“Why did ye tell him that?” one asked. “Give her to him, if that’s what he wants.”
“The bitch stays here,” Cedric snarled, pushing the man aside.
“Do not call her that,” another interjected, glaring at Chandra’s uncle.
“Why?” his companion asked. “Ye heard Cedric. She has lain with the Sassenach—the one who killed Devin.”
“’Tis Cedric’s word only that it’s so. Who is to say he speaks true?”
“Silence!” Cedric thundered, weary of the bickering. “Light some more torches. ’Tis grown far too dark to see.”
Halfway down the stairs, for he intended to visit his niece, torment her if possible, he heard the voices rise again above him. Looking over his shoulder at the pair he’d just reprimanded, he saw they were engaged in a scuffle; a fist flew, hitting one in the jaw. Others, who’d drawn nigh to watch, started shouting and snapping. Before Cedric reached the wall walk again, two dozen men were employed in a brawl.
“Ye took our chief into the north tower,” Angus said, stepping into Cedric’s path as his foot struck the second-to-last thread. “What did ye do with her?”
“Get out of my way,” Cedric ordered.
“Not until ye tell us what ye’ve done with her.”
“Cedric is chief now,” one of his henchmen said, shoving Angus from the head of the stairs. “Whatever happens to her, she deserves it.”
Stumbling, Angus teetered on the edge of the wall walk, nearly falling over its side. A supporter of Chandra’s caught his flailing hand and gave a hard tug; Angus’s feet landed squarely on the stones. Breathing a sigh of relief, he glared up at the taller man who’d pushed him; then his fist met the man’s nose. Another dozen quickly leapt into the fray.
Seeing the madness encompassing him, fights breaking out all over the Morgan stronghold, Cedric conceded that he was fast losing control. “Enough!” he shouted, marching from spot to spot along the battlement, but no one listened. After ten full minutes of trying to quell the rebellious lot, he cursed vigorously. Turning, he strode toward the stairs. He had an appointment to keep. He’d been thinking about it all day. It was a warrior’s prerogative to rape and pillage. The time had come to claim that right and slake his needs, his niece suffering in the process. The bitch, he decided, was now his.
At the overspread of darkness, Aleck and Owen swiftly made their way across the field and into the wood. The stench of smoke was still heavy in their nostrils as they tracked their way to the closest spot affording them a quick jaunt to the north tower. They waited.
Lord Penrose was preparing to approach the castle. Torchbearers ran beside him and two dozen soldiers guarded his rear as he traveled up the hillside. Stopping a suitable distance from the castle wall, Penrose called out his terms.
At the commander’s first movement, Aleck and Owen dashed toward the boulders. Breathless, and apparently unseen, they slipped behind the shielding rocks. Just as Cedric’s voice bellowed out over the battlement, cursing Penrose, Aleck entered the hidden door. He groped against the wall, searching for a torch of his own. He was in luck. Taking it from its holder, he struck his sword against the stones. Sparks met the torch’s head, igniting it. “Get inside, and close the door.”
Owen hopped through the opening. The panel shut, and the two climbed the narrow staircase as it wound upward. Finally, they came to a small landing and another door.
“Hold this,” Aleck said, passing the torch to Owen. Then he set his sword aside and shoved against the door. It wouldn’t budge. Checking the frame for a secret latch, he saw none. Again he pushed. Nothing. Then his back settled against the panel. Using the strength in his thighs, he shoved full-force. His powerful muscles bunched, then stretched; a groan of exertion vibrated in his throat. Crocks rattled on the other side; the door moved an inch, but no more. “Something blocks it,” Aleck said, spinning around to glare at it. So close, yet so far. Anger exploded through him. “Damn!” His fist rammed the door. “Damn!”
Owen’s eyes widened and he fell back a step. As he did so, his back hit a protruding stone. Behind him, a hidden door opened, and he tumbled through it, landing on his seat.
Aleck’s head jerked to the side. Seeing the new entry, he grabbed his sword. “You bring good fortune, Owen,” he said, smiling. He pulled the boy to his feet and took the torch. Another set of steps lay inside the door, spiraling upward. “Come. Let’s see where these lead.”
