“That doesnae mean he is dead,” Bowen reassured him. “Bethia may have just succeeded in calming the lad.”
“They are but a few yards ahead,” Peter said as he rejoined them after scouting ahead.
“Alive?” Eric demanded.
“Aye, though ’tis clear that he means to kill them both. They are in a small clearing. Bethia and the lad are kneeling on the ground and William and his men stand in front of her. About a dozen.”
Bowen quickly instructed his men to encircle the clearing, placing his two skilled archers at William’s back. Wallace and Eric moved toward the place that would put them behind Bethia and James. Once the attack started, it would be important to get Bethia and the child out of harm’s way as fast as possible. Eric tried to find comfort in Wallace and Bowen’s assurances that Bethia would know what to do once the attack began, but he was too afraid for her to be reasonable. When he heard what she was saying to William, his fear grew and so did his confusion.
“What game does the lass play?” he muttered as he sprawled on his stomach next to Wallace, using the thick undergrowth of the forest to hide himself.
“William is obviously one of those fools who think Bethia is a witch just because her eyes dinnae match,” Wallace replied in a voice as soft as Eric’s, barely loud enough to be heard by the man at his side and easily hidden by the noise of men and horses in the clearing. “I am nay sure how she thinks it will help her though.”
“It could just get her killed all the quicker. ’Tisnae wise to toy with a mon’s fears.”
“I ken what ye plan now,” Bethia said, keeping her voice low and hard.
“Aye, I plan to kill ye and the bairn and claim Dunncraig,” William snapped. “That wasnae hard to guess.”
“Ye will ne’er hold Dunncraig.” Bethia was pleased with the power of her voice and the way William paled slightly. “Do ye really think my clansmen or my husband will believe the bairn and I were killed by thieves or vagabonds?” The way William’s eyes widened and his sons looked at her in gaping astonishment told her that she had guessed his plan correctly. “They ken weel how ye are trying to murder your way into the laird’s chair at Dunncraig.”
“They have no proof.”
“My word on it is good enough. Ye kill me or this bairn and my clan and my husband will hunt ye down. Aye, and your loathsome sons. They will kill ye—slowly. And ye will welcome death, for ere the life’s breath leaves my body, I shall curse ye, your sons, and all who help ye. Ye will be covered in great, oozing sores, the stench of which will be so great that no one will be able to abide your company.”
“Shut your filthy mouth, witch,” William yelled.
“Then all of your hair shall fall out. Next your teeth.” William’s sons and his men started to mutter. “Ye will be fair crippled by stabbing pains in all of your joints.”
“Shut her mouth, Father,” Angus bellowed, hastily crossing himself.
“I warn ye, woman,” said William, pointing his sword at her. “If ye dinnae cease I will cut your cursed tongue out.”
“For every drop of blood that falls from my body or James’s, ye will ken a new torment. Your fingernails and toenails will blacken and fall off. Your monhood will become twisted and—”
A scream pierced the air, silencing her. For one brief moment, Bethia thought she had actually put the fear of God into one of William’s men. Then she saw a man fall, an arrow in his back. Even as a second pain-filled cry sounded, she grabbed James and ran away from William and his men—and straight into Eric and Wallace.
“Are ye all right?” Eric asked, lightly touching the large bruise on her face.
“Aye,” she replied in a shaking voice, reeling from the miracle of her timely rescue.
“Watch her, Wallace,” he ordered and strode away to join the battle between William’s men and her clansmen.
Wallace grinned at her. “Your monhood will become twisted?”
“It seemed one of those curses that might frighten a mon,” she murmured and shrugged.
“Oh, aye, that it would.”
Although she did not really wish to distract Wallace, who stood alert and ready to defend her and James if any threat came their way, there was one thing Bethia had to know. “How did ye find us?”
“Luck was with us or, mayhap, with ye and the lad. One of the horses ye took eluded capture by William, but stayed near at hand. Dougal survived, dragged himself onto the horse, and hied back to Dunnbea. We werenae that far behind ye.”
“And of course, ye had Thomas to find the trail.”
“Aye.” He lightly ruffled James’s bright curls. “And this wee laddie’s voice to follow for a wee while.”
“I was so afraid I had failed him, had led him straight to his death.”
“Nay, lass. William fooled us all. We thought he had gone back to Dunncraig too, or we would ne’er have let ye and the lad ride outside of the walls of Dunnbea. Your mon was nay pleased to find out we had done so.”
