Highland Scoundrel (Highland Brides)

by Greiman, Lois

  Shona delayed a moment, but already Dugald was lunging toward the soldiers. There was nothing she could do but spin away and drag Kelvin with her.

  They galloped down the hall.

  Grunts and moans and curses followed them, but it was the sound of running feet that made Shona twist about to look behind.

  Dear God! A soldier not a hundred paces behind them! And Kelvin was already slowing.

  They careened around a corner. Which way to the gate? She was all turned around.

  But there. They’d come that way before; she remembered the odd shape of the garderobe door.

  But that meant they had a long stretch ahead of them, and soldiers behind.

  “Here!” She grasped Kelvin’s hand harder, dragged him toward the latrine, and shoved him inside. “Down the shaft!”

  “What?”

  “Down the shaft,” she whispered. “It’ll take ye to the burn.”

  “Nay! Not without ye.”

  “Kelvin!” She shook him by the shoulders. “I have sworn to protect ye. Now ye must do as I say. Down the shaft.” Dragonheart felt heavy as a log about her neck. “Here…” Whipping Dragonheart from her neck, she slipped it over his head. “Tis magical, lad. It brought me to ye. Twill surely bring ye to freedom. When ye reach the water, follow the flow. I will find ye. I swear I will.”

  His eyes were wide with terror, his fingers like claws on her hands. “Ye will come for me?”

  “I will come,” she vowed.

  He leapt atop the latrine. Dragonheart glowed like a beacon in the darkness, but she had no more time to watch.

  “Run!” she shouted, as if he were ahead of her, and lunged away.

  She heard the soldier sprint around the corner after her. And though twas terrifying to hear him come, still twas a relief, for he had not stopped at the garderobe. She could only pray that Dugald was safe, for there was nothing she could do now but save herself. On and on she ran with the soldier drawing nearer. Another corner. In a moment she would be out of sight. She’d find a place to hide.

  Shona leapt around the corner.

  Three men stood in quiet conversation.

  She skidded to a halt. The men turned toward her.

  “William!” she gasped.

  “What the devil!”

  The soldier careened around the corner behind her. She heard him jolt to a halt, but didn’t turn toward him, for William held all her attention.

  “So, ye have come,” William smiled. He took a slow step toward her, and she saw now that his left arm was bandaged.

  “Where’s the boy?” the soldier gasped, still out of breath.

  “What boy?” William snapped.

  “The one that was with her.”

  William turned slowly toward Shona and smiled. “So ye managed to free the lad, did you? I fear I underestimated ye, my dear. But the boy doesn’t matter now that I have you.”

  She backed away, but there was very little room.

  “Did I not tell you the lad would draw her, William? They have a bond.”

  Shona turned toward the speaker. “Magnus,” she whispered.

  The old man pushed back his hood. “Some call me Warwick, lass.”

  Terror speared through her. Mayhap against William and his thugs she would have a chance, but not now, for already she could feel the oppressive terror of the wizard’s presence. He had been the evil she felt by her door at Dun Ard. She was certain of it suddenly. And now she remembered every moment of her struggle against him in Dugald’s room, as if he had somehow clouded her memory.

  “So what is the boy to you?” William asked.

  She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  “Your bastard, I think, though Warwick disagrees. Twould be kind of ye to settle this dispute for us.”

  She swallowed, trying to calm her nerves, to think.

  “Mine? Ye think Kelvin is mine?”

  He stepped closer still as did his solders. She moved against the wall. They were closing in.

  “In truth, lass, I dunna care if ye have lain with every man in Christendom. I only want one thing from you.”

  “What?” She shook her head. “What do ye want?”

  Warwick stepped forward, his opaque eyes eerie in the flickering light. “Give me the amulet.”

  “Dragonheart?”

  “Ye could have saved yourself a good deal of trouble if ye had handed him over when I asked,”

  William said. “Greed is a terrible thing. Still, tis a sin I can understand.”

  “Tis just a pendant,” she gasped, still backing away. She was fast running out of room. “Why do ye want it?”

