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Cyrus swung around to find black smoke billowing from the manor house windows in the distance. "Elspeth!" Extreme fear for her life propelled him forward.
"Give him your horse," Dirk told one of his guards.
Cyrus sheathed one sword and tossed the other one, then leap onto the borrowed horse. They all raced toward Darby Hall. "Lady Grey is in there!" he yelled to Dirk and Rebbie, urging the horse faster.
Before they reached the front gate, it swung open and a dozen or more horses galloped out, devoid of riders.
"Stay outside the walls with your guards, Da!" Rebbie told Kilverntay as they slid to a halt.
"Don't you dare go into that burning house, Robert!" the older man commanded.
Urgency driving him, Cyrus leapt off the horse and, sword in hand, sprinted through the gates ahead of everyone else.
The Comyns had formed a line to pass buckets of water from the well into the hall.
"Make haste!" Dalacroy waved his arms at the top of the steps. "More water! We must put out the fire!"
Cyrus ran by the line of men, then bounded up the steps. He grabbed Dalacroy's shirt front and yanked him upward onto his toes. "Where is she, Dalacroy?" Cyrus yelled into his face.
"Guards! Seize..." The weasel dropped silent, his mouth agape, when he glanced over Cyrus's shoulder and saw all of his allies, outnumbering the Comyns two to one.
Ready to strangle the bastard, Cyrus dragged him into the smoke-filled hall devoid of people. "Where is she?" A large section of the wooden floor near the table and one wall were burning. "Elspeth!" Cyrus shouted, icy fear drenching him.
Someone leapt onto his back, arm around his throat. "Release him!" 'Twas MacTarril's voice.
After shoving Henry farther into the burning hall to free up a hand, Cyrus reached back, grabbed MacTarril's doublet and flipped him across the floor with a crash.
Henry tried to flee past Cyrus toward the exit, but Cyrus caught the back of his doublet and yanked him back.
"Turn me loose!" Henry struggled against him.
After shoving the whoreson against the wall, Cyrus tightened his fist, twisting the man's collar and neck cloth, near choking him. "Tell me where she is! Or I'll kill you now."
"I know not." Henry coughed and gasped for breath. "She ran... when the fire started."
"Which way?" Cyrus demanded, his throat burning from the smoke. Up the stairs? Dear God, nay. Please don't let her be upstairs.
"I wasn't... watching her. I was trying to... save my house."
Someone grabbed Cyrus's shoulder from behind. He turned to find Dirk, his wild blue eyes reflecting the flames. "We must quit the building! The ceiling is on fire!"
"Nay! I must get her out!" Shoving Henry aside, Cyrus bypassed MacTarril lying on the floor and headed toward the stairs. Flames licked at the side of them. She could be in her bedchamber.
Someone grabbed both Cyrus's upper arms. Trying to jerk free from the strong grip, he looked around to find Dirk, Rebbie and two guards latched onto him and dragging him toward the exit.
"Release me! I must get her out of here!" Fear for her life near choked Cyrus, along with the black smoke.
As soon as the men hauled him over the threshold, a flaming beam crashed down from the ceiling, falling on MacTarril.
"Elspeth!" Cyrus roared, devastation searing him. He had not realized until that moment how much she meant to him.
Damn Rebbie and Dirk for dragging him down the steps. They held him in vice-like grips. Then Norval joined in to help them. Cyrus coughed the smoke from his lungs and yelled her name again. Pain, loss, and regret ripped at his soul, for he could not live without her.
***
THICK BLACK SMOKE FILLED the air of the kitchen garden, sending Elspeth into a coughing fit amid her panic. Saints! The men had not been able to put out the fire! She'd thought Henry would make sure it was extinguished to save the house she'd just signed over to him.
But, nay, her beloved home was going up in flames. Even if she could never live here again, she didn't wish to see it destroyed.
At least Cyrus was far away from the house. She prayed he had been able to defeat the two Comyns who had gone after him and that he would get back to Rebbinglen safely.
She peered out from behind a small apple tree. Seeing that the three Comyn guards were gone, she dashed toward the postern gate.
With shaking hands, she yanked out her keys, found the right one and unlocked the gate.
"Elspeth!" In the distance, a man yelled her name in a hoarse voice.
Cyrus! He had returned?
She darted around the front corner of the house, a part not yet burning. Through the smoke, she saw three men—Norval, Rebbie, and Dirk—holding Cyrus back as he struggled to charge into the blazing house. The reinforcements had finally arrived.
