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Within the great hall of Wingate Castle, Elspeth tugged at her bound wrists beneath the worn ivory linen tablecloth. The rough ropes chaffed her skin, causing burning pain. Henry thought he was torturing her with the bowl of beef stew and slice of bread sitting just out of her reach, but the strong scent of onions and meat turned her stomach. She glared at him, sitting a few feet away cramming food into his mouth.
He swallowed, gulped ale and turned to her. "Are you not hungry, mistress?" He smirked, then resumed eating.
Bastard!
How could she escape this hellish pit? Several of Henry's minions occupied the lower tables, drinking, laughing and making lewd comments about her. Ignoring them, she held her head high.
On the way in, she had seen some of her former guards who'd abandoned her. Ballantyne and Parker had not been brave enough to look her in the eye. Traitors! They would likely regret their decision. From what she'd observed, Henry treated his men like gutter rubbish, yelling commands and threatening them.
The slimy guard MacGirk stood so close behind her that he occasionally bumped against her chair. His heavy breathing was audible. Every time she sent a glare up at him, he leered at her. She cringed and sat straighter in her chair, drawing away from him.
What a contrast these blackguards were to Cyrus and his men. She truly prayed Cyrus had awakened without serious injury, and she hoped the rest of them were well and hadn't been injured too gravely in the fighting. Her stomach ached with worry and guilt, for she blamed herself for their pain.
Please, God, protect Cyrus.
Though he came across as a growly warlord, he was in truth the most caring man she had the privilege of knowing. 'Twas true he had a lethal and ruthless warrior side, but he fought with the sole purpose of protecting those he cared about.
Did he care about her?
He'd seemed to, and her heartbeat quickened with the possibility. Although she'd had an intimate experience with him, she hadn't known him long, and she couldn't read him or predict his actions. She certainly cared about him... against her will and more than she wanted to admit. She prayed she would see him again.
Henry guzzled more ale, then poured himself a generous portion of whisky from a silver flask. In fact, all the men were drinking heavily, and she hoped they would soon pass out. If they did, she might be able to reach her bound hands up beneath her petticoats and grab the small sheathed knife strapped to her thigh. But she could not get away with that plan right now. Too many of them watched her.
Of a certainty, she had to remain aware of the lecherous MacGirk because he was far too interested in her person.
Rotten whisky scented breath wafted to her. "Soon, my lovely little dove."
She cringed, drawing away from him. "Control your men, Henry, or I'll sign naught!" she warned.
"I told you, 'tis Laird Dalacroy to you, wench," he grumbled between clenched teeth, then glanced at his guard. "Patience, MacGirk. You will have your fun later. 'Haps tomorrow, after Talbot arrives and witnesses the wench signing these." Henry patted the rolled deeds hidden inside his doublet.
Nausea roiled within her. "Nay! Either you promise to keep your men away from me or I will sign naught."
"Well, if you don't sign them, you'll spend time with the rats in my dungeon. Meanwhile, I'll return to Darby Hall and kill the rest of the MacKenzies, including your precious chief. The ones who survived are bound and closely guarded. They'll not escape."
The knave behind her chuckled, then stroked his sweaty fingertips down her neck. She drew away. "Cease your groping!"
"Is that not what you're used to?" Henry snorted. "I know what it is... you only wish to be groped by aristocrats, not the guards."
Henry and several of his men laughed, while hot mortification washed over her. They were such filthy barbarians.
"I wager she'll like it dirty." MacGirk snickered.
***
WHILE OBSERVING DALACROY's two guards at the entrance to the great hall, Cyrus gently shook a limb of the large bush which concealed him.
"Something's in there," one of the guards proclaimed.
"Go see what it is. If 'tis one of the fat rats, kill it. They've overrun the place and eaten most of the grain."
The approaching guard's footsteps pounded across the cobblestones.
Palming a rock about the size of his fist, Cyrus crouched and waited. Metal hissed against leather as the guard unsheathed his sword and rounded the shrub.
When he bent over to peer beneath, Cyrus threw the stone, striking the man's forehead. With a grunt, he fell forward and didn't move. Cyrus dragged him beneath the yew.
"Parker?" the guard remaining at the entrance called, then muttered a curse. "Parker!"
From what Cyrus recalled, 'twas the name of one of Elspeth traitorous guards who had abandoned her. No doubt the knave yelling was also one of them. His boots thudded down the steps.
