“How many?” His question was surely too soft for her to hear, and yet she held up a single finger then pointed off toward the trail to the west.
He rose carefully to his feet, but she grabbed his wrist.
“Where are ye going?”
“I go to make certain I see him before he sees us,” he said, and slipped into the woods.
It took nearly a full minute before Dugald could hear the hoofbeats. A minute during which he doubted Shona’s hearing and told himself a dozen times that she must have been mistaken. No one could hear that far away. No one could…
But suddenly he heard the distant clop of hooves and stiffened. Dear God, she was uncanny. But he had no time to think of that just now.
Crouching lower still, he crept through the woods to the trail. Once there, he found a stout branch that grew over the path. Jumping to reach it, he lifted himself effortlessly over the limb and slipped silently into the leaves. Hidden in the thickest foliage, he waited until finally he caught a glimpse of a horse beneath him.
Dugald held his breath and listened, making certain there was indeed only one person. But all his senses told him that Shona was right again. Twas a lone rider who traversed the trail. Tensed and ready, Dugald waited in silent immobility.
The horse stepped forward, finally bearing his rider into the open. Dugald strained to identify his face, but it did little good, for the person was dressed in a deep green cloak that covered him from head to foot, going so far as to conceal his face with a hood.
Who would hide his face in the midst of the woods on a warm day? Who would be here now, riding alone and obviously with confidence, except one of William’s own men? And who better from whom to obtain information?
Holding perfectly still, Dugald waited, one second more, then two, until finally the horse was nearly below him.
With a lift and a swoop he swung down from the branches. The rider twisted wildly about, trying to fight free, but Dugald gripped the horse’s barrel with his legs and clasped his arm across the man’s throat. Quick as thought, he slipped his knife from its sheath and pressed it to the rider’s jugular.
“One word, one move, and you will die this very instant,” Dugald warned softly.
The horse jolted to a halt. The woods were inordinately quiet.
“I’ll have some answers,” Dugald said softly. “And I’ll have them now.”
“As ye wish. But I thought ye had come to rescue the boy,” Liam said. “Not to kill your friends.”
“Liam!” Shona gasped.
Shifting his eyes to the left, Dugald watched Shona rise from the bracken, bow in hand and eyes wide. Mother of God! Would she ever learn to stay put?
“Dugald, let him go.
“Liam, what are ye doing here?” she asked.
“The same thing ye are doing here, I would suspect,” he said. His tone was glib, but his body remained tense and unmoving in front of Dugald.
“Riding down the middle of the road as bold and uncaring as ye please?” Dugald asked, his blade still poised at the other’s throat. “Riding away from the enemies’ stronghold? Tis a strange way to rescue a child, is it not?”
“Let him go, Dugald,” Shona ordered.
“If the truth be told, this is my first child rescue,” Liam said. “I was not quite certain how to go about it. And what of ye, Kinnaird? Is this an everyday occurrence for ye, or do ye rescue children only when there is a wealthy maid involved?”
“Since I am the one with the knife, I think I should be the one asking questions,” Dugald said.
“Where were you going? What are you doing here?”
“I am being held at knifepoint by a man who apparently has so many allies, he does not need one more.”
Dugald tightened his grip on Liam’s throat. “Now might be the time to give me some satisfactory answers.”
“And now might not be the time to cut the throat of the only friend ye have in these woods.”
“Liam,” Shona said, hurrying forward. “Why have ye come here?”
“I followed the brigands’ trail here, hoping I would find ye before ye found William. But when I rode to the edge of the woods, I did not feel that ye were in the castle. Something warned me that ye were behind me. So I turned back. And look how well it has turned out,” he said, wryly shifting his gaze to Dugald’s face.
“But what of Rachel?” Shona murmured. “Ye should have stayed with her.”
Liam sighed. “Indeed, I should have,” he said. “After all, twas obviously the safest place to be.
Even though Bullock is wounded, he is not likely to allow himself to be attacked again.”
