"Hell," Fraser rasped low. If only Cyrus hadn't sent Irving and MacNeil to snag their attention, Fraser would've been in the clear and on his way to Castle Rebbinglen. He had been very canny in the way he'd left Darby Hall before dawn. Obviously, the two guards hadn't been as stealthy.
"Leave at least one of them alive to take back to his lairdship!" the leader ordered. "Come on, Eblin. I saw one over here."
Rage boring through him, Fraser ground his teeth. He didn't want to leave any of these whoresons alive.
The bald-headed leader, along with the one he'd called Eblin, shorter and stockier, headed toward Fraser, while the other four enemies divided into groups of two. Their strategy was obvious—two against one in each case.
Keeping the tree trunks between him and the enemies, Fraser moved farther back through the wood, crouched low and watched the two imbeciles who thought he was still behind the first tree. One on each side, they leapt around the trunk, swords drawn, and almost stabbed each other.
Fraser barely suppressed a snort, then slipped beneath a generous blaeberry bush near a large hummock. His dull green and blue plaid helped him to blend into his surroundings.
The other guards crashed through the wood in the distance, hunting for Irving and MacNeil. Fraser had great confidence in those two, for Cyrus had deemed them the best in order to bestow upon each of them the bodyguard position.
Fraser watched his two pursuers searching. They scanned the wood in all directions. Muttering curses, Eblin spat on the ground. "Where the blazing hell did he go, Balcot?"
The man shook his bald head. "We have to get at least one of them. His lairdship will string us up if we lose all three." Balcot glared in his general direction. "He's probably behind that mound. Come on." Swords held at the ready, they charged behind the hummock.
Fraser tensed, his muscles flexing and ready for action. Once the men discovered he wasn't hiding where they thought, they lowered their swords, their gazes once again scanning the landscape.
Eblin's eyes grew round. "'Tis as if he vanished like a specter."
Fraser would show them a specter. He leapt out from beneath the bush and sliced the sword arm of the shorter man who was closest to him. Eblin screamed out in pain and struck out with the dagger in his left hand. Fraser dodged aside and using his dirk, stabbed the man in the ribs. He fell to the ground, writhing in pain and squawking like a mad rooster.
The other man, Balcot, charged him with a shout, his yellowish teeth glinting from within his rusty beard. Fraser sliced his blade over the man's left arm. He turned, knocking Fraser's sword aside. He then punched him in the eye driving him back a few paces.
"'Slud!" Fraser growled and, before he could aim his blade again, the enemy punched him in the jaw and tackled him to the ground. His attention had been on the sword, not the man's opposite hand.
The bastard stood on Fraser's sword blade, rendering the weapon useless.
Fraser struck out with his dirk, slicing through the man's thick trews, padded like armor. With a roar of pain, his foe kicked the dirk from Fraser's hand, then fell upon him and wedged a forearm across his throat, cutting off his breath.
"Be still or I'll throttle you now!"
Fraser elbowed the knave in the face, glad to hear the crack of his nose as it broke, then shoved his knee into his groin.
"Over here!" Balcot roared for reinforcements.
Fraser punched him and kicked him off, then leapt to his feet. He headed toward his dirk, lying on the ground a few yards away.
"Capture him alive!" Balcot ordered.
Two men came from behind and tackled him to the ground, face down. He cursed, spitting out moss, leaves and pine needles. His blade still out of reach, he turned over, kicking at their heads. Another man joined in the scuffle.
"Bind his hands and feet!" Balcot ordered, pressing his fingers against his bloody nose as he limped toward them.
Fraser kicked at their knees, sending one howling to the ground. Another smashed a sword hilt against Fraser's head. He roared at the pain that shot through his skull. He was dazed but remained awake. And yet he couldn't free himself from their ropes.
"I'd love naught better than to kill him, but we can't. He's more valuable alive!"
Damnation! They'd overpowered him and bound his hands and feet.
"Is Eblin dead?" one of the men asked.
"Aye, this whoreson stabbed him."
One of the men kicked him hard in the lower back. Pain radiated through his entire body.
