Elspeth dashed through the wood beside the road. "Gracie," she hissed, trying to keep pace with her. "'Tis me."
Still running, the lass glanced to the side, her tear-filled gaze connecting with Elspeth's. "Oh, m'lady." She veered off the road and into the wood. "Thank the saints. I thought they would kill me."
Elspeth grabbed her arm and circled back, deeper into the wood, but where she could see if Cyrus was all right. She knelt and peered between the branches.
Those damnable clansmen had captured Cyrus and were beating him. "Nay." She pressed a fist to her mouth. She had to help him.
"Halt!" Henry yelled at the Comyn clansmen pummeling Cyrus. "I need to question him. Where is she, MacKenzie?" Henry glanced around. "She must be here someplace. Either you tell me, or I'll have the men search! And they will not be gentle."
Elspeth turned to the lass. "Gracie, go into town and tell the tavern owner's wife I sent you to stay with her for a short time. I know Mistress Brown. She's a kind woman. And stay hidden."
Gracie's blue eyes were wide and tear drenched. "But ... what are you going to do, m'lady?"
"Have no worries over me. You must go now to protect your babe. I'll send someone for you when 'tis safe."
The girl nodded, wild panic in her eyes.
"Go."
The lass trotted away and soon disappeared from sight.
Elspeth rushed toward Cyrus. She would not allow him to be harmed further because of her. She stepped into the road. "Release him!"
"That was easy." Henry glowered. "Proceed into the hall, wench. You three, lead him in as well."
"Why the devil did you come out?" Cyrus scowled at her, blood trickling from his lip.
She sent him an apologetic glance. Seeing him injured and bleeding ripped at her soul. "Release him, Dalacroy, and I will sign the deeds."
"We've been through this once, you harlot." Henry pointed at the steps. "Go inside or I'll have someone carry you."
For a certainty, she did not want that. Entering the dining hall, where several Comyn clansmen stood about everywhere, she noticed the room smelled strongly of whisky. No doubt they had guzzled every last drop of her whisky, wine, and ale.
Henry turned to Cyrus and smirked. "You remember your old friend, Chief Ben Comyn, do you not? I understand you were foster brothers. 'Haps you would like to get reacquainted."
Cyrus and Comyn glowered at each other while Henry chuckled. He motioned to the magistrate who stood near Comyn. "MacTarril was only too glad to join us, as well, to keep the peace." Henry turned to Elspeth. "Tell me where the real deed is for Greymont Castle."
Blast! He must have found the hiding place where she'd had most of the genuine deeds stored. She thought she'd concealed them better. But the one he sought was actually at Greymont. "'Tis with the others."
Henry cocked his head. "Do you not know 'tis a sin to lie?"
"'Tis also a sin to steal, kill, and take others hostage," she snapped.
He cackled. "Look who has suddenly become the authority on morality." He motioned toward the chair at her table. "Have a seat, my lady jezebel. We'll take care of this part first. I found the deed for Darby. You are now selling me this property for two pence. Here you are, madam." He tossed the coins at her. They bounced across the wooden table, then came to rest near her feet on the floor. Nausea flooded her.
Avoiding a puddle on the table's surface where someone had obviously spilled a beverage, he smoothed out the deeds and weighted down the top edge with an empty candle holder.
She sat and glanced up at Cyrus, his clothes dirty and splattered with blood. His scowl proclaimed he was angry enough to kill every man present. And she knew he would if he could free himself from their ropes.
"Give her the quill." Henry glanced to the thin man dressed in a finely woven black Lowland suit. Was he the solicitor?
The man placed the quill and inkwell by her hand.
"Talbot has determined that these are the true deeds which we found in your cellar this morn. You are to sign there." Henry pointed, then slid the lit candle closer.
Ignoring the quill, she laced her fingers together. "I will only sign them if you release Cyrus MacKenzie and allow him to ride out on his horse. And send no one to follow him."
"Hmm." Henry tapped his pointy, clean-shaven chin. "I will release him after you sign."
"Nay, do not sign, Lady Grey," Cyrus said. "He will not keep his word."
His fists clenched and his face a mask of stormy rage, Chief Comyn moved in behind Cyrus.
"Stay away from him!" Elspeth yelled.
"Hold!" Henry raised his hand, stopping the barbarian.
"Do not harm him!" Elspeth arose to go to Cyrus, but one of the guards grabbed her shoulder and shoved her back into the chair.
With a mock smile, Henry peered down at her. "You do have a choice. If you sign now, I'll have the men take him outside the walls and release him. If you do not sign, MacKenzie's throat will be cut."
Dear God, she must make certain Cyrus was safe, regardless of what happened to her properties. She now realized she would give up all for him.
She picked up the quill and locked her gaze on Henry's. "Do you promise to let MacKenzie live?"
"Aye." Henry gave her his usual smarmy smile which proclaimed his every word a lie.
