Highlander Besieged

by Vonda Sinclair

  "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!"

  Chapter Twenty-One

  On the horse, Elspeth sat in front of Cyrus, his strong arm wrapped tightly around her. Despite the danger, she felt safer than she ever had. She couldn't believe a man as prominent as an earl had invaded an enemy castle and rescued her, unaided. 'Twas madness. The very idea that he might care so much about her that he would risk his life astounded her. He must have fought a dozen men to get to her in the castle. His generosity and selflessness warmed her heart.

  She'd recognized his deep voice the instant he'd said her name, right before the whirlwind of him tossing her over his shoulder and kicking men aside. Though his actions had been brusque, he had not hurt her in the least. Physically and emotionally, he was a hard man, yet he always touched her in a gentle manner.

  As they traveled along the dark road, she heard more than just their mount's hooves striking the hard-packed ground. Thunder rumbled overhead and, from a distance, the alarming staccato of galloping horses escalated.

  Heart thudding hard, she turned her head. "Horses are approaching behind us."

  "Aye. They're following." Cyrus guided the horse off the road into the cover of a small wood by a stream.

  Moments later, three horses galloped by.

  Thankful they hadn't been spotted, she drew in a deep breath. "If that's him, his force has certainly shrunk."

  "He probably sent those three men after us but kept a few with him. Wish I could've disabled more of them." Cyrus dismounted, then lifted her to the ground. He led the horse to the burn to drink. "If they catch our trail, they could follow us to Greymont. 'Tis the last thing I want. They'll likely check Darby Hall first. I need to hide you until we lose them." He glanced up toward the flash of lightning. "And we need to find shelter until
this storm passes."

  She thought of the cellars underneath her buildings. "I know of a place nearby."

  "Where?"

  "In town. We're close enough to walk."

  He gathered his clothing, along with his bow and quiver full of arrows.

  After leaving the borrowed horse untethered by the water and a fresh patch of grass, they slipped through the wood toward the road. When they paused to listen, she heard only thunder and wind riffling through the leaves. Once they were on the road, lightning flashed, the wind blew the cowl off her head and a few large raindrops plopped against her face.

  "Let's hurry. I don't want you to get drenched." He took her hand, and they rushed past the first buildings lining the streets. "I hope the others arrived at Greymont before this gale."

  "Indeed." After dragging the cowl over her head again, Elspeth led the way along the town's near-deserted back allies until they reached the cellar door underneath her dressmaking shop. Feeling in the hidden pocket in her underskirts, she found the small ring of keys. Thank the saints Henry hadn't heard them jingling and confiscated them.

  "This is the cellar of my dress shop." She slid the large key into the lock and turned.

  "He will surely search here next."

  "'Tis true, but I have a plan." They entered the dark cellar and she locked the door. Lightning flickered through the narrow window over the door. After lighting a candle with a flint and setting it on the dusty table, she went to an old cupboard. "Help me move this."

  "I'll do it." He strode forward. "You're probably weak from hunger."

  "Nay, I'm well." The action had invigorated her. Plus, being with Cyrus always made her feel exhilarated. "Let's slide it to the left."

  They dragged the heavy piece of furniture aside enough to expose an ancient scarred door. "This leads to the cellar of the tavern next door. I like to keep it blocked."

  "I hear no revelry going on up there. Just the thunder."

  "'Tis quieter during the week." After opening the door, she retrieved the candle and carried it into the neighboring cellar. "The owner, Master Brown, stores his excess wine and grain down here. He's the friendly sort and won't mind if we stay here a short while. Best of all, Henry won't have any inkling where we are if you can manage to drag that cupboard back over the doorway to conceal it."

  "I will in a few minutes. I want to make sure this place is secure first."

  Elspeth deposited the candle on a dusty barrel. "How long do you think we'll have to remain here?"

  "Until the morn. By then, the storm should've passed and the MacKenzie reinforcements should arrive in the area. That is... if Norval can travel quickly and avoid any attacks. This storm may slow him down." Cyrus glanced away, scowling.

  A pang of guilt struck her. "I regret putting you and your men in so much danger."

  "Do not fash yourself over it. They've been through many battles. 'Tis what I pay them for."

  She thought of MacNeil and Irving and how they'd disappeared. Were they dead in the wood somewhere? Then there was Hubert, who'd been killed in the attack at Darby. He'd had no inkling he would die this day. Did he have a wife? Children? "Hubert lost his life. Possibly MacNeil and Irving, too." Tears burned her eyes. "I'll never be able to forgive myself."

  "The responsibility is mine alone. They were following my orders." Cyrus observed her with dark, troubled eyes. "I now know I shouldn't have sent Irving and MacNeil after Fraser because Dalacroy's men followed them. But I thought 'twas the best thing to do at the time, to safeguard Fraser. I don't always make perfect decisions but do my best to protect all involved. As for my guards, they have always known of the risk to their lives."

  She nodded but was still unsatisfied. "Regardless, I must find a way to repay you."

  "Nonsense," he grumbled. "I would never expect payment for this."

  "But you deserve it."

  His gaze connected intimately with hers for a long moment. "Seeing you safe is enough reimbursement for me. As well as bringing down a vile adder like Dalacroy."

  But why did he concern himself with her wellbeing? It couldn't be because they'd shared a passionate tryst, for he'd protected her even before then.

