“We have your sister,” McMurdo said, his voice gruff and raspy in her ear.

“Talia?” she tried to say, but the word came out muffled. How could they have abducted her sister?

“Come quietly, and we’ll let your sister go free. I have proof.”

Proof? How had he or Haldane captured her sister? Had they snatched her from Rebbie and Fraser once they’d brought her from the attic?

Keeping his hand over her mouth, he dug through his clothing and pulled out a piece of white linen cloth. “See?” He held it in front of her eyes.

She blinked, trying to clear her tear-blurred vision. The handkerchief’s monogram was the initials TEM. Talia Elizabeth Murray. Seona remembered the day Talia had embroidered it in deep red. Nausea rose within her. How had this happened? Had Talia lost her handkerchief and these outlaws found it? If so, would they have known it was hers? She didn’t recall that Haldane knew her sister’s name. On the off chance McMurdo was telling the truth, she had to do what he said and help Talia.

“Do you agree?” the man rasped in her ear.

Seona nodded as hard as she could.

“Make no sounds or we’ll kill your sister.”

She nodded again, trying to make him understand she’d do anything to keep her sister safe.

He uncovered her mouth but retained a hold on her arm. She glared at him. Saints! He was an alarming sight close up—scars and pock marks mottled his wrinkled face. His hair, brows and short beard were gray, his teeth jagged and half gone. His eyes were black as midnight in Hades, and looking into them chilled her to the core of her soul. He was a murderer, an assassin, his soul as evil as the devil’s own.

“Where is my sister?” she asked.

He pointed. “Over there. Stay low and come with me.” Hunched, they crept through the bushes toward the forest. Her heart thudded hard. ’Haps she was an idiot for going with him, but she had to free Talia.

Once they entered the trees, McMurdo guided her behind a clump of boulders where several men lurked, some sitting on the ground, others bent and peering between the boulders toward the village.

Haldane stood, his feral green eyes riveted on her with great interest—nay—obsession. He smiled, and her whole body froze.

“McMurdo, you’re getting every damn thing I promised you and more.” Haldane rushed forward and grabbed her shoulders. He looked different now, less like a lad and more like a man, with the short red beard furring the lower half of his face.

“Where is my sister?” she asked him.

“Seona!” the female shout came from behind another boulder.

“Shut up, wench!” an unseen man said.

Seona bolted toward the sound of her sister’s voice and found her lying on the ground, her hands and feet bound. Seona knelt beside her. “Are you hurt?”

Talia shook her head, tears streaming from her eyes.

“Untie her at once,” Seona ordered the man.

“I’ll release her.” Haldane waited behind her. “But you must agree to come with me peacefully. No fighting. And you must agree to marry me.”

Chapter Thirty

Chief Murray climbed the stairs inside the tavern as fast as his legs would carry him, the local minister and constable following him, along with two of his men who had assured him everything was set up as it should be.

At the top of the stairs, he strode toward the chamber door. It sickened him to think his own daughter was inside and had lain with that MacKay bastard. He flung open the door to find Rebbinglen sprawled unmoving on the bed. He wore naught but trews. A gash on his head bled on the sheets. And his dark hair was wet.

“Is this the earl?” Constable Winfred asked, his rounded jowls jiggling.

“He’s injured,” Reverend Lang said in a shocked and concerned tone.

Murray glanced around the room and under the bed. “Where is my daughter?” he thundered.

Rebbinglen groaned and lifted a hand toward his head.

Murray cursed under his breath. He was supposed to find his daughter in this bedchamber with Rebbinglen in a very compromising position. If the minister and the constable had seen the two in bed together, they’d have no choice but to marry. But Seona was nowhere to be found. Never had he wanted so badly to strangle her.

“Did no one guard this room?” he asked his men.

The two dolts looked at him with blank, wide-eyed stares.

“Did you see my daughter in this room with Rebbinglen?”

They both nodded. “Aye, she was here.”

But they hadn’t made sure she stayed there until he and the witnesses arrived.

“Idiots!” He backhanded the one closest to him. “Find my daughter! Now!”

“Aye, m’laird.” They hastened from the room.

“Pray pardon, Reverend Lang, Constable Winfred,” Murray said. “My men said they found the two of them together here, but my daughter has slunk away, leaving her lover to fend for himself.”

“What’s happening?” Rebbinglen asked in a slurred voice, his dark eyes open a crack. “Did you hit me on the head, Murray?”

“Nay, my laird. ’Twas not me. Likely some outlaw did it.” Murray turned to the other two men. “I’m sorry I wasted your time, gentlemen. I will handle things from here.”

“Well, Chief, clearly the earl has been attacked and robbed,” the constable said. “We need to find the culprit.”

“Indeed. And I will. I’ll not be keeping you. I’m certain you’d rather be at home breaking your fast.” He ushered them out the door, then turned back to Rebbinglen.

Lowering his black brows into a menacing scowl, Rebbie squinted, glancing around the room. “Where am I?”

“A room over the tavern.”

“Saints!” Scrunching his face into a horrible expression, he sat up. “I’m going to kill whoever hit me.”

Murray backed up a few more inches. “Aye, and I’ll help you find him. But in the meantime… is it not true that you slipped my daughter out here for a tryst.”

Rebbie rubbed his scalp, glaring the entire time. “I assure you that I was not having a tryst with your daughter,” he said through clenched teeth. “Clearly, someone hit me over the head and brought me here.” He glanced down. “Where the devil are the rest of my clothes?” His suspicious eyes turned to Murray.

He held up his hands and remained by the door. “You were like that when I entered the room, my laird. I would never touch your clothing.”

“Of course, they took my weapons, too.” Growling and holding his head, Rebbie stood. He staggered and braced against the wall. His eyes searched the floor. “Find them, Murray!”

“Aye.” Murray hastened to the other side of the bed. “Naught over here.”

“Look underneath the bed.”

Murray wanted to knock the earl on the other side of the head, but he couldn’t get away with it. And now that the man was awake and alert, for the most part, and Seona was not here, Murray couldn’t trap him into marrying his daughter. He would throttle the daft men he’d assigned to do this job.

Rebbie turned. “Are they under there?”

Taking the candle, Murray knelt and peered beneath the bed. “Naught but a thick layer of dust and a few mouse droppings.”

“You ken who brought me here, do you not?”

“Nay, m’laird.”

Rebbie grunted. “Regardless, I am not marrying your daughter.”

Rage boiled inside Murray. Where was his daughter? He knew she’d been here with that MacKay bastard. When he found her, he was going to whip some sense into her. Both his daughters were disobedient, daft whores. They were determined to embarrass him and throw their lives away.

“Give me your sword,” Rebbie said in no uncertain terms.

“What? Are you mad?” Murray’s sword was worth a small fortune and no one used it but him.

“When you recover my sword from whichever of your men stole it, you will get yours back. In the meantime, I require a weapon.” Rebbie held out his hand.