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Cyrus prayed Elspeth was not about to make a foolish move with Dalacroy's knife a hair's breadth from the delicate skin of her throat. But he knew that wink had been a signal.
Before he could say a word, she lifted her bound hands, gripped Dalacroy's forearm and shoved it forward while also ducking her head.
Dalacroy scrambled to snatch her back into position while Cyrus launched himself forward. He grabbed the whoreson's wrist and hand while tackling him to the ground and shoving the dagger upward. Elspeth rolled away, and the blade stabbed into Dalacroy's neck. He shrieked but Cyrus didn't let up.
Teeth clenched and abject fear radiating off him, the knave eyed Cyrus at close range. He knew 'twas the end of the road.
"You made a fatal mistake when you threatened her life," Cyrus growled.
Dalacroy's eyes closed. He soon went limp and gave up the ghost. Cyrus stood to see that the two guards had been captured and tied up, along with Talbot, after they had surrendered.
Finding Elspeth standing close by, he tugged her into his arms, holding her fiercely to his pounding heart. Dear God, he had come so close to losing her twice over. He could not believe the gratitude rising within him. "Are you well?"
"Aye. Thank you for coming after me," Elspeth breathed against his chest.
"No need to thank me. I cannot believe you took such a risk." Cyrus pulled back to gaze down at her, a fierce scowl upon his face.
Wishing he would relax, Elspeth reached up and smoothed his troubled brow. "I wasn't going to allow him to dictate my future, nor my son's. If the knife was away from my throat, I knew you could defeat him."
His expression easing, Cyrus nodded. "'Twas a brave move. And I appreciate your confidence in me. Do you hurt anywhere?"
"My knee and my neck." Both still throbbed—a dull ache in her knee and a sharp pain in her neck. She was certain her knee would have a large bruise on it. Her face might, too, considering how hard that blasted guard had slapped her.
"Let's get you inside." Startling her, Cyrus picked her up into his arms and carried her through the portcullis, which had been raised moments earlier. When she noticed Rebbie and Dirk grinning in their direction, heat rose to her face.
"I can walk," she whispered, not wanting to draw attention.
"Nonsense. Your knee is hurt, and I don't want you to injure it further," he grumbled. "Mistress Almsly should still be here taking care of my injured men."
"Aye. I'm sure she can make a poultice for my knee."
He carried her across the bailey, activity all around them. "How did you hurt it?"
"When I was trying to get away from them, I landed on it."
"What about your neck?"
"I was fighting the guard. He slapped me and wrenched my neck."
"Which guard?" Cyrus demanded.
"The big one named Campbell."
Cyrus jerked around to glare at the man in question. Jenkins and Norval were escorting him toward the dungeon. "I'll make sure and slap him down."
She tried to shake her head, but her neck hurt too much. "There's no reason to now."
"The knave had no reason to abuse you, either," he muttered, carrying her up the steps and into the castle's great hall, which was mostly empty.
"'Tis over now. I will be fine soon enough." She stroked his massive shoulder, wishing she could calm him.
"Thank God you were unharmed in the fire. How did you get out of the house?"
"Through the kitchen. I'm so glad your friends kept you from going back into the blaze."
She glimpsed the latent flash of anguish in his eyes.
"I was mad with worry for you. I thought you might be upstairs and unaware of the danger you were in." He lowered her onto a settle near the hearth, then sat beside her. "How did the fire at Darby start?"
Elspeth explained about the overturned candle and the whisky on the table, and how she'd escaped the men. When she absorbed the full impact of the loss of her home, tears stung her eyes. "I'm sure 'tis only a burned-out shell by now."
He nodded with regret. "'Twas a fine home."
"Did anyone perish in the fire?"
"MacTarril is the only one I know of. Course, he could've been dead before that flaming beam fell on him."
She gasped in shock. "In truth? The magistrate was killed?"
"Aye. Moments earlier, he had grabbed me around the neck, trying to force me to unhand Dalacroy, and I'd flung MacTarril off. My main concern was getting to you. I didn't know where the hell you were. I thought you might be in your bedchamber. I've never known such all-consuming fear and devastation," he rasped.
Tears burning her eyes at his heartfelt confession, she shook her head, then pressed her face against his. "Thanks be to God, we're all right."
"Aye." He kissed her forehead, warming her heart.
Emerging from the stairwell, Mistress Almsly noticed them. "Och. M'laird, m'lady. Are you both well?" She hurried across the great hall toward them.
Cyrus stood. "Lady Grey is injured."
"Oh, good heavens. Do you wish to go to your bedchamber so I can attend to you?"