Cyrus quickly retrieved the stone and waited. Could he be so lucky as to perform the same trick again?
As the second guard rounded the corner, he stayed a great distance from the bush. "Parker?" After glancing at the bush, he trod farther along the wide cobblestone path toward the overgrown garden. "Are you back here?"
Sword in his left hand and the stone in his right, Cyrus abandoned his hiding place, rushed in behind the guard and bashed him on the head. Snarling, the man spun, slashing his sword. Cyrus ducked and switched his sword to his right hand.
Needing to disable the bloke as quickly and silently as possible, he feigned a strike to his knee, causing the man to block low, while Cyrus spun to the side and kicked his hip. The man toppled to the ground. Cyrus smashed his basket-hilt against the man's head. Finally, he lay still.
Cyrus confiscated the man's black cloak, then dragged him behind the weedy, overgrown bramble patch. He put on the cloak, then lodged both the swords deep inside the yew bush. If someone happened to disarm him, he would return and grab one of these backup swords.
He peered from behind the shrub again. He was glad to see that the empty courtyard was growing darker. Fortunately, no one had lit any torches yet. 'Haps 'twas the responsibility of these two daft sheep.
After pulling the cloak's cowl over his head, Cyrus ventured out and climbed the steps toward the entrance. He would take up the post of one of the disabled guards. Peering through the small window into the candlelit great hall, he could see the wee cocky bastard sitting at his high table having supper.
When a man moved out of his line of sight, he discovered that Elspeth sat at the table also. He was relieved that she appeared unharmed, but his muscles tensed with the need to charge in. A moment later, someone yanked open the door. Cyrus drew back, sword hidden behind his leg.
The guard stuck his bald head out, and Cyrus remembered him as Balcot, one of Henry's head guards who had tied him up at Darby Hall. Fury wound through his vitals when he realized this was also the blackguard who had wanted to kill Fraser and put him out of his misery. Fortunately, Cyrus's face was hidden beneath the cowl in the low light.
"What are you doing?" Balcot demanded, the scent of whisky strong on his breath. "Trying to peep in at the whore? Light the torches, you imbecile!"
Suppressing the rage swarming his veins, Cyrus disguised his voice, trying to sound like one of the men he'd clobbered. "I cannot find Parker."
"What?" Balcot came out and shut the door, blocking the voices and laughter from inside.
"Parker vanished."
Balcot turned his head and surveyed the bailey. Seizing the opportunity, Cyrus shoved him, causing him to flip over the stair rail and crash to the ground.
"My leg!" Balcot roared. "You bastard! I'll kill you!"
Cyrus ran down the steps, took Balcot's sword and smashed it against his head. He dropped silent. Humph... Balcot's leg was crooked at the wrong angle. 'Tis what he deserved for wanting to kill Fraser. He could've been the one who broke Fraser's arm.
Cyrus dragged the heavy guard around the opposite corner of the building, then rolled him onto his stomach. He didn't want to kill a pile of men, but he did want to weaken and disable Henry's army. A head guard with a broken leg wouldn't be of much use. He certainly couldn't ride.
When Cyrus picked up the two swords again, he realized the heavier one felt familiar. Though he couldn't see well in the darkness, he knew 'twas his own sword that Balcot must have stolen from him back at Darby.
Before Cyrus reached the steps again, two men left the barracks and headed toward the castle's entrance.
One glanced up at the top of the steps. "Those two idlers have left their posts."
"Maybe his lairdship invited them to dine at the high table with their former lady."
They cackled.
Relishing his disguise in the midst of enemies, Cyrus approached from the side. He kept his weapons hidden beneath the cloak. "Could one of you help me find Parker?"
"Find him yourself!" The man started up the steps.
The other guard paused, eyeing him. "Remove your cowl."
"Why should I?"
The man withdrew his sword and held it downward at an angle. "Who are you?"
"Your darkest nightmare." Cyrus tightened his hands on the sword hilts.
"What?" The man stepped closer. "Speak up, you lazy mongrel!"
"I don't answer to you, whoreson!"
The man slashed his blade, head height. Cyrus ducked at the same time he lunged. After he'd run the man through, his companion, who was halfway up the steps, leapt to the ground, his blade flying toward Cyrus's chest. He knocked the weapon away and drove his own into the man's chest.