Coughing, she raced forward. "Cyrus!" she yelled to be heard over the roaring flames and the men calling out to one another.
Obviously not hearing her, Cyrus shouted her name at the front door, his voice torn and anguished.
Before she could reach him, someone leapt from the shadows of the stables, grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.
"This way." 'Twas Henry's voice. "Talbot and one of the guards are awaiting us with the horses."
Elspeth screamed. "Cyrus!"
"I heard her!" Cyrus yelled. "Where is she?"
Releasing another piercing scream, Elspeth slammed her elbow against her captor's back as he passed through the open postern gate.
"Cyrus!" she called out, fearful he would not hear her where they were now, on the outside of the wall.
"Keep them from following us, Comyn!" Henry commanded.
The beefy guard carrying her sprinted along the road, jarring her painfully against his shoulder.
The sounds of running footsteps followed, then men's shouts and swords clanging in the distance behind them. Glancing back briefly, she was shocked at the large melee of plaid-covered soldiers. Which one was Cyrus?
"Hurry, Campbell! Mount up," Henry ordered. "We ride to Greymont."
She remembered now that Campbell was one of Henry's bodyguards. As he dragged her off his shoulder, she saw an opening and slammed her fist into his nose. "Ow! Bitch!" he yelped and dropped her.
She landed on her knee, a shock of pain ricocheting through her. Gritting her teeth, she used all her strength to scramble away from him.
"Grab her, you idiot!" Henry commanded. "She must sign the Greymont deed."
The hulking guard looming over her, she rolled to her back and kicked him in the face. Yelling, he flipped her onto her stomach and pinned her down. She elbowed him in the throat, then kicked her heel into his groin.
Yanking her up, he roared and slapped her hard. Sharp pain whipped through her head and neck as she fell in a whirl of dizziness. On the ground again, she attempted to crawl away from him. But the ache in her knee was too much to bear. Nausea welled up within her.
"Put her on the horse now, Campbell!" Henry ordered. "Turner, grab that stallion's bridle. He's near as valuable as my house that's burning."
Elspeth ground her teeth against the blinding pain in her knee, unable to prevent the ruffian from lifting her into the air again and throwing her across the saddle. The breath was near knocked from her and her vision slid toward darkness. She gasped for air, barely maintaining awareness.
As the knaves rode away with her, she twisted enough to glance back and see her home turned into an inferno of orange flame and black smoke. And Cyrus and his clansmen fighting the Comyns.
Her throat clogged with tears. She only knew she could lose her home, but she couldn't lose Cyrus.
Dear God, please protect him.
***
AS CYRUS FOLLOWED THE sound of Elspeth's voice, he found the whole of the Comyn clan lying in wait outside the walls. They all charged at once.
"Tùlach Àrd!" Cyrus shouted. The MacKenzie battle cry should summon the rest of his clansmen, as well as the MacKay and MacInnis men from inside the walls to fight these bastards.
In a fearsome rush, Cyrus slashed and thrust, battling his way through the Comyns and the smoke.
Where had Dalacroy taken Elspeth?
Cyrus had almost gone mad when he'd thought she was trapped in the burning house. Thank the saints she had gotten out. But then, for her to be nabbed by that weasel... he should've strangled the life from Dalacroy when he had the chance.
When he defeated the last opponent, he spun around, looking for the next one, but only his clansmen and allies surrounded him.
"The survivors fled north, into the wood!" Dirk shouted.
"Let them go!" Cyrus sprinted toward the horses in the field. "I saw Dalacroy and his guards mounting horses. I wager he's taking her to Greymont."
Dirk chased behind him. "Where's that?"
"She said it was five miles south. 'Tis where Fraser and my injured guards are taking refuge."
"M'laird!" A towheaded lad ran along the wall toward him. Cyrus remembered he was the stable lad, Tommy. "M'laird, I took care of Goliath since you left."
"Why didn't you take him to Greymont?"
"Master Fraser said you might need your horse here when you returned. But the other laird stole him away a few minutes ago. His guard was holding her ladyship captive on the other horse."
Saints! An eye witness. "Did you see which way he took Lady Grey?"
"Aye." Tommy pointed at the road which led south.
"Do you ken how to find Greymont Castle?"
"Indeed. I've been there a few times."
"Can you ride with Norval and show us the quickest way?"