Using his sword, Aleck cut through the thick cobwebs strung from wall to wall. The passageway, he decided as he ascended it, had not been used for close to a century. Winding upward, he at last saw the landing. “Hold the torch close so I may see.” He passed it to Owen, then crouched to examine the new entryway, which was far smaller than the first. His fingers ran around the edges. Pulling them away, he gazed at the black marks on his hand. “Soot. ’Tis probably an old fireplace. Since you found the last one, tell me, Owen: Where is the trigger?”
Owen switched the torch to his other hand, then reached for the lever, which was in plain sight. He pulled it, and the catch sprang free. With a whoosh, the small door swung toward Aleck, nearly knocking him back down the steps. Arching an eyebrow, Aleck stared at the lad. Owen simply shrugged.
Having crawled through the new opening, into the fireplace, then on into the room, the two looked around them, the torch illumining the area. Old furnishings were stacked here and there, cobwebs threading from one piece to another. Dust lay thick on everything. Spying the doorway, Aleck nodded toward it; then he and Owen crept across the floorboards. Once through the opening, they carefully wended their way down the tower stairs into the cellars, careful to be quiet though no one seemed to be about. As he walked lightly across the floor, Aleck saw the sacks of grain stacked against the shelves. “That is why we could not get in. Which way now, Owen?”
Below the two, balled up on her ledge, Chandra heard the soft tread of feet, then Aleck’s voice. Was she dreaming? “Aleck,” she cried with all the force in her lungs.
Her yell sounded as though it had risen from the bowels of the earth. Aleck spun on his heel. Torchlight streamed over the floor. “There,” he said, pointing to the trapdoor. “Chandra?”
“Hurry, Aleck!” she cried, hearing his feet tread the boards above her.
The trapdoor lifted and the torch was shoved through the opening. Aleck’s gaze first lit upon Chandra, curled in a knot on the window ledge. Then he spied the floor; it was dense with rats. “Don’t move,” he ordered, then withdrawing the torch, he searched the room. A thick hemp rope lay in one corner. “Get it,” he said, jerking his head at the coil, and Owen rushed to fetch it.
Aleck passed the torch to the boy, then set to knotting the rope several times over, a foot back from its end. Then he lay on his belly, the medallion dangling from his neck as he lowered the rope through the opening until it hung halfway down. As Owen held the torch inside the pit, Aleck viewed his wife. Huge blue eyes stared from her pale face; she shook uncontrollably. He’d kill Cedric when he again saw him, Aleck swore.
“Sweet, I’m going to swing the rope to you. Don’t reach for it. Let it come to you. When I give the word, I want you to stand as best you can and swing out over the floor. Whatever you do, don’t let go. Do you understand what I’ve told you?”
“A-aye.”
“Easy does it, then.”
The rope swung toward her, Chandra grabbed for it. She missed and nearly tumbled to the floor, but caught herself.
Aleck swallowed the explosive curse that had leapt to his tongue, for fear he’d frighten her further. Steadying his own nerves by drawing a deep breath, he looked at her closely. “Chandra, listen to me. Let the rope come to you,” he said, enunciating each word carefully. “Do not—I repeat—do not reach for it. Are you ready?”
She nodded, and Aleck began to swing the rope again. Like a pendulum, it swayed back and forth, back and forth, until at last it fell into her lap; Chandra snatched it up and held on to it.
�
��That’s my girl,” he said gently. “Now, carefully rise to your feet.”
Scooting around, Chandra got her feet under her, then rose to a half crouch. “’Tis all the further I can stand,” she said, her back hitting the top of the opening.
“’Tis enough,” Aleck told her. “When I tell you, I want you to swing out above the floor. Can you do that?”
“Aye. ’Tis like when Devin and I were children. We swung out over the stream and dropped into it.”
Aleck smiled at her. “I did the same, sweet. But this time don’t let go. Whatever you do—don’t let go. Remember, wait for my command.”
“I’ll wait.”
“Good,” he said, easing from his belly to his rump. The rope’s knotted end slanting down between his legs, Chandra holding it, he sat sideways at the top of the opening and braced his booted feet against the frame opposite him. Quickly he looped the other end of the rope around his waist, tying it off. “Are you ready?” he asked, gripping the hemp where it ran between his thighs.
“Aye, but ’tis dark down here,” she said, for Owen had withdrawn the torch as Aleck positioned himself.