"Will you allow him his horse?" she asked.
"Nay. He will have to walk home. And if you mean the large stallion out in the stables, I intend to sell him for a tidy sum." Henry smirked.
"The hell you will!" Cyrus seethed.
Elspeth gave him a meaningful look. Did he not see she was trying to save both their lives?
"You are wearing at my patience, MacKenzie." Henry narrowed his eyes. "If you wish to live, you will encourage your whore to sign the properties over to me nice and legal right now. Otherwise, you're dead and I search out her son."
"Nay!" Elspeth yelled, panic clutching at her throat.
Henry laughed. "You figured I didn't know about your brat, aye? MacTarril was kind enough to tell me. I wager seeing a knife at the lad's throat would convince you to sign."
Damn the man. Elspeth was tempted to claw his eyes out. If he dared to touch her sweet Adam, she would find a way to destroy him.
She did not know whether Henry was lying about releasing Cyrus or finding her son. But she couldn't risk it. She dipped the quill into the ink, blotted off the excess and scribed her signature at the bottom of the Darby Hall deed.
She put the quill down. "Now, I will watch you release MacKenzie outside, then I will come back and sign over all the other deeds."
Henry narrowed his eyes, obviously not liking that she was calling the shots. "And you will tell me the location of the Greymont deed?"
"Aye."
Elspeth noticed that Cyrus watched the men with deadly calculation as if he were plotting a revenge strategy. She hoped he was not intending to do something daft, for he was vastly outnumbered. She wanted him to go safely back to his clan and live a long life as their leader.
She still had the Greymont deed bargaining chip. They would have to go to Greymont Castle to get it. But Henry need not know that now.
Though she loved her home, Darby Hall would be the smallest loss, to her way of thinking. Her buildings in Aberdeen were her livelihood, and Greymont was her son's future. Those were far more important to her. But more significant than any of the properties was Cyrus's life, and of course, her son's. She wanted Cyrus safely away from here. Though, knowing him, she doubted he would leave. He would attempt a rescue, but she must tell him not to.
"Very well," Henry said. "Take MacKenzie outside the walls and untie him. He will have no weapons and no horse."
Elspeth stood. "I wish to speak to him and see that he walks away unharmed."
"Aye, you may tell your lover goodbye." Henry smirked.
All of them walked outside, including many of the clansmen. Near the gates, she motioned for Cyrus to bend to her level.
"Go back to your clan an
d be safe," she whispered into his ear. "Do not return here."
"Humph." His dark glower shifted to Henry a few yards behind her.
"I mean it," she said more firmly. "For the sake of my son and his safety." That had to sway him, for he obviously cared about children.
Remaining silent, he narrowed his eyes and turned away. Though she wanted to express her gratitude a thousand times over, embrace him, and press a farewell kiss to his lips, she stood as stiff as a pike while the gate was unlocked and opened.
Cyrus walked outside, and they closed the gate again. She watched as a man cut the ropes from his wrists.
"Off with you now!" Henry flicked his hand.
Cyrus glared back at them, then strode calmly away, across the meadow, and into a distant pine forest. Her eyes burned as she strained to see one last glimpse of him, but he was gone. Though her heart was breaking, she prayed he would not come back, for his own safety. She glanced aside to see that Ben Comyn's eyes reflected a killing rage. After what Cyrus had told her about their past association, she could see Comyn as naught more than a child murderer.
"Now, mistress, 'tis time to sell me the rest of your properties." Henry sounded so merry that she wanted to clout him in his smug mouth.
After one lingering look at the spot where Cyrus had disappeared into the wood, she blinked the stinging moisture from her eyes and crossed the courtyard. Would she ever see Cyrus again? Perhaps 'twould be better if she didn't. Certainly better for him. As for her, naught would ever be the same. She was losing almost everything she cared about—Cyrus, her properties. But not her son. They would be penniless, but they would have each other.
She forced herself to trudge up the steps and into the hall.
"Here are the three deeds for the shops and tenement buildings in Aberdeen. I will pay you two pence for each of them." Henry set a ridiculous stack of six pence in front of her.
Some of the other men snorted and chuckled. How could they find such greed and theft entertaining? They were all barbarians.
She loved her businesses so much. They had been her father's and grandfather's. 'Twould carve a hole in her soul to sign them over to this knave. But she did sign, her anger rising with each scratch of the quill.
When she finished, Henry loomed over her. "Now, where is the deed to Greymont? You claimed it was with these deeds, but it was not."
"'Tis at Greymont."
Henry's face reddened and a vein in his forehead bulged. "What? Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I didn't wish to."
"You bitch!" Henry arose and pointed at two of the Comyn clansmen. "You two, go capture MacKenzie again!"
When Ben Comyn gave a slight nod, his men hurried away.
"Nay!" Elspeth leapt up, intending to race out the front door after the two clansmen.