“Then why did ye come?”
“Do ye think ye might tell Dugald the Daft here to get this sticker out of my neck?”
“Dugald, Liam is amongst my oldest friends,” Shona explained.
But he was not Dugald’s, and Dugald trusted no one. “If it was safer in camp, why did you come?”
Liam paused for an instant. “I figured Laird Leith would be a mite unhappy if he knew I let Rachel follow ye alone.”
“She threatened to follow me?” Shona asked.
“And ye know she’s foolish enough to do it.”
From his vantage point behind Liam, Dugald could see Shona smile, but he himself was not so trusting.
“Or mayhap you have come to warn William of our arrival,” he said.
Liam sat very still. “If ye think so little of my Shona, ye dunna deserve to protect her,” he murmured.
“What are you talking about?”
“I knew the lass long before she had the face of an angel and the allure of a siren, while she was but a gap-toothed child who was always underfoot and never out of trouble. Do ye think her charm so lacking that after all these years I could do aught to harm her?”
“I have little knowledge of what you’re capable of,” Dugald said.
“Aye, well ye’d best be certain what ye’re capable of, then,” Liam said. “Because by mine own calculations, William has all of two hundred men stationed inside that fortress.”
“Two hundred!” Dugald and Shona spoke in unison.
“How do you know?” Dugald continued. “You said you but went to the edge of the woods.”
“Aye, well, I’m a damned good guesser,” Liam said. “And this much I know, the two of ye are bigger fools than I think if ye believe ye have a chance against all of William’s army.”
“Then mayhap you can talk some sense into the maid and convince her to return to her father,”
Dugald said.
Liam snorted. “Long ago I learned that Shona will do what Shona will do. There is little chance of either of us changing that.”
“Then there is no purpose for your being here.”
“Aye, if each of ye can overcome a hundred men, ye have no need for me atall.”
“Tell, me, Irishman, if there are two hundred men there, what good will you be to us?”
“It seems to me I will improve the odds greater.”
“Aye, there will be less than seventy for each of us.”
“Just so.”
Dugald snorted. “And do you have a plan?”
“Aye. It begins by ye putting down the knife. And it ends with happily ever after.”
“For God’s sake, put the knife away, Dugald!” Shona scolded. “Surely seventy men to fight should be enough of a challenge even for two dragons.”
“I must tell you, Damsel, there is little difference between seventy and one hundred,” Dugald said. “And I do not trust this man who can ride so casually through an enemy’s woods.”
“Then ye had best have a plan that is better than mine,” Liam said.
“I do,” Dugald said. “I but wonder if I can trust you to see Shona safely back to Dun Ard.”
Despite everything, Liam laughed out loud.
Dugald tensed at the noise.
Liam’s mirth finally died down. “Do ye mean to tell me that after everything, ye still hope to send he
r into safety?”
“Shut up!” warned Dugald. He shifted his gaze toward Shona, and saw that her eyes were narrowed and her knuckles white where she held her bow.
“I’ll not leave here without the boy,” she said. “On that ye can depend.”
“And I’ll not have you risk your life. I told you once that I am accustomed to this sort of thing.
Trained for this sort of thing.”
“Then what do ye plan to do?” Liam asked.
“I will storm the castle,” Dugald asked.
“Alone?” Shona scoffed.
“I’ve done it before.”
“I’m quite impressed,” she said, her tone implying the opposite.
“I say I will not let you go there,” Dugald repeated.
“And I say, ye have no say over what I do, Kinnaird. What is your plan, Liam?”
“Liam?” Dugald stormed. “Tis all I need, to have another innocent life on my hands.”
“I fear I am hardly innocent,” Liam said.
“And neither are you a warrior.”
“Ye are right there,” Liam agreed. “I am no warrior, but I am the king of mayhem.”
“What are you saying?” Dugald asked. “I am saying I hope ye are as magnificent as your name implies, for although I can get us into the castle, I may have a hell of a time getting us out.”
