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"What the bloody hell are you lot doing?" I demand. "Kidnapping the Viscount Sommerleigh is a rubbish idea. You'll end up in prison."
"You aren't that important," an American male voice says. "Now, if you were the Prince of Wales, we might worry. But you're just a low-level aristocrat."
Low-level? Oh, that's it. I've had enough of these twats.
I spring to my knees and reach for the van's door, yanking it. The blasted thing does not move.
A deep voice chuckles behind me. "Ye willnae get out that way. It's locked, yecacan."
That can't be—No, he wouldn't abduct me. But it sounded like… "Logan MacTaggart? Is that you?"
Someone switches on a large torch, and the lantern-like bulb illuminates the interior of the van's cargo area. I kneel here surrounded by men I recognize, men I've chatted to many times, men I called mates. Well, they won't be getting any Christmas cards from me this year. Logan squats near the back of the van, while Luke Turner perches on a small wooden crate. Nick Hunter sits cross-legged on the floor. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the light, I can see the two men who occupy the seats in the front. The driver is Chance Dixon, and the other occupant is Damian Petrescu.
What on earth? Damian is American, but he didn't marry a MacTaggart. His wife, the lovely Heidi, is as American as he is. I met them last year at the wedding of Alex Thorne and Catriona MacTaggart, which they held at a rural nudist resort in Oregon. Damian is a gypsy. Did my mates all conspire to get him to cast some sort of spell over me? I can't imagine why else he would be here. I don't believe in that magic bollocks, which means he can't hypnotize me.
"Aye, it's me," Logan says. "Who did ye think it was, the tooth fairy?"
"With you lot, who knows." I maneuver myself into a sitting position with my knees bent in front of me. Kneeling on the floor of a van is not terribly comfortable. "Why have you abducted me?"
"Because you're being an erse, and we don't appreciate that."
"Did Callum put you up to this? He punched me, not the other way round."
"We know what happened," Luke says. "That's why we're here. To stop you from hightailing it back to England when you know you should deal with the issue at hand."
I glare at Luke. "The issue at hand? Callum betrayed me. That's the issue, and unless he means to apologize to me with a great deal of groveling involved, there's nothing to deal with."
Nick Hunter finally speaks up. "I don't see that happening anytime this century. Why do you think Hugh and Callum are such good mates? They're both bloody-minded prats."
"You lot are meant to be my mates," I say. "But you're all on Callum's side, aren't you? Perfect. I've been kidnapped by agents of the enemy."
"No," Logan says with a chuckle that I'm sure he thinks is menacing. "We're agents of the American Wives Club."
"Oh, I see. You gents are doing this because your wives won't let you get a leg over with them unless you do their bidding." I shake my head. "It's pathetic when men hand their testicles over to women."
"Best get comfortable, laddie. We have a long drive ahead of us."
I glance around at the five men who are holding me hostage. "Where are you taking me?"
"Dùndubhan," Nick says. Then he looks at Logan. "Hope I pronounced it right this time."
"Aye, ye did well." Logan squints at me. It's the expression the MacTaggarts call his deadly calm stare. "But you're needing more therapy than even Jack could give you. So we've arranged an intervention."
"No thank you."
"Did I say ye had a choice, laddie?"
Luke reaches into a tote box that was hidden behind him and hands me a blanket and a pillow. "Take a nap. You'll need your strength."
These men, my former mates, are trying to intimidate me. It won't work. I'm not that stupid.
But I take the blanket and pillow, then lie down to pretend I'm sleeping. At least they might leave me alone for the entire trip to Dùndubhan. I've been there before. But I imagine this time the full complement of the American Wives Club will be present, including the British Branch. Oh, that's just lovely. I lose the girl of my dreams, my best mate assaults me, and now I am a prisoner.
Amazingly, I do fall asleep. Nick wakes me sometime later and informs me we have arrived at Dùndubhan. Logan opens the van's door but won't let me out yet. He insists on tying my wrists with a slender length of rope to stop me from "fleeing like acacan." I see no point in arguing with these men, not yet, so I let them haul me away. But they don't drag me into the castle. No, they take me on a forced march through the walled garden to the door in the outer wall that leads onto the green. They stop me at the closed door.
"Since we cannae trust you to keep your eyes closed," Logan says, "we devised an alternative method."
Chance Dixon produces a canvas hood from inside his jacket and hands it to Logan.