  "I cannot..." She paused, uncertain how to phrase her thoughts as she searched his striking and compelling features.

  "What?"

  "I cannot quite grasp your generosity. I have never known anyone so giving, expecting naught in return."

  His dark eyes intensified upon her. "You've been treated poorly by men in the past."

  She nodded, feeling a pang of sadness that he was right.

  "'Twill not happen again as long as I draw breath."

  She could not believe his heartfelt words, said in that deep and roughened tone. 'Twas almost like a sworn oath... that he would protect her for the rest of his life. Oh, if only such a thing could be possible. Tears flooded her eyes. She faced away from him, trying to hide the flash of emotion.

  "Elspeth?" He touched her shoulder.

  Hardly able to withstand the acute and tender emotions, she turned and buried her face against his chest. She sighed as his warm, strong arms surrounded her in complete comfort and security. She slipped her arms around him as well, thanking God for this man.

  "Why are you crying?" His voice rumbled against her ear.

  "Gratitude," she whispered.

  "Shh." He kissed the top of her head. "You need not shed any tears over it."

  She drew back a few inches. "I know not why you have a reputation as a warlord when you are the kindest man I have ever known."

  "I'm not kind to my enemies."

  "Well... I'm glad I'm not your enemy."

  "You could never be." He leaned closer, his midnight eyes searching hers in the dimness.

  The thunder overhead took her back to that other stormy night when they'd shared a spontaneous and tempestuous passion. Now, as then, the yearning took control. She let him capture her lips in an action as wild as the wind whipping against the building and the rain pouring down outside. She had never felt anything as magical and irresistible as his mouth upon hers. Her arms encircled his neck, drawing him down to her.

  He lifted her, turned and knocked an object to the stone floor. Before she knew it, she was sitting on a table, his mouth consuming hers ever more fiercely. 'Twas a kiss that gave and demanded in equal measure. A kiss that touched her soul.

  She clutched her fingers into his midnight hair, pulling him closer, wishing she could draw him inside her. His short rough beard rasped her chin in a pleasure-pain abrasion. Desire burned in her core, as he stood between her spread knees.

  He tore himself away, forcing her to release him, and turned aside. "Damnation. I have to stop."

  "Why?" The word popped out, though she hadn't wanted to utter it, to reveal her true feelings. Surely, he thought her a wanton, but she couldn't help yearning for the kiss to go on forever. She had never suspected a kiss could be life-altering.

  He remained silent for a long moment as if searching for a reason. "You must be hungry."

  Food was the farthest thing from her mind. 'Twas something else entirely that she hungered for, but she'd best follow reason and try not to involve herself with him again. Though difficult, she attempted to ignore the heated way her body had responded to the closeness of his.

  Stepping back, he glanced around. "I wonder if there's anything down here for you to eat."

  Gathering her wits, she pushed herself off the table and slid to the floor. "Not much food, but plenty of wine."

  "Good. I'm thirsty. But first, I'm going to change out of these stinking guard clothes and put on my plaid." He moved back over the threshold into her cellar and pushed the door almost closed.

  Embarrassed that he had better self-control than she did, she shook her head and began looking for the crates of wine. Pausing, she glanced at the door, wishing she could see through it. Though she had shared the greatest intimacy with him, she had never seen him completely naked—only his upper body. What w
ould the sculpted, hard-as-granite muscles of his entire body look like?

  "Stop it," she hissed low and forced herself to focus on what she was doing. In front of her sat a crate with a familiar French vineyard name.

  "What?" Wearing his plaid, Cyrus stood in the doorway.

  Mortification seared her. Had he heard her talking to herself again? "I found the wine."

  He came toward her. "Will the tavern owner mind?"

  "Nay, I'll reimburse him."

  After Cyrus pried open a crate, she lifted out a dusty bottle and placed it on the table. Holding the candle with an unsteady hand, she searched through a cupboard drawer, relieved when the light gleamed across a corkscrew. She took the utensil and twisted it into the cork, then yanked it free.

  She glanced around. "I see no drinking vessels down here, and even if there were, they would likely be filled with dust."

  "We can drink from the bottle, unless you're too refined for that." He raised a brow.

  She detected the rare hint of teasing lurking in his obsidian eyes. "Humph, you're the nobleman." She offered him the wine.

  He motioned toward her. "Ladies first."

  "Very well." Not wanting to drink too much on an empty stomach for fear she would lose all sense around him, she took a small sip, then handed him the bottle.

  "That wasn't much." He guzzled a long swig, while she stared at his beautifully sculpted masculine lips pursed on the bottle opening. The action was far more sensual than it should have been, and it made her crave another wild and illicit kiss.

  He lowered the bottle and licked his lips. "'Tis even better than I expected."

  "He buys from a small but excellent vineyard in France. I have him order mine as well."

  Cyrus glanced around. "I doubt there's any edible food down here."

  'Haps he was the hungry one, since he kept mentioning food. Taking the candle, she looked inside the cupboards and bins. "Carrots," she announced.

  "Are they covered in dirt?"

  "Aye, but we could wash them with the wine."

  Though she felt ridiculous rubbing her hands over the carrots while he dribbled wine over them, 'twas their one means of having any sort of food this night. Besides, getting the soil on her hands reminded her of digging in her garden, which she always enjoyed.