Chapter 27
The night was as black as sin. The moon was hidden behind a ragged mass of black clouds, and mists rolled like homeless spirits above the rushing burn. Rain fell in a half-hearted drizzle.
Liam felt for the knife at his side. God’s nuts, what was he doing here? It was true, he was hardly a warrior. He was an unwanted bastard from a misbegotten border town, a fair juggler, a middling magician, and a damned fine pickpocket, none of which qualified him to endeavor suddenly to become a hero.
Damn Rachel and her weepy eyes.
The damp wood of the drawbridge muffled his footfalls. Behind the portcullis, he could see the haloed glare of a lantern.
Now would certainly be the time to turn tail and run if he were ever going to be wise enough to do so.
But again he saw Rachel’s desperate eyes.
God’s balls!
“Gatekeeper!” His voice echoed in the surrounding fog, loud and demanding with false bravado. He liked the abrasive sound of it. “Gatekeeper!”
“Who goes there?” The lantern was lifted from a peg as a man, half the size of a mountain, stepped up to the iron-wrought gate. He wore a metal helmet with a nose-piece that made him look somehow more sinister than even this horrid night warranted. His tunic was simple saffron, and nearly covered by a dark plaid.
“I’ve come to see the duke of Atberry,” Liam said, stepping into the light.
“And who might you be?” The guard’s voice was guttural. Another guard, the same in build and attire, stepped up. Damn, these Munros were brawny lads. Twas to be hoped they were also as fiercely independent as rumor said so that he could prick their pride.
“I am Liam the Irishman. Your lord and master, the duke of Atberry, will wish to see me.”
The guard snorted. “I have no master. But I’ve a wish to see you gone, so if you hope to live until daybreak, leave this place now.”
“I dunna think ye understand me, lad,” Liam said. He straightened, warming to his part. “The duke is wanting to see me, and he does not take kindly to underlings who anger him.”
The guard stepped closer to the metal lattice of the gate, his chest pushed out and his mouth sneering. “And I do not take kindly to little men with big mouths who disturb my peace in the middle of the night. Now, be gone, afore—”
“What goes on here?” Another man stepped toward the portcullis. He was a commanding figure dressed identically to the first two, but with a silver brooch pinned to his plaid. The short chain that connected the pin to the brooch flashed in the torchlight when he moved. Interesting workmanship, Liam thought. He’d never filched anything quite like it.
“This offal wishes to see Lord William,” said the first guard.
The commander stepped closer to the gate and squinted between the metal bars. “What’s your business here?”
Liam smiled. His heart rate picked up a pace, and his breathing escalated. The thing about being a thief was, it was exciting, and once the mood took him there was no turning back.
“Ye look to be a reasonable man,” he said, moving close enough to place a hand on the iron grid of the portcullis. “The truth is, I have information your master will want to hear. But your oversized hound here willna let me in.”
“What information do you have to give?”
Liam chuckled. “I fear I can share it with none but your lord and master. Let me in and I’ll give him a good word about your performance.”
The nearest guard drew his sword. “The Munro has no master!”
“Indeed? I must have misunderstood, then, for I thought the duke hired the lot of ye to do his dirty work.”
“Where do you get your news, friend?” the commander asked.
“From the MacCullocks.” Their sworn enemies. “In truth,” Liam said, gazing at the silver chain that dangled from the Munro’s plaid, “I heard ye stole this brooch from them.”
He lifted his hand, and quick as light, the brooch came away in his fingers. He snatched it through the portcullis with a grin.
The commander stood perfectly still on the far side of the gate. “Have ye such a wish to die this night, Irishman?”
Liam laughed out loud. “Nay. Indeed, I dunna. I merely have a need to speak to your master.”
A muscle jumped in the commander’s jaw. “And if I allow the audience, ye will return my brooch?”
“Indeed. As soon as ye let me in.”