"Where are the other two MacKenzie guards?" Balcot demanded.
"Dead, most likely. I stabbed the tall one after he killed Ickes."
God's teeth, nay! Cyrus's guards couldn't be dead. Fraser roared in outrage and twisted, trying with all is strength to wrest himself from the ropes. The four of them lifted and carried him, then tossed him across MacNeil's horse. Pain blasted through Fraser's stomach and his head.
"Bastards! You'll meet your death over this!" Fraser yelled.
"Nay, we'll be greatly rewarded. Load Ickes and Eblin onto their horses, then check those two vermin," their commander ordered.
Fraser turned his head aside, trying to see MacNeil and Irving. They lay still upon the mossy ground, their clothes bloody.
"Their chests are nay moving. They've both gone to meet their maker."
"Nay!" Fraser snarled between clenched teeth. The two were good, honest men. They were like cousins to him.
Cyrus would be furious about their failure in this skirmish, but he wouldn't bend to the demands of an enemy. When Shamus had been taken hostage, Cyrus hadn't brought any ransom money. Instead, he laid siege to the castle in the dark of night.
"Mount up! We ride to Wingate. We'll see what the Earl of Dalacroy thinks of this mongrel."
Chapter Seventeen
Spending a couple of hours outside in the courtyard and in the gatehouse with Reid and Norval, Cyrus forced Elspeth from his mind. He had to focus on the business at hand—the safety of Elspeth and everyone in this manor house. If Fraser, Irving, and MacNeil were successful in reaching Rebbinglen, they would arrive back here the next evening at the earliest. What if Henry attacked before then? He had to find a safe place for Elspeth and her servants to hide.
He entered the hall, seeing her seated near the hearth while talking to her steward.
As Cyrus approached, their conversation ceased, and she watched him warily.
Although he disliked the hint of anger still glinting in her eyes, he couldn't deal with it now. He quickly got to the point. "I need to look at your cellar."
Her brows quirked and she appeared confused by his odd request. "Are you in need of more whisky?"
"Nay. I'm looking for a more secure place to protect you and your servants."
"Oh."
"If for some reason Fraser, Irving, and MacNeil don't return before that knave attacks, we need a plan."
"I'll show you." Her demeanor chilly, she took a candle from the mantle and led the way down the narrow turnpike stairs.
He lifted his gaze to her coppery hair, refusing to allow himself to be distracted by the sensual movement of her hips. Being in her presence and pretending he felt naught was like trying to put out a fire with whisky.
Once they reached the cellar, he glanced around the stone walls of the much cooler room. The first vaulted chamber was large and contained food supplies, such as sacks of grain, root vegetables, and salted meat. A door led to the outside. Two narrow windows on each side allowed in slivers of light.
The door was already barred, but to prevent anyone from forcing their way in, Cyrus rolled three heavy barrels filled with supplies in front of it. "That will reinforce the door should they try to break it down."
Turning, he scrutinized her face. With hellish voracity, he wanted to stare at her for hours. But of course, that would be the most insane thing ever. Pulling his attention away, he noticed an interior door. "What's in there?"
"Barrels of wine, ale, and whisky."
&nbs
p; They would need to keep any fighting and potential fire away from the whisky. "What about the other room?" He glanced at a small door at the end of the narrow corridor.
"'Tis where the cheese is stored."
That appeared promising. "I need to have a look."
She carried the candle and he followed her into a room as cool as her mood. He didn't like this rift between them. His gut told him 'twas not right at all. Most likely, he should apologize. But what would he say to her? He rarely apologized for anything. Planning things out in advance prevented the need. But any plans he'd made were like ripped up sheet music cast into the fire. He was now playing by ear, but he was no musician. All was jarring and dissonant.
He well knew how to negotiate with men... or conquer them. But women were completely different creatures.
He'd thought he was doing the right thing by taking financial responsibility should a bairn result from their untamed and hedonistic bedsport. But, nay, his offer had insulted her, though he had no inkling why.
"What do you think?" Her voice broke into his musings.