  “Why?” William laughed. “In truth, tis the wizard who desires it so. I would suggest ye do as he asked, for I fear he will go to great lengths to get it. Indeed, it seems he intended to crawl up the tower to your room, but your brave Dugald distracted him.”

  “The dragon is meant to be mine,” Warwick murmured. “I have waited an eternity for it. It calls to me. I can feel its power even now.”

  Her throat felt tight with fear. “So twas ye who placed the wolf in the woods?” Shona asked, trying to stall, to give herself a few more moments. “Did ye hope that it would kill me?”

  William chuckled. “Ye wound me with your low opinion of me, Shona. I planned that scene exactly as it happened. I knew how attached ye were to the lad, so when I learned he would be riding with ye, I realized how ye would idolize me when I saved him—enough to marry me, surely, thus granting me full access to the amulet, not to mention your family’s power.”

  Warwick was close now, nearly within reach.

  She shrank back against the wall.

  “Ye should have gone through with the wedding plans, Shona,” William said. “Certainly I would not have let Warwick harm my bride. But now…I fear he holds a bit of a grudge against your kinsmen. It seems one of your own damaged his arm rather badly when last he tried to take the amulet.”

  “Give me the dragon,” Warwick said. His voice was soft, but his eyes were not, and pulled her in like a cold current.

  “I dunna have it,” she rasped.

  Warwick stopped.

  But William only tsked. “I know better. Ye never remove the amulet.”

  “I dunna have it,” she repeated, and wrenching her gaze from Warwick’s, pulled her tunic aside.

  No chain hung about her neck.

  Warwick recoiled as if struck. “Where is it?”

  “I gave it away.”

  “Ye lie!” William snarled. Yanking out his sword, he leapt at her. She pivoted away, but too late. He grabbed her by the tunic and pulled her back. Spinning her about, he ripped at her shirt. It tore down the shoulder seam, baring part of one breast.

  She tried to cover herself, but William jerked her arms away.

  “Damn ye! Where is it?” he roared. “Who has it?”

  Not Kelvin! Not Kelvin! But who? “Liam!” she lied. “I gave it to Liam.”

  “The Irishman?” snarled William.

  “Liam!” rasped Warwick. “Tis Liam’s presence I feel.” He stumbled backward as if struck, then lurched away.

  “Where are ye going, old man?” bellowed William.

  “Liam is at the gate!”

  “What the hell are ye talking about?” William roared, but Warwick was already gone.

  The castle went quiet but for the harsh sound of Shona’s raspy breathing.

  “So my bonny maid, ye gave it away did ye?” William asked, turning his attention back to her.

  She nodded, barely able to achieve that simple motion for the terror that seared her.

  “You gave it to another after refusing me?” he asked, and ran the edge of his sword down her cheek.

  She shuddered and shut her eyes.

  “That wasn’t very nice. But ye know what I think?”

  She dared not look at him.

  “I think ye lie, Shona, my love. But I believe a bit of steel applied to the right place will help ye tell the truth.”
r />   He drew back his sword. She bit her lip and tried not to scream.

  Chapter 29

  “William!” someone yelled.

  William yanked his sword up. Dugald threw his knife, but a soldier had already lunged toward him and now caught the blade in his shoulder. He screamed in agony and staggered back.

  Another soldier lurched forward. Dugald spun about and kicked him, sending him sprawling into William’s sword.

  Shona leapt to her feet and hurtled past them.

  Dugald gave the dying soldier another shove. He went down in a heap, dragging William with him.

  Dugald spun away, grabbed Shona’s hand, and leapt around the corner.

  “Get them!” screamed William.

  The sound of scrambling feet echoed in Dugald’s brain. He had to get her out, find a way to safety. A door appeared ahead. They raced away and swung it open.

  A troop of soldiers, alerted by the yells, scrambled in the narrow passage, fighting to wrench their swords out.

  Shona shrieked. Dugald slammed the door shut. They leapt away, but William was already in sight, tearing down the hall after them. They lunged to the right.