“Raise the portcullis,” Munro ordered.
“But—”
“Raise the portcullis,” he repeated. “And let him see how a Munro responds to his badgering.”
The guard smiled ghoulishly. “Gladly.”
The gate creaked upward. Liam tensed. His knees were shaking like wind chimes, but he must not bolt. The plan had been carefully set, and if he failed his part, Shona would surely die.
The big man ducked beneath the rising iron grid, then straightened. “I have always wanted to kill an Irishman,” he said, and snatching his sword from its sheath, lunged.
But in that moment, Liam jumped to the side and reached out at the same time.
The guard’s dark plaid came away in his hand. It swept through the air like a tumultuous, flaring cloud.
The guard’s jaw dropped in surprise, but in an instant he swore and lunged again. Liam swished the woolen up over the man’s head. The guard stumbled to a halt as the plaid settled over him. There was a moment of bewildered silence before Liam snapped the plaid away.
Nothing but thin air lay where the guard had once been.
“What the devil!” swore the second guard, and whipped his sword from its sheath.
But Liam stopped him with a raised hand. “Do ye want your fellow returned?” he asked. “No need to fret.” Sweeping the plaid up, he again swung it in the air and whipped the woolen away.
A helmeted man reappeared like black magic, but without his sword this time.
“Devil’s work!” gasped the commander, and wrenching out his sword, rushed onto the bridge.
Liam stepped back, every instinct telling him to run.
But in that moment the reappeared man lunged toward the Munro. Quick as lightning, he reached out. There was a crack as he twisted the commander’s head backward.
The second guard raised his sword, but a dart whizzed through the darkness and sank into the exposed flesh of his neck. His eyes went wide, his body stiff, and then he sank lifelessly to the bridge.
Dugald removed his confiscated helmet and the dart gun from his mouth.
“Dugald the Dragon,” Liam said in some awe.
“Take their plaids and helmets then get rid of them,” Dugald ordered.
“Where’s the other guard?” Liam asked, as they both reached for a dead body.
“In the water.”
“Too bad,” Liam grunted. “There was a bulge beneath his tunic. It looked like coins.”
“There are a couple hundred men waiting to use your guts for garters. Mayhap you could concentrate on more important things.”
“More important than coins?” Liam asked, quickly stripping off the first man’s plaid and grimacing at the sight of his staring eyes.
“Listen, Irish,” Dugald said. “If you let Shona get hurt because of your own greed, I swear I will —”
“Hey!” someone yelled. But just at that moment an arrow whirred from the blackness to bury itself in the intruder’s throat. The guard fell in silence, but now four others lurched onto the bridge.
Too many of them, Liam thought, and reached for his knife. Another arrow whirred, then another. Dugald lunged, darted, struck. His hands were empty, and yet when he stepped back, there was not a guard standing.
The night went silent. Liam blinked, turning his attention to Dugald.
“If I have said anything to offend ye, tell me now. I feel a sharp need to apologize.”
Shona rushed up, bow in hand. “I killed them,” she whispered.
“Shona!”
Liam watched Dugald reach for her, watched him pull her into his arms.
“I killed them,” she whispered again.
“Shh,” he crooned. “Shh. Tis what you had to do, lass. Tis what was right. Do not think on it now.” He kissed her forehead with ultimate tenderness. So even the dragon turned to a pup when Shona was near. “Quickly now,” Dugald whispered. “Take a plaid and a helmet.”
Shona turned from him, her eyes wide in the darkness. “But—”
“Think of the child,” Dugald murmured.
She nodded and stepped away.
In a moment the three were dressed in Munro garb and the bodies were gone, tossed into the roiling water below.
Stepping inside, they closed the portcullis as quietly as possible and stood huddled together as they stared into the bailey.
“You must not let them know that the guards are gone,” Dugald said.
“Call me the Munro,” Liam said, and pinned the chained brooch to his plaid.
“Be careful,” Shoria told him.
Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides) Page 32