"Aye." Using her arms to take some of the pressure off her knee, Elspeth pushed herself up.
"I'll carry you." Cyrus lifted her, causing another flush of heat to cover her.
"I'll be fine walking," she whispered.
He shook his head, giving her a mock stern look.
Before Cyrus, she had never been carried by a man and couldn't get used to the sensation. With his brawny arms supporting her effortlessly, she felt like a wee lass.
Mistress Almsly waited by the narrow spiral steps.
"Her knee and her neck pain her greatly." Cyrus climbed the steps. "And check to see if she has any other wounds."
"I'll be glad to, m'laird." Mistress Almsly quickly followed, then hastened forward in the corridor to open the bedchamber door.
After entering the cozy room Elspeth had used off and on since she was sixteen summers, Cyrus gently deposited her on the large four-poster bed. When he started to draw away, she caught his hand and squeezed it. "I thank you," she whispered.
He lifted her hand and kissed the back, his eyes still shadowed with concern.
"I'll be fine," she assured him. "Could you make certain the other lairds feel welcome since I cannot be downstairs at the moment?"
"Aye. I'll be back in a few minutes to check on you." He gave a brief bow and left.
"I'm so sorry to see you were injured, m'lady." Mistress Almsly moved toward the doorway. Her lady's maid, Bernice, rushed in just before she closed the door.
When the two women wondered at her sooty, torn and muddy clothing and her injuries, Elspeth explained what had happened during the last several hours. Though the women appeared angry about her injuries from being abducted, they were stunned speechless at the loss of Darby Hall.
"Oh, m'lady, your beautiful home." Bernice blinked back tears.
"I know." Elspeth felt the loss deeply. "But we're all safe. That's what matters."
Her maid nodded. "Of course. Thank the saints you survived the ordeal. And I'm glad you have a good outlook."
"Aye. I can either live here or rebuild."
What would she do next? So much had happened, and her life had changed so drastically, she knew not what the future held. Regardless, she was determined to make the best of it.
The healer and the maid fussed over her and helped her undress. She could not have been more grateful. She had missed them both.
Her swollen knee was an angry shade of violet. 'Twould soon be black and blue, she knew. She was glad when Mistress Almsly determined she had no broken bones.
"I will mix up a comfrey poultice for it to reduce the bruising." The healer then examined her neck. "What happened here?"
"Dalacroy's guard, Campbell, wrenched it when he slapped me."
"Och. What a knave! He deserves the dungeon for severely mistreating a kind lady such as you."
"Cyrus said—" Elspeth snapped her mouth shut. "I mean... Laird Stornmor said he intended to slap the man down."
Mistress Almsly chuckled. "Aye. Good. His lairdship is a fine man. So protective over you, is he not?" She raised a brow. "He's a mite smitten with you, m'lady."
Elspeth's face heated as she grinned. "'Haps I'm smitten with him as well."
"I knew it!" Mistress Almsly beamed a bright smile. "'Tis high time you found happiness. You deserve it."
"Well, naught may come of it." Elspeth shrugged. When she visualized Lady Lily, gloominess overshadowed her. "He is an earl after all. He'll want a highborn lady."
"Humph. If he's a canny man, he will see that you are the finest lady in all the land."
A loud knock sounded at the door and they all jumped. "Lady Grey?" Cyrus's deep voice resonated from the corridor.
"I'll need a bit more time!" she called out, hoping he wouldn't enter until she was washed, dressed and tidied. Bernice was attempting to untangle the snarled mess her hair had become.
"You're all right then?" he responded.
"Aye. I should be more presentable within an hour's time."
"Very well."
Moments later, a lighter knock sounded.
"Who is it?"
"Smith, m'lady." Greymont's housekeeper.
"Come in." Elspeth did indeed need to talk to her.
Once the wiry, gray-haired woman curtsied and stood beside the bed, Elspeth inquired about how things were proceeding.
"The maids are serving ale and refreshments to the lairds and soldiers. We're all a wee bit thunderstruck to have a marquess, two earls, and a chief visiting all at once." Exhilaration lit her blue eyes.
Elspeth grinned. "There has been very little excitement here over the past several years."
"Indeed."
"Have the kitchen staff cook a large stew and bake two dozen loaves of bread."
"They have already begun, m'lady. They heard you were injured and took it upon themselves to start preparing whatever was in the storerooms. It may not be such a fancy meal, but no one will starve."
"Cook is resourceful. Every dish I've tasted of hers has been delicious." Elspeth's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly.
Smith's eyes widened. "Heavens, you must be starving. When I get back to the kitchen, I'll send some food up."
"I would appreciate it."