  Which way to the gate? It didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered but to stay alive, to get her free.

  “Surround them!” William screamed.

  And suddenly, as if by command, more soldiers appeared up ahead.

  Dugald skidded to a halt.

  “Dear God!” Shona gasped. Turning wildly about she yanked open a door on their left.

  They flew inside. Shona slammed the door shut. By the light from an iron candelabrum, Dugald searched for a bar to lock them in, but there was none. Racing across the room, he snatched a shield from the wall, propped it beneath the door latch, and jammed it against an uneven floor board. Then he grabbed the handle of a nearby trunk and dragged it across the floor to hold the shield in place.

  Something shattered behind him. He swung toward the noise. Shona was beating at the window with a stool, but the panes were thick and reinforced with iron. He ran to help her, but even as he did so, the door rattled as someone threw his weight on the far side.

  Shona swung the stool harder. Shards of glass sprayed away. Metal twisted but held.

  Snatching up a wooden chest by its handle, Dugald slammed it like a mace against the window.

  One pane creaked as a small portion twisted outward.

  “Break it down!” William screamed.

  Bodies slammed against the far side of the door.

  Shona swung her stool with renewed vigor. Dugald wielded the iron-bound chest. More window broke away. Nearly enough. Nearly. He swung again.

  The trunk scraped inward as the door was forced open. Men streamed in.

  Dugald heaved the chest with all his might. It shattered the window, broke away the iron, and fell outside.

  But there was no time to follow it. He swung toward the intruders. Snatching up the candelabrum, he wielded it like a sword. It struck the first man full in the face. He screamed as he stumbled sideways. Flames flared like fiery snakes in his hair.

  The next man lunged forward. Dugald swung again. A candle soared through the air, leaving its metal prong empty and deadly. The sharp end slashed across the soldier’s throat. He stumbled back into his companions, grasping at his throat.

  “Through the window!” Dugald yelled. But even now men were swarming past their fallen comrades into the room.

  “Back! Get back!” William yelled. The men moved to the side, letting their lord pass. In his hand he held a sword, and in his eyes there was a killing rage. “It seems only right that I slay the dragon. Get the woman,” he said, and lunged.

  “To the window!” Dugald shouted, but already it was too late and Shona knew it.

  Darting forward, she snatched up a fallen sword and swung with all her might.

  The closest man leapt back with a scream, holding his arm. The next came on, not knowing he dealt with a desperate woman trained to fight. He dashed toward her then stumbled back, a diagonal slash across his chest.

  “Jump!” Dugald yelled, turning just in time to see she had a respite.

  Pain seared through his arm, slamming him back to the reality of his own battle.

  William laughed, the sound high-pitched. “So ye think ye can stop me, Kinnaird.” He advanced.

  Dugald retreated, still holding his impromptu weapon. From the corner of his eye, he saw that the bed drapery had caught fire.

  Shona stood with a sword held in both hands, her legs spread wide as soldiers fanned out before her.

  “Aye,” Dugald said, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. “I will stop you. You shall never be king.”

  William raised his brows. “How did you know?” he asked, advancing slowly.

  Behind him a tapestry caught fire.

  “Twas the way you wooed Shona. You were too patient. Twas obvious you had more important things on your mind. And once I met the maid, I wondered what you could think more important Mayhap the life of a king, I thought. So twas you who tried to have him killed.”

  William circled, his arms spread wide. “Young James is inordinately lucky, I fear. But that was before I found the wizard. His gifts are astounding. Ye would be impressed,” he said, and lunged.

  Dugald danced backward, and William smiled. “I’m in no hurry to kill ye, Kinnaird. As ye said, I’m a patient man. All these years I have waited, amassing my armies, training my sons. Once the king is dead, nothing will stand between me and the throne, and no one will have the power to change that, not with the wizard at my beck and call.”

  “So twas your plan to steal Dragonheart from the maid, then give the pendant to the sorcerer so that he would have the power to dispense of the boy king?”

  “Tis still my plan,” William snarled, and swung as he leapt.