The lad nodded and ran toward the guard. Cyrus borrowed one of the larger horses left by the Comyn clan.
The MacKenzie, MacKay, and MacInnis clansmen mounted. Norval and Tommy led the way, Cyrus right behind them.
In the road before them, several fresh hoof tracks had been jabbed into the black mud, confirming they were headed in the right direction. He resisted the urge to prod the horse to a faster pace.
Cyrus prayed as he never had before that Elspeth was unscathed. He hadn't even gotten a good glimpse of her to see if she'd been harmed by the fire. Thank the saints he'd heard her yelling his name, else he wouldn't have known she'd been captured.
Finally, a half-hour later, Cyrus spied the castle's harled tower and curtain wall in the distance. Minutes later, the portcullis of Greymont came into view. Standing with three men, Dalacroy held Elspeth before him, a knife at her throat.
A blinding rage grabbed hold of Cyrus, making him want to choke the life from the blackguard. Never taking his eyes off them, Cyrus drew up and slid from the horse. Elspeth's ginger curls were disheveled, and her face and clothing muddy. Thank God, she appeared completely untouched by the fire, other than a bit of soot on her creamy skin. Had that bastard hurt her in some way he couldn't see? Confidence glinted in her amber eyes. In fact, he was surprised to find that she looked far less terrified than Dalacroy. Cyrus felt his chest expand with pride and love for her. She was an exceptional woman.
"Release her, Dalacroy," Cyrus commanded. "You cannot win."
"We'll see about that." The whoreson tightened his arm around her waist.
"You have but two guards and a solicitor. How do you imagine you will be victorious over four dozen highly trained soldiers?" Cyrus motioned at his allies behind him.
"I have the wench, so I have all the power. You or any of your men come near me and I'll slit her throat."
Just imagining such a fate for Elspeth, Cyrus felt as if he'd been kicked hard in the stomach. He could barely draw breath. Never had he been seized by such a paralyzing fear combined with fury... similar to the time Ben Comyn had murdered wee Patrick, but a thousand times worse.
Cyrus's rage was like a lit cannon ready to explode, but he had to think rationally. "What do you want?"
"I want your brother and all your men out of Greymont Castle. 'Twill soon be mine anyway. Then, the five of us will go in so the wench can retrieve the deed and sign it before Talbot."
"I want naught more to do with this madness. I'm not going in," the dark-clothed, skinny solicitor said, holding up his hands in surrender.
"Aye, you will or you'll be dead, too!" Dalacroy snarled.
"Several of my men inside are injured." Cyrus forced himself to remain calm and focused. He would pretend to cooperate with the madman until he saw an opening. "I'll have some of the others carry them out."
Narrowing his eyes, Dalacroy nodded, then dragged Elspeth backward, out of the way.
"Fraser!" Cyrus called toward the portcullis.
"Up here." His brother waved from the battlements, one arm in a sling.
Cyrus was glad to see he was recovering. "You and the others come out. I'll send in men to help the injured."
"Very well."
"And be quick about it!" Dalacroy yelled.
While they waited, Cyrus scrutinized the whoreson. Sweat beaded on his pasty brow and his gaze shifted back and forth between him and the dozens of men behind him. Dalacroy had a white-knuckle grip on the dagger's hilt. The lunatic was as unstable as a powder keg stored next to a flaming torch.
Did the knave truly think Cyrus would let him live if he did kill Elspeth? He was fit for Bedlam and not thinking clearly.
"Why would you risk your life over a property when you have so many already?" Cyrus asked.
"Who gave you leave to ask questions?"
What a trifling bastard, full of self-importance. Restraining his need to wring the wee rooster's neck, Cyrus glanced aside at Goliath, picking grass along the wall. "And you stole my horse?"
"I assumed Ben Comyn would run you through."
"You assumed wrong."
"Where are the Comyns? They were supposed to be helping us," Dalacroy's pallid-faced guard grumbled next to him.
"We don't need them." Dalacroy spoke through clenched teeth.
"The survivors ran," Cyrus said. "Fled into the wood like wee mice."
"As I said, I don't need them."
"M'laird?" The guard's eyes grew wider.
"What?" Dalacroy snapped.
"They're going to kill us."
"Nay, they are not! Shut your gob!" Dalacroy ordered.
If Cyrus could find an opening, the guard's prediction would hit the bullseye.
Elspeth winked, riveting Cyrus's attention. What the devil was she about?