"The chambermaids are preparing rooms for the lairds. They were already clean, but they're giving them a wee tidying up and stocking the whisky."
"Good. Make certain Laird Kilverntay is given the Stewart room." Though it was the best room in this castle, it couldn't compare to the ones at grander estates. Elspeth named off two additional well-appointed chambers on the same corridor for Rebbie and Dirk. Fortunately, Greymont had a good-sized barracks, as well as the great hall, for the clansmen and soldiers to sleep in.
"Give Laird Stornmor the Duisdale room," Elspeth said.
"Very good. Do you require anything else?"
"Nay. I thank you."
Smith curtsied and hastened out.
'Haps Elspeth should feel scandalous for assigning Cyrus a room next door to her own, but she wanted him close by.
***
AS CYRUS DESCENDED the steps into the bailey, he noticed Irving and MacNeil close-by.
"Thank the saints you're both alive." He gave each of them a warrior handshake. "Were you hurt badly in that skirmish several days ago?"
"We were both knocked out and had a few cuts and stab wounds," Irving said. "I awoke first, put MacNeil on a horse and headed toward Castle Rebbinglen... at least I thought I was. But my thinking was awry, and I lost my way. Fortunately, MacNeil came to the next morn and somehow, we managed to get back on the right road. We were surprised when Norval came upon us only a few miles from the castle."
"I know now I shouldn't have sent you after Fraser. I put you in danger needlessly, and I apologize for that."
Both men eyed Cyrus as if he'd gone barmy. He knew, he rarely showed regret for anything, but when he was wrong, he owned up to it.
"No apology needed, Chief," MacNeil said gruffly. "'Tis our sworn duty to protect you and your brothers."
"You're good men." Cyrus would have to think of a way to reward them, well... all his guards really, for they had gone above and beyond in this endeavor.
Across the way, Cyrus noticed Talbot sitting on a stone bench near the barracks, his hands bound behind his back and a MacKenzie guard on either side. "Has the solicitor revealed anything?"
MacNeil shook his head.
"Not that we know of," Irving said.
"I'm going to talk to him."
Dirk, Rebbie, and Kilverntay joined him.
"You're a witness to what happened here this day, Talbot," Cyrus said. "Go against me and you'll regret it. Your practice is in jeopardy as it is."
His wide-eyed gaze darting back and forth among the men, the solicitor blanched. "I had no inkling Laird Dalacroy intended murder."
"But you knew he intended to steal property from a lady under the guise of a legal transaction."
Talbot pressed his thin lips together and hung his head.
"Escort him to the dungeon," Cyrus told his two clansmen.
They nodded and led the man away.
"I'll have several of my men take him to Stirling tomorrow along with a missive," Kilverntay said. "The authorities there will decide his fate."
"I appreciate that." Cyrus knew the marquess would deal with him fairly.
"I'm glad you weren't injured in this mess, Stornmor." Kilverntay remained beside him while Dirk and Rebbie headed toward the stables.
Cyrus needed to have a private conversation with the marquess, but the man would surely be angry when Cyrus told him he could not marry Lady Lily.
"I'm glad to see you're unharmed, too, sire."
"Aye, well, Robert won't allow me near the action anymore. He thinks I'm a decrepit old man and surrounds me with a dozen bodyguards."
Cyrus clenched his teeth to keep from laughing outright, for Kilverntay was anything but decrepit. He was in his fifties, but still fit and hearty. "He's a good son."
Kilverntay chuckled and nodded. "How is Lady Grey?"
"The healer is seeing to her injuries."
"'Tis a great shame she was hurt by that miscreant. Tell her I hope she recovers quickly."
Cyrus nodded. "I want to thank you for bringing reinforcements to help us in defeating Dalacroy."
"Always glad to help out a friend and ally."
Cyrus was glad the marquess thought of him thusly. He hoped that would continue even after he conveyed his latest decision.
"As an eye witness, I'll report the events to the Privy Council," Kilverntay said. "They'll want to know how the Earl of Dalacroy met his demise."
No doubt there would be an investigation and Cyrus would likely be questioned. But with so many witnesses, surely he would not be implicated.
"I'm certain you will give me the rest of the details," Kilverntay said.
"Of course." Cyrus much preferred honesty in everything, but he was unconvinced that anyone needed to know about Elspeth's liaison with the elder Earl of Dalacroy or Henry's true motives for trying to steal the properties. As soon as possible, he needed to inform Kilverntay that he could not marry his daughter. "Could we talk inside?"
"Indeed."
Cyrus proceeded up the steps and into the great hall. Several clansmen and soldiers were gathered, drinking ale. He spotted Morrison, Elspeth's squat steward, nearby.