  The blade swept across Dugald’s chest. Blood sprayed into the air. William sprang forward, but Dugald wrenched up his weapon, blocking the next swipe before stumbling weakly back.

  Pain as hot as the flame that licked the walls swept through him. But he gasped for breath and strength as he held the iron in front of him. He could not fail her. He could not.

  “Tis still my plan,” William repeated. “I will be king.”

  He struck again. Dugald blocked the first stroke, but his weapon was heavy and cumbersome, his arms weakening from loss of blood.

  The next swipe came from the side, cutting across his biceps.

  The candelabrum fell from his numb fingers.

  William lunged forward and Dugald leapt back. But his strength was draining with his blood, and his feet caught in the rug that bunched beneath his feet.

  He fell. William leapt forward. Dugald rolled to the side, and William, unable to stop, stabbed his sword into the wooden floor. It held there for only an instant, but in that moment, Dugald grasped a candle from the floor. Flame soared as he swept it through the air and slammed it into William’s face.

  The duke screamed and stumbled back. His sword clattered to the floor, but he snatched out his knife and lunged forward.

  Death screamed in Dugald’s ear, but if he died, so would Shona.

  He wrenched the candelabrum from the floor, but had enough strength only to point it upward.

  Filled with wild blood lust, William threw himself forward. Too late, he saw the deadly prongs waiting for him.

  They sliced into him, impaling him just below the sternum.

  His eyes went wide with shock and horror. Bloody froth foamed at the corners of his mouth. He stumbled weakly back, the candlestick protruding from his torso.

  “I will…” He stumbled again then caught himself on the wall. Flames licked at his feet, though he did not seem to notice. “I will be king!” he rasped, and toppled backward onto the floor.

  “He’s dead!” a soldier hissed.

  “Jesus God!” another murmured. “He meant to kill the king.”

  “Heads will roll for this.”

  “Not mine!” some
one rasped, and lunged away.

  Panic boiled up like hot tar. Men rushed from the flaming room.

  “Dugald!” Shona stumbled toward him and fell at his side. “Dugald, are ye all right?”

  He grasped her hand. Something smeared warm and sticky between his fingers. He turned his head and realized with stunning relief that the blood was his own.

  He turned his eyes to hers. They looked unearthly bright by the light of the fires that blazed around them.

  “Go, Shona.”

  She laughed. The sound was wild. “Surely ye jest.”

  “Leave now, before tis too late.”

  “Never. I will never leave ye.”

  His back felt wet. He realized vaguely that it was his own blood he felt, seeping like a warm pool into the floor boards.

  “And what of Kelvin?” he asked.

  “Get up!” she ordered, pulling his arm.

  “Where’s the boy?” he asked.

  “Shut up!” she yelled. “I willna go without ye. If ye stay, I stay!”

  Dugald remained as he was for a moment, but if he knew anything, he knew she was stubborn enough to do as she said. Closing his eyes against the numbness, he tried to sit up.

  “Give me the amulet.”

  Dugald snapped his gaze to the doorway. Amidst the flame and smoke, a black robed man stood.

  “Warwick,” Shona whispered.

  “Give it to me,” he ordered, his voice low, his opaque eyes eerie.

  She pulled at Dugald again, still trying to drag him from the floor. He could not die; she would not let him. “I dunna have it.”

  Warwick stepped forward, seeming to walk on fire. Flames licked at his robe, but his milky eyes never flickered from her face.

  “Ye do,” he countered. “The farther I got from you, the weaker I felt the power of the dragon.

  You still have it. But where?”

  Beside her, Dugald forced himself to sit up.

  Shona nearly sobbed with relief, but Warwick came on. “Stay back,” she ordered, and swept a knife from the floor. “Stay back or I swear ye will die this day.”

  The old wizard stopped, but then he chuckled. The sound was low and evil. “Such bravery. Tis almost a shame to see it die.”

  “And if I die…then what? Ye shall never have Dragonheart.”

  “Maybe not,” Warwick murmured. “But what if I kill him first?” he asked, nodding toward Dugald. “What then, lass?”