Henry lunged at her, grabbing her cloak to yank her back. In the process, he jarred the table. The lit candle tipped over onto the deeds and the parchments caught afire. An explosion of flames burst up in front of Henry. That must have been whisky one of the men had spilled on the table. Alarmed, she tried to yank herself away from him.
Henry screeched and jumped back, releasing her. "Put it out! Put it out!"
The front door blocked by the clansmen, Elspeth ran toward the stone stairwell that led down to the kitchens. She hoped the men were too busy putting out the fire to give chase.
She emerged into the kitchen garden, then sprinted toward the postern gate. She halted abruptly when she saw three Comyn clansmen standing guard in front of it. Damn them! She needed to warn Cyrus that the knaves were coming for him.
CYRUS STOOD BEHIND the trunk of a large pine and stared back at Darby Hall. Damnation! How could he have let this happen? No weapon. No men. No horse. The woman he loved in the paws of a madman. Aye, he did love Elspeth. He hadn't wanted to care, but he couldn't help himself. Of a certainty, he was not leaving her there. He would kill every last one of them with his bare hands first.
He searched the ground around him for makeshift weapons. Stones, broken branches.
The sounds of galloping horses reached him. Crouching, he looked toward the manor house again. Two riders. He narrowed his eyes, seeing the plaid. Comyns.
"Bastards!"
Had Henry gone back on his word or had Ben Comyn decided this was too good of an opportunity to pass up?
Cyrus chose four rocks, about the size of his fist, then broke two fallen pine limbs into makeshift pikes with sharp ends. Gathering his supply of primitive weapons, he waited behind the thick trunk.
The two Comyn clansmen dismounted and unsheathed their swords. Their wary, wide-eyed gazes scanned the wood. He was glad to see they were already a wee bit spooked and that they had no inkling where he was.
"You look over there, and I'll search this way."
They did not bother with their targes. Why would they? They thought him unarmed.
After a few minutes, the more distant one called, "I don't see him. Mayhap he went on north."
"'Tis doubtful, considering how riled he was about the lady."
The knave was not ten feet away. Gripping the stone in his hand, Cyrus peered out from behind the pine. Deciding now was the best time to strike, he drew back his arm and flung the rock. It struck the man on the side of the head. He yelled as he went down, then cursed and rolled to his knees. "He's over here!"
Cyrus selected another rock, then when the man regained his feet, Cyrus hurled it at him. The stone thwacked him on the forehead. He dropped backward like a felled tree and didn't move.
The other Comyn clansmen ran through the pine needles, his feet slipping this way and that. "Lonnie!"
Cyrus crouched out of sight, pine limb pike in one hand. Though he had no knife to sharpen it with, the broken, splintered end was pointed. He cradled a stone in his other hand.
"Show yourself, you MacKenzie cur!"
Cyrus popped up and threw a stone at him. The man ducked an instant before it could strike, then charged forward.
Cyrus grabbed both pine limb pikes. With his opponent's first strike, Cyrus caught the blade with one large stick and stabbed him in the abdomen with the other. The man screeched and yanked at his blade, still buried in the wood. Finally, he withdrew his sword and attempted another strike, but 'twas much weaker. Cyrus shoved him backward through the pine needles where he stumbled and fell beside his comrade.
Though neither man was dead, Cyrus confiscated all their weapons, including several small knives. He would need them when he stormed the gates.
Of a sudden, a noise reached his ears—many horses' hooves pounding the earth. He spun around, expecting to see the rest of the Comyns charging across the field from Darby. But 'twas empty. He then realized the sound was coming from the opposite direction, along the road. Could it be the MacKenzie reinforcements? 'Twas too much to hope for.
He hastened toward the road.
The first man around the curve was Dirk with his flame-colored hair, and beside him, Norval.
"Thank the saints," Cyrus hissed.
He had never been so glad to see his guard and his brother-in-law. Next in line were Rebbie and his father, the Marquess of Kilverntay. Dozens of soldiers and guards from all their clans followed, even MacNeil and Irving. Thanks be to God, they were all right.
Cyrus hurried from the edge of the wood and into the road. All the men appeared surprised as they drew up.
"Am I glad to see you lads," Cyrus said.
"What the devil are you doing out here?" Dirk frowned. "You look like you've been in a battle."
"Aye, you could say that. The Earl of Dalacroy enlisted the help of the Comyns of Toramuir in his quest to steal all Lady Grey's properties. Old enemies of mine. She told him she would not sign them over unless they released me unharmed. Which they did about a quarter-hour ago. Then Ben Comyn sent two of his henchmen out here to kill me."
Dirk peered at the two confiscated swords in Cyrus's hands. "I'm glad to see they weren't successful."
"Chi
ef!" Norval pointed at the house. "Darby Hall is on fire!"
Chapter Twenty-Five
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.
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