The man bowed. "So good to see you again, m'laird."
Cyrus introduced the marquess, standing beside him, prompting the steward to bow even deeper. "'Tis my greatest honor to meet you, m'laird."
Cyrus glanced around the great hall. "Morrison, is there a room where we might have a private meeting?"
"Of course. The library." The steward quickly waddled forward and opened a door. "You will find whisky on the side table."
"I appreciate it."
Once they were inside the wood-paneled room, lit by a narrow west-facing window, Morrison closed the door on his way out.
Cyrus headed for the side table. "Would you care for Scotch?"
"Aye. In fact, I require it." Kilverntay laughed.
Cyrus felt fortunate that the older man was in good spirits. Mayhap he would not be too angry by the close of the meeting.
After pouring two small glasses of whisky, he handed one to the marquess.
"To a good outcome of a bad situation." Kilverntay raised his glass. "Slàinte mhath."
"Indeed. Slàinte mhath." Cyrus sipped the whisky. "I appreciate your willingness to meet with me. Would you care to sit?" He motioned toward a group of chairs near the hearth.
"Glad to." Kilverntay took a seat. "What's on your mind?"
Cyrus joined him. "I've considered it for several days, and I've come to a difficult decision. I don't do this lightly."
"Go on."
"Though Lady Lily is lovely in every way, I find that I cannot marry her. I'm not going to be able to sign the betrothal contract."
"Oh." Kilverntay's brows shot up. "Well, no harm." He waved a hand, then sipped his drink.
Cyrus eyed him, wondering at his bewildering response. He had expected the man to be annoyed at the very least.
"You're not angry?"
"Nay. In fact, there's something I should tell you, too. I was unsure how to do it, but you've made it easy. My daughter told me before I left that she didn't wish to marry you."
Stunned speechless, Cyrus was about to ask why when Kilverntay went on.
"I pray you will not feel insulted. She has turned down dozens of men." Kilverntay shrugged. "When she told me she didn't wish to marry you, I told her she didn't have any choice in the matter. I didn't mean it. Just testing the waters, you ken. She said, Mother will be hearing of this! Then she stormed from the room." Kilverntay shook his head. "Wishing now I hadn't coddled the wee hellion so much."
Cyrus frowned. "Do you think she might run away?"
"Nay," Kilverntay scoffed. "The lass cannot even buckle her own boots. I figure she will be an old maid. I cannot for the life of me force her to marry anyone she doesn't want to."
"I'm sure she will find a man to her liking someday."
"One can only hope he is a baron or laird at the very least. Why was it you decided against the match?"
"I plan to ask Lady Grey to marry me." Cyrus's heart rate increased at the idea that, if she would have him, she would become Lady Stornmor. He could not believe how much he looked forward to it.
"Aha! So I didn't imagine that spark I thought I saw between you."
Cyrus shook his head. "We're well suited. When I thought she was in that burning house..." He closed his eyes against the horrid images. He didn't think he could've survived the loss.
"I understand. 'Twas how I felt about my first wife. Robert's mother. She was the finest jewel."
Cyrus was surprised at the emotion on the older man's face as he stared down into his whisky.
"I tried to find a woman to replace her, but there was no one. Of course, my current wife is a fine lady. She lives her life; I live mine. Our children are our main concern."
Cyrus nodded, fully realizing he would've been miserable with such an arrangement. He was thankful Elspeth saved him from a wretched existence. He now grasped what Isobel, Dirk, Rebbie, and the rest of them had tried to tell him. The feeling he had when he was next to Elspeth was addictive. The most seductive, alluring emotion he had ever experienced. She was all he could think about.
"Regardless, I hope we can continue this alliance of friendship," Kilverntay said.
"I'd be most honored. I couldn't ask for a better ally."
"You have accomplished a great deal for a man so young. I admire your ambition and your strength. 'Tis Lily's loss, I say."
Cyrus was humbled at such high praise. "I appreciate that."
"I wager Robert will have a good laugh over this." Kilverntay grinned. "He thinks everyone should have a love match, and he will be happy about yours."
"Well, I simply hope he isn't angry about it."
"Nay, he won't be, but you may be in for a fair bit of ribbing."
"I'm certain everyone will torment me over changing my mind, especially my brothers." But Cyrus didn't care. He would smile through it if Elspeth was by his side. He arose and poured two more drams of whisky.
"How about another toast?" Kilverntay raised his glass. "To your upcoming nuptials."
"If she accepts." Cyrus clinked his glass against Kilverntay's, then drank, all the while hoping Elspeth would not turn him down.