His attention shifted to her. He hadn't even realized he was staring at the wheels of cheese on the shelves. He glanced around the room, finding a table in the center.
"Given how we'll be outnumbered, this will be the best place to fight Dalacroy. Since he wants this manor house, he won't burn it. And he'll likely order his men not to damage it."
Her face blanched and her eyes widened.
Cyrus wanted to tell her all would be well, but he couldn't make empty promises. He wished he knew the outcome, but he didn't.
"Tell all your staff that if 'tis announced that the enemy is outside, they're to take cover in this room." He moved into the corridor again. "Since only three of us will be fighting, we'll have an easier time protecting all of you down here within this narrow passage. We'll only have to contend with a couple of their men at one time, and we'll have a far better chance of defeating them."
Turning to her, he saw that Elspeth appeared tense, her breathing shallow. He knew her fear was real and that made his gut ache. "I'll do my best to keep all of you safe." Was he willing to give up his life defending her? Aye, he suspected he was, especially when she looked at him with such trust.
Now was not the time to figure out why she was vexed with him, but he had to clear the air. "I'm sorry I angered you before. 'Twas not my intention."
She avoided his gaze. "Do not concern yourself with it."
He could not tell whether she forgave him or not. Her mood felt icy.
"I must thank you again for putting yourself, your brother and your guards at such risk to protect me and my staff."
Before he could respond, loud boots clunked down the steps and Reid came into view.
"M'laird! A coach and riders are approaching from the wood."
Cyrus strode forward. "Who is it?"
"We'll find out soon enough." Reid rushed back up the stairs. Cyrus and Elspeth followed.
"Could it be my coach?" she asked.
"Mayhap. If 'tis Henry, inform the servants they are to hide out in the cellar."
While she headed toward the kitchen, he hastened outside to see who was approaching. After climbing the steps and entering the gatehouse, he squinted into the distance and scanned the new arrivals.
"'Tis Lady Grey's coach and four MacKenzies. Sean and James have brought Hubert and Cecil. What the devil?"
"Where are Fraser, MacNeil and Irving?" Reid's disturbing question reflected Cyrus's thoughts exactly.
"'Slud," Cyrus hissed. Had they not made it back to the castle? Maybe taken a different route? "If Fraser made it to Rebbinglen, the only reason he wouldn't have returned is if he's injured."
"Or captured," Reid said.
"Hell. I can't even think of that." Nay, he didn't want to, but he had to.
As the party drew closer, he saw that Elspeth's coachman drove the horses and coach while her guard with the broken arm rode beside him. Her maid sat inside. And then... only four MacKenzies. Not the two dozen reinforcements he'd sent Fraser and his two bodyguards for. His stomach ached with worry for those three, especially Fraser. He couldn't lose his younger brother.
Reid appeared as concerned as he felt. "Are you thinking that blackguard killed them?"
It felt as if a battering ram smashed into his vitals. He went by gut feeling most of the time, and this one was hellish.
One of the arriving MacKenzies shouted a warning at the same moment Cyrus noticed movement in the bushes at the side of the road.
"Dalacroy's men are attacking!" Cyrus grabbed the bow and quiver which had been propped against the gatehouse wall. After nocking an arrow, he aimed out the open window and drew the bow string back. As soon as he had a clear view of the archer across the road, he released the arrow. It struck the enemy in the throat and he fell backward.
"Let's get Lady Grey's servants inside!" Cyrus ran down the gatehouse steps, Reid and Norval following.
Cyrus put the keys into Reid's hand. "Open the gate and let the coach in while I hold the bastards back."
Once Reid had unlocked the gate, one of their sword-wielding foes leapt from the bushes and charged toward Sean. Cyrus aimed and released. The arrow struck the enemy in the chest. He spun and attempted to flee back into the undergrowth, but he fell before he made it far. Another enemy escaped into the wood before Cyrus could aim. Had that been all of them—three?
"Drive in! Quickly!" Cyrus commanded the coachman. That was when he saw that James, one of his most seasoned guards, had been struck in the thigh with one of the enemy arrows. Cursing, Cyrus ran toward him, then called his other men. "Get James inside!" He placed himself between James and the bushes and nocked another arrow, his gaze scanning the thick undergrowth. Sean and Hubert quickly carried James through the gates.