Both men lay upon the ground, one unmoving, the other jerking. Cyrus dragged them out of sight to lay by their knocked out chum.
"Balcot?" a man yelled from the entrance. "His lairdship wishes to speak to you!"
"Come down here," Cyrus called back, trying to sound like Balcot.
"What the blazing hell are you doing? 'Tis dark as a dungeon out here. Why are the torches not lit?"
"Those damnable shirkers from Darby up and quit. They're gone."
"God's teeth!" The man brought a lantern from inside and descended the steps. "Why has no one taken their place? Where are you?"
Cyrus walked in behind the man and shook his head. Such an easy target. He'd give him the hilt instead of the blade. After Cyrus thwacked him on the head, he dragged him to the side of the castle with the others. The lantern had broken and gone out when the man had dropped it. Cyrus set it aside so no one would notice.
He raced up the steps and peered in at the small window of the door. Sounds of laughter and talking seeped through the thick door. Elspeth sat at the high table about three feet from Dalacroy, a guard behind her. She was not eating as everyone else was, although food sat in front of her. He realized the reason... her hands were bound. That whoreson was shoving food into his mouth, drinking and laughing with his men, while he made Elspeth go hungry.
Fury snaked along Cyrus's veins. The blackguard would pay for that, as well as the rest of the pain he'd caused them.
Tearing his gaze away from her, Cyrus counted ten guards in the great hall along with a man he assumed was a steward, for he was fairly well-dressed. A few servants milled around, serving food and drink. More guards could be stationed against the wall nearest him. Still, a small number, all things considered. Some of the men remained in the barracks. He needed to take out several more so they'd be evenly matched.
At least he knew Elspeth was alive with no visible injuries, even if she was hungry. He had to get her away from Dalacroy tonight.
"Waldrop?" Dalacroy's shout was muffled by the door. "Where is he? One of you, go find Waldrop and Balcot!" He yelled the order toward the low tables.
A guard leapt up and charged toward the exit. Cyrus drew back into the shadows beside the door.
The guard stuck his head out. "Waldrop?" he called. "Balcot?" All was silent and he had not noticed Cyrus. He exited and closed the door back. "Waldrop!" he bellowed. "His lairdship wishes to see you!"
Cyrus butted his sword hilt against the man's temple then shoved him over the balustrade. He landed on the ground in the shadow of the steps. No moaning from this one.
Too easy. Who was next? Through the window, he scanned the great hall again.
After a few moments, Henry glared at the door. "Somebody, go find Balcot and Waldrop! Go look in the barracks. Now! If they're not standing before me in one minute, I'll kick all your arses out of here with no pay."
Three guards sprung to their feet and raced toward the door. Cyrus flattened himself against the wall again. The door swung open and the first guard emerged, then halted abruptly at the top of the steps. The next two guards crashed into him, propelling him stumbling halfway down the steps.
"Watch out, you whoreson!"
"'Tis dark as pitch out here. Why aren't the torches lit?"
"Everyone must be in the barracks. Let's go."
The three trotted down the steps and across the bailey.
Cyrus peered through the window again, seeing Dalacroy rise to his feet, grab his crotch and head toward a small curtained doorway on the outside wall of the room, the garderobe, no doubt. While he was inside, two of his personal bodyguards stood outside. One took a swig from a flask and passed it to the other. The burly guard behind Elspeth came forward, staring down at her breasts, then picked up the bottle of whisky from the table and turned it up.
Keeping his sword hidden beneath the cloak, Cyrus opened the door and entered casually, as a normal guard might, then strode along the side of the large great hall toward the high table. Those at the low tables only gave him a cursory glance and went back to swilling ale. Elspeth's guard placed a hand on her shoulder, then ran it down to her breast.
She drew away. "Get your hands off me, you swine!"
Laughter erupted among the men.
Cyrus wanted to instantly kill him, but he forced himself to walk calmly so he could use the element of surprise. Reaching him, Cyrus grabbed the man by his doublet and flung him against the stone wall. Pandemonium erupted.
"Elspeth," Cyrus murmured into her ear. He flipped her onto his shoulder and ran for the exit.
Two guards wielding daggers stood in his path. Moving quickly, he kicked one in the groin and sent him tumbling, while he stabbed the other in the throat before he could see the blade headed his way. Hearing pounding footsteps behind him in pursuit, he leapt over the mortally wounded man and shoved through the door.