“You’ll be up here quick enough.” He grasped the rope tightly and locked his arms. “Swing, Chandra.”
Aleck felt the rope jerk as her full weight hit it, then it swayed, touching one thigh, then the other. Muscles bulged, veins popping up along his arms as he held fast to it. When the rope settled, he began pulling it up, hand over hand. Finally Chandra’s reaching fingers brushed his leg. Looping the rope around one wrist, he grabbed hold of her forearm and pulled her up through the space between his legs. Her other hand latched onto his leg. The rope fell away as his arm clamped around her waist. Dragging her up over his lap, he set her on the floor.
Chandra scrambled away from the hole, and the rope was unwound from Aleck’s waist. His legs came up out of the pit’s opening; he rolled onto his knees. Chandra was on hers, facing him. In the torchlight, blue eyes studied blue. “Come here,” Aleck growled, his hand reaching for her. In a breath, they were in each other’s arms. Their lips met in a hard, ravenous kiss. Too soon, it was over as Aleck pulled away. “I thought I had lost you,” he said, his gaze devouring her face.
“And I you. The cottage—the fire. How—”
“’Twas Owen. He awakened me. Come,” he said, rising to his feet, drawing Chandra with him. “There’s no time to explain. We must leave here.” Taking her hand, he bent and retrieved his sword from the floor. When he straightened, his eyes betrayed him. Blinking twice, his vision cleared. “Let’s go.”
The trio were a dozen steps away from the dungeon’s gaping mouth when the outer door flew open and Cedric came through it. For a second, everyone froze. “So the bastard lives yet!” Cedric grated, his claymore scraping from its scabbard, and he kicked the door shut behind him. “But not for long.”
Hatred gleamed in Aleck’s eyes as he stared at Chandra’s uncle. “Take her from here,” he said to Owen, passing her hand into the boy’s.
Owen tugged Chandra toward the stairs. Her attention on her uncle, she blindly followed. Noting the direction they took, Cedric raced across the floor, blocking their escape. “No, Niece. I’m not through with you. When your lover is dead, I’ll enjoy the spoils of my victory. It has been a while since I’ve ridden between a woman’s legs. The experience should be sweet.”
Aleck was instantly at Chandra’s side. Rage tore through him at Cedric’s words. “You incestuous bastard! Attempt to touch my wife, and the instrument you think to use will be cleaved from your body.” He saw the surprise on Cedric’s face. “Aye, Cedric, she is my wife, and only I shall touch her. Your plans are a bit premature, I’d say, especially since it is you who will breathe his last. Come.” His sword clasped tightly in one hand, he motioned Cedric forward with the other. “Stand ready to die.”
“’Tis you, Sassenach, who will meet his end.”
Cedric launched himself at Aleck, and the earl leapt in front of Chandra and Owen. “Get back,” he ordered over his shoulder.
The blades clashed just as the two reached the wall, away from the fight. Owen held the torch high, lending light to the battle. Chandra watched through frightened eyes. Give him strength, she prayed for Aleck, knowing he was not fully recovered.
Steel sliced and clanged loudly amid the echoing stones. The force of the blows struck sparks. The contest was one of power and skill as Aleck and Cedric danced around in a circle. Each blow was met and deflected, neither taking the advantage. Then as Aleck spun round, his sword catching the downward thrust of the claymore, he felt his head swim. When again he faced Cedric, the man had gained a twin.
Cursing under his breath, Aleck struggled to clear his vision. Cedric’s blade swung, and Aleck failed to meet it with his own. Swiftly the claymore plunged, aiming at Aleck’s heart. Miraculously, its tip hit the medallion, then glanced off to sting Aleck’s shoulder. Blood streamed from the wound. He heard Chandra’s gasp.
Cedric’s laugh echoed through the room. “You grow slow, Sassenach. Soon your whore will be mine.”
The words struck fury into Aleck. His sword swung wildly, forcefully. Instantly, Cedric was on the retreat. The blade sliced low, cutting through his belted plaid, nicking his thigh; Cedric’s breath hissed through his lips. Then Aleck’s sword brushed his chest, slashing diagonally. The wounds were superficial, unlikely to rob him of his strength, yet Cedric found he couldn’t gain the upper hand. Rage drove the Englishman, he knew, but the superhuman force guiding his powerful blows was yet undefined. Then Cedric realized: It was death that came at him.