Once everyone was safely inside, Reid locked the gates back.
"Watch closely for them," Cyrus told Reid and Norval. "Tell me if you see any movement. The whoreson who fled may bring a larger force back with him."
AFTER ELSPETH TOLD her kitchen staff their plan should an attack occur, she hurried back through the hall to the front portal. Her own coach sat in the courtyard and chaos reigned. Jenkins, with his arm in a sling, and Vance scrambled down off the seat. The men were shouting and two of them carried one of Cyrus's guards. An arrow protruded from his thigh.
"Oh, saints!" she hissed. Henry's men must have attacked. She hurried out onto the steps, seeing that the gates were now closed, then held the door open. The guards rushed the injured man—whom she now saw was James—inside the hall.
"Hurry upstairs and fetch Mistress Almsly," Elspeth told Gracie, who stood nearby. "Tell her a guard has been shot with an arrow."
"Aye, m'lady." The lass hastened up the stairs.
Cyrus entered, a scowl of dark fury on his face.
She ran a quick glance over him and, thankfully, didn't see any blood. "Are you hurt?"
"Nay." He paused beside her. "Dalacroy's men were hiding in the bushes. Lying in wait to ambush anyone they caught outside the walls."
Fear twisting inside her, she shook her head. "Saints. Was anyone else hurt?"
"Nay. We dispatched two of them, but one fled back to the blackguard."
"Do you think he will retaliate?"
"Likely. We have to be ready."
"I've sent for Mistress Almsly. She'll take the arrow out of James's leg."
"She's a skilled healer."
Elspeth glanced around, looking for Fraser. "Where is your brother? And your other two guards?"
Cyrus shook his head, his dark eyes filled with angst. "No one's seen them. Apparently they didn't make it back to Rebbinglen. We know not if they're dead or captured."
Her stomach knotted with worry for them. "I pray that has not happened."
Cyrus nodded. "James and Sean only brought two additional guards with them because they didn't know about the trouble we've had."
"I feel terrible that all this has happened
because of me."
"'Tis not your fault a madman is on the loose. People like him have to be stopped. He's using his power and influence to take advantage of anyone he can." Cyrus glanced toward the stairs. "There's the healer. I'll go check on James." He strode across the hall.
"M'lady?" a female voice called out behind her.
Elspeth turned to find her lady's maid trudging toward her.
"Bernice!" Elspeth met her in the middle of the hall." How are you? Were you injured in that ambush?"
"Nay. Naught but a bruised knee." Her eyes still wide and her face pale, Bernice attempted a curtsy but almost dropped to the floor.
Elspeth caught her arm, keeping her upright. "Careful."
"Pray pardon, m'lady." Her voice quavered. "I'm still a bit weak in the knees."
"'Tis completely understandable. Come and rest." Elspeth led her toward a chair.
Bernice sat, letting out a loud breath. "When I looked out the coach window and saw the knave in the bushes aiming with a bow and arrow, I dove to the floor."
Elspeth took a seat beside her and patted her hand. "Thank the saints you weren't struck."
"Aye, 'twas a frightful tussle. But glad I am to be home again, m'lady. How are you? I was worried sick when they said the coach had overturned with you in it on the morn you left."
"I'm well. But, as I'm sure you saw, the laird's guard was shot with an arrow."
"Aye." Bernice glanced around. "Was he the only one injured? I couldn't see everything that was happening."
"I believe so." Elspeth was glad no one had been killed in that ambush, but she blamed herself for the guard being wounded right outside her home. But even more worrying... where was Fraser?
CHEWING A TASTY BITE of beef, Henry, the Earl of Dalacroy, watched his head guard, Waldrop, rush between the trestle tables and across the great hall of Wingate Castle toward him.
"Now what?" Henry muttered, then took a swig of ale.
Breathing hard, Waldrop stopped before the high table and bowed. "M'laird, two men left Lady Grey's home at dawn, riding hell for leather."
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