Outside in the dimness, two guards were nearing the top of the steps in front of him. Cyrus kicked the first one in the chest. He went flying back against the second one. Shouting, both rolled to the ground in a heap. Cyrus leapt over them and sprinted around the side of the castle to the postern gate, Elspeth still on his shoulder. He kicked the gate open, then shoved it back into place. Remembering the hidden bow and quiver just in time, he sheathed his sword and grabbed the extra weapons. Maneuvering by memory through the darkness, he skirted the curtain wall and headed toward the wood where he'd left the horse.
Once in the trees, he lowered Elspeth to her feet. She had been so quiet, he was concerned. "'Tis me. Cyrus."
"I ken it. I thank you for coming."
"Are you injured?"
"Nay, I'm well. Where are your guards?" She was shaking. From cold or fear, he wasn't certain.
How could he answer her question without alarming her? "You're freezing." He removed the black woolen cloak he wore and wrapped it around her. He drew her tightly into his arms, warming her and cherishing her at the same time. He could not believe how relieved he was that she was all right.
He kissed the top of her head. "Can you walk?"
"Aye. How is your head? Henry hit you so hard."
"'Tis all right." It ached still, but Cyrus didn't want her to worry. He took her hand and led her through the midnight wood, trying to be quiet and avoid fallen branches.
"Where are your guards?" Her voice was a whisper.
"I sent Norval to Castle Rebbinglen for reinforcements. Reid will take Fraser to Greymont Castle with Vance and everyone else. He said 'twas fortified."
"The curtain walls were in decent repair last time I visited. Though they haven't needed to hold off an army in at least a score years. I'm glad everyone is traveling there. 'Twill be far safer than Darby."
"Aye. Fraser's sword arm is broken, so he cannot fight. Cecil, Sean, and James are severely injured. Hubert was killed in the skirmish."
"Oh, saints. I'm so sorry." She squeezed his hand. "You should not have taken such a risk in coming here alone."
"I wasn't going to abandon you to those brutes." He lifted her onto the borrowed horse and leapt on behind. "Did Henry figure out the deeds are false?"
"Not yet. He sent two men south for his solicitor."
"Good, that gives us more time. I need to get you to Greymont. 'Tis likely the safest place for you. Since I've never been there, you'll have to give me directions."
"After we pass through town, I'll show you which road to take."
He glanced up at the dark sky. "We'll need to hurry. Storm clouds are moving in."
***
SHOUTS AND YELLS REACHED Henry in the garderobe. "What the hell?" He quickly adjusted his clothing and emerged from behind the curtain into the great hall. Women servants screamed and ran away, while half the men lay on the floor and the other half had their swords drawn. Lady Grey had disappeared. He glanced around to see if she was elsewhere. MacGirk lay on the floor behind her chair, rubbing his head.
"What's going on here?" Henry demanded. "Where is my captive?"
"'Twas that bastard MacKenzie, or mayhap the devil himself, that stole her away," one of his bodyguards named Campbell reported.
"Don't let them escape, you idiots! After them!" Henry drew his sword and dashed for the door.
"Us?" Campbell followed closely on his heels. "Who will protect you?"
"I have plenty of men to hunt those two down!" He trotted down the steps into the dark courtyard with a few of his men. How had MacKenzie escaped the guards at Darby and slipped inside these walls? "Light the torches! Which way did MacKenzie go?"
"He knocked us down and disappeared into the dark." One of his novice guards limped forward.
"Fools! Tell Waldrop and Balcot to get out here!"
"They're nay in the barracks, m'laird," another of the underlings reported.
"Well, where the devil are they? In the stables?"
"Nay, they disappeared, along with several more."
"What?" Henry glanced around, squinting into the dim light of newly lit torches and seeing only half of his guards. "MacKenzie," he rasped under his breath. "Did he kill them all?"
His remaining men looked horrified, their big eyes searching out the darkened corners of the bailey.
"Don't just stand there! Search for the men." He turned to the beefy guard who had been in charge of Elspeth. He now stood rubbing the side of his head. "MacGirk, you go after MacKenzie and bring the wench back."
MacGirk's eyes flared wide and he slowly lowered his hand. "Me, m'laird? Alone?"
"Of course! He's one man. And you're one man. You'll not be outnumbered."
"Aye, but... 'twas like looking up at the grim reaper himself after he slammed me against the wall."