Aleck’s unleashed fury drove Cedric ever closer to the wall where Chandra and Owen stood watching. His vision finally clearing, he shouted: “Move away from there!”
The two made a dash from the spot, but, blocked by sacks of grain, they were forced to pivot and head the other way.
Aleck’s blade continued to beat at Cedric’s, backing him nearer the wall. It descended in a whistling arc but missed, hitting the floor, Cedric having jumped from beneath it. Spinning, he latched onto Chandra’s hair, its length trailing out behind her as she scurried for safety, Owen several feet ahead of her. A cry erupted from her as he jerked hard; her back met his chest. Using her as a shield, Cedric pressed the edge of the claymore to her throat. “The sword, Sassenach. Drop it or she dies.”
No sooner had the words left Cedric’s mouth than the outer door crashed to the wall. Angus and about three dozen of his clansmen flowed through the opening, Cedric’s six cohorts with them. Streaming into a half-circle, they blocked both door and stairs.
Spying the hard look in his kinsmen’s eyes, Cedric edged along the wall, around the sacks of grain, and backed out toward the center of the room. “Keep away,” he warned as the group moved closer, “or your chief dies.”
“Ye might have killed one, but never two,” Angus said, now standing close to Aleck. The squat man with the bowlegs noted Cedric’s fast look. “Aye, Cedric. The truth is out. We know ye poisoned Colan. Yer loyal followers didn’t like the look of death when it faced them. Seems they were willing to tell all. Release our chief, and we’ll go easy on ye. Harm her, and the whole clan will tear ye limb from limb. ’Tis a gruesome death, to be certain.”
While Angus spoke, Owen passed the torch to the man nearest him. Crouching low, he worked his way behind the group, disappearing among the sacks of grain.
“Since ’tis obvious I’ll suffer either way, the bitch goes with me—unless, of course, you have it in your minds to allow me to leave Lochlaigh.” He backed up several steps as the men pressed closer. “Stay back or else.” The blade indented Chandra’s skin. “Make up your minds, and quick.”
From the corner of his eye, Aleck saw Owen’s head bobbing among the sacks. The boy was nearly at the back of the room. “When Chandra is freed, do you really think you’ll not be hunted down and torn apart?” he asked, taking two steps forward. Cedric retreated the same number. “Penrose is here because James has orde
red that you be taken back to London. You’ll be allowed to live out your natural days in the Tower. Give yourself over to the English, Cedric. ’Tis the only way to assure that you live.”
“In a prison? ’Tis a different death in itself. No, I’ll take my chances out on the moors. And she goes with me.”
“Cedric, she’s your niece—she’s family,” Aleck said, inching closer. “You know how important family is in the Highlands. Don’t break that trust any further than you have.”
A short laugh erupted from Cedric, and Aleck moved again. He now stood less than a dozen feet away from the two. “Aye, she’s family,” Cedric said. “She’s also Colan’s daughter. Had he listened to me, none of this would have happened. But no. My bastard half brother had to swear fealty to James. ’Twas his own fault that he died. He suffered for his transgressions. The agony was grand to see. He was no Highlander—he was a traitor. Just the same as his daughter.”
All the while Cedric spoke, Aleck’s gaze was locked with Chandra’s. Steady, love. Steady. His mind repeated the phrase over and over. Then behind the pair, Owen sprang up from the sacks, Chandra’s dirk in hand. The trapdoor yawned only half a yard from Cedric’s feet. Dear God, let it work, Aleck thought, looking to Owen.
The man blinked, noting how close Aleck had gotten. “Get back or the bitch dies.”
At Aleck’s quick nod, the dirk sailed through the air, end over end. The blade sliced into the center of Cedric’s back. His eyes widened. His hand flexed and blood trickled from the cut on Chandra’s neck. Then Cedric gasped his last as his eyes rolled up into his head; the claymore fell from his hand. He toppled backward, his momentum carrying Chandra with him; Aleck’s body was already in motion. Snatching her arm, he pulled her against him. A sickening thud met their ears as Cedric’s head hit the edge of the trapdoor, he disappeared through the hole.
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