.”

“Nay, I would never hurt her,” he tried to convince the man to put his mind at ease. Hawke pulled up a chair and sat down for a moment at the side of the bed. The least he could do is to tell him about his daughter so he could die in peace. “I love Phoebe, Laird Angus. I promise I will take care of her, even long after ye are gone.”

God’s teeth, he didn’t mean to make it sound so bad. He was trying to get the man’s mind off of dying, but that probably didn’t help any.

“I’ve also saved yer other children, Miles, Elspeth and Agan from the dungeon.”

“The dungeon?” The man tried to push up in bed, but coughed and lay back down and moaned. “Euan did it, didna he?”

“Aye, he did.” Hawke hesitated for a minute, but then he thought he should let the man know everything. “We found yer niece, Osla, on the island. It seems Euan is her husband and they have two children together. She canna remember a thing from the past.”

“God forgive me for no’ stoppin’ this madness sooner.”

“What do ye mean?” asked Hawke, leaning in closer to hear what the man said. “Did ye ken she was still alive?” He seriously hoped Angus had nothing to do with this deception.

“I have been hearin’ rumors for years now that Osla wasna dead and that someone faked her death to keep the feud between our clans goin’ strong. But I didna believe it. I guess I didna want to think that any of my men could be such traitors.”

“It’s Euan. And Lennox,” Hawke told him. “Mayhap more.”

“I ken that now. Euan has taken everythin’ from me. I canna let him do this. Stop him, Highland Storm.”

“Highland Storm?” Hawke asked in confusion. “Nay, Laird Angus, that is no’ me. The Highland Storm is my faither.”