"You two go with him." Henry pointed to the recruits whose names he didn't recall. "Kill MacKenzie when you find him and bring the wench back to me alive!"
They looked none too happy about their new assignment. "Aye, m'laird."
MacGirk and the other two hastened toward the stables.
"The guards are here!" one of the manservants shouted, his voice echoing.
"Bring the torch," Henry ordered Campbell as they rushed toward the far corner of the keep.
Some of his best guards lay in a row, unmoving, including Balcot and Waldrop. Icy fear hung in the air.
"Are they all dead?" Henry screeched, then forced himself to calm down and breathe normally. Mayhap he had underestimated that damnable MacKenzie. How could one man create so much mayhem? Surely, he'd had others with him. At most, he'd only had two able-bodied guards back at Darby. His brother had been too injured to help him. Unless MacKenzie had somehow sent word for reinforcements.
"Two are dead," Campbell announced after checking all the men. "Balcot and Waldrop live."
Glad for that, Henry breathed a sigh of relief. They were both his right-hand men.
"Ashford is dead!" Galway yelled as he knelt in the darkness near the steps. "He must have been pushed over the balustrade."
Henry gritted his teeth and seethed curses. "How many men were with MacKenzie?"
"We only saw him in the hall," a new recruit said. "Mayhap more remained out here."
"Aye, that has to be it. He must have had help out here." But Henry had no inkling where the help came from, considering MacKenzie's forces had shrunk to nil.
"He bashed Balcot and Waldrop on the head." Campbell arose after examining the two. "They're addled but they should live."
"This can't be all of them." A chill sliding down his spine, Henry scanned the near-empty bailey. Devil take it. He did not fear MacKenzie.
"Parker and Ballantyne, who were guarding the entrance, are missing," Campbell said.
"Find them. Search around the castle." Henry had to know how many men were dead and how many could recover by the morn. He'd have to search out more soldiers in Aberdeen on the morrow.
The two injured men stirred and groaned in pain.
"My leg's broke, m'laird!" Balcot shouted.
"Does anyone know a healer in the area?" Henry scanned the small group around him.
"Aye, my mum," a stable lad of about fifteen summers said.
"Go retrieve her. And be quick about it!"
The lad ran for the exit.
A cool wind picked up, swirling leaves and debris in the bailey. Far away, thunder rumbled.
"We're in for a storm. Carry Balcot and Waldrop into the barracks and give them whisky if they can swallow."
Once they were inside the barracks and the wounded lying on the cots, Henry asked, "What do you two remember?" He switched his gaze between Balcot and Waldrop.
"Naught," Waldrop mumbled.
"Come on. Think! How many men did MacKenzie have with him?"
"I didn't see any others," Balcot hissed through teeth clenched in pain. "I thought he was one of your new guards, then he threw me over the balustrade."
"Dark." Single-word responses seemed to be all Waldrop could utter.
If MacKenzie alone could reduce his two best guards to broken, addlepated sheep, what could he do with a small army backing him? What about the guards he'd left back at Darby Hall? He would count them as casualties for now. If they lived, no doubt they had severe injuries much like his soldiers here.
"We found Ballantyne alive." Galway and another guard entered, carrying the befuddled man between them, then placed him on one of the narrow beds.
Henry hastened toward him. "Ballantyne? What do you remember?"
The man mumbled gibberish.
Campbell strode in. "Parker is dead. He was hidden under a bush."
"Hell," Henry ground out. Including the guard from the great hall, that made five the bastard had killed. He'd likely slain the five he'd left back at Darby, too, in order to escape. Around half his men were either dead or out of commission. He needed more soldiers and quickly. What about the Highland clan MacTarril had said he would rustle up to add to his forces? He needed them immediately.
"Galway, hasten to MacTarril's home and tell him I need the Highland reinforcements forthwith. Tell him 'tis urgent, and I will double my next donation."
"Aye, m'laird." Galway quit the room.
Henry had to get the wench back before MacKenzie somehow sent word for reinforcements of his own. If Henry could reclaim Lady Grey, he could take her south to his main residence and slip her into the dungeon until she was forced to sign the deeds, then he could quietly and discretely dispose of her in the river.
"I want every able-bodied man out searching for MacKenzie and the harlot! Leave her unharmed and bring her to me immediately. If you see him, kill him!"