Bethia frowned toward Eric, but quickly looked away, unable to watch him fight without feeling choked with fear for his safety. She wondered if she should allow herself to see some clue to Eric’s feelings for her in his anger over the fact that she had left the safety of Dunnbea, then told herself not to be a fool. He had sworn to protect her and James and had done so again when he had wed her. Eric was a knight, a man of honor. He had left her at Dunnbea, thinking her safe, only to return and find her in danger. That was all that stirred his anger. She glanced once more toward Eric, saw him fighting his way toward William, and hastily closed her eyes. She stopped worrying about what he did or did not feel for her and started praying for his safety.
Eric swore as he cut down the man standing between him and William only to have another shoved into his path. William was throwing away the lives of his men just to save his own. It was hard for Eric to control his fury as he saw how close the man was to reaching his horse and the chance to escape.
“Stand and fight like a mon, ye filthy bastard,” Eric yelled even as he fought the man William had pushed into the fight.
“I dinnae plan to die here,” William replied as he struggled to get hold of the nervous horse. “Nay, that bitch has caused me to lose my sons and the lands that should have been mine. I intend to live long enough to make her pay dearly for it.”
Cursing viciously, Eric knocked the sword out of his opponent’s hand, then glared at the white-faced man. “Get out of my way,” he snarled and was not surprised when the man bolted, making no attempt to pick up his sword and return to battle. “Ye brought yourself to this end,” Eric said as he darted around the men still fighting and the bodies of the slain.
“Dunncraig should have been mine!” Wallace screamed as he swung up into the saddle and kicked his mount into a gallop, heedless of anyone who was in his path.
“Wallace!” Eric yelled in warning even as he ran after the fleeing William.
Wallace cursed as he saw William bearing down on them, his sword raised. “Move out of the way the moment I yell now, Bethia.”
“Sweet Jesu, does he mean to run us down?” she whispered, holding James close and wondering how she could protect him.
“Now!” Wallace met and deflected William’s deadly swing, but the force of the blow staggered him.
Although it felt cowardly to do so, Bethia darted behind Wallace as William tried to control his panicked mount. Twice more he tried to cut down Wallace and get to her. Then he looked beyond her and cursed. A quick glance over her shoulder told Bethia why. Eric and the others were racing toward them. William could not fight them all, and what few of his own men had survived were using the distraction to run for their lives.
“This isnae o’er yet, bitch,” he yelled at Bethia.
“Ye have lost, William. Give it up,” Bethia replied, frightened by the look of madness twisting his features.
“Nay. Ye must pay for the lives of my sons. Ye and the bratling.”
William galloped away, disappear
ing into the wood. Bowen sent two men after him, but Bethia could tell by the expression upon his face that he did not hold out much hope of catching the man this time. She trembled as Eric stepped up beside her and put his arm around her shoulders. After a quick look showed her that he had no wounds, she leaned against him. He smelled of sweat and blood, but for the moment, she did not care. She needed his strength to calm her fears.
It had been a near escape, too near. Worse, Bethia knew that it was still not over. With so many witnesses to his attempt to kill James and her, William could no longer work from the strength of Dunncraig. He was now a hunted man. She believed his threats, however. Being stripped of everything—his sons, lands, coin, and fighting men—would not stop William. Now he would hunt her not for greed, but for revenge. And now that he knew his plots for gain were known, he would do his hunting from the shadows.
“What were ye thinking of to leave the safety of Dunnbea?” Eric asked after taking a long drink from a wineskin Wallace gave him and then offering some to Bethia.
After a quick glance around revealed the men of Dunnbea at the grim task of stripping the dead of all that was valuable, Bethia took a long drink of wine and decided to fix her attention only on Eric. “I fear I believed in the false trail the mon had laid. I thought he was at Dunncraig.”
Wallace muttered a curse and nodded as he accepted his wineskin back. “We ne’er thought to question or spy upon his messenger.” Wallace took a drink, glanced around, and then pointed to one of the dead men with an arrow in his back. “That is him right there.”
“Do ye recognize any of these men as Drummonds from Dunncraig?” Eric asked.
“Nay,” replied Bethia, “but William had obviously replaced Robert’s men with his own, most of them base hirelings.”
“Men who wouldnae be troubled fighting for a mon who gained his land and wealth through cowardly murders. The true men of Dunncraig might also have had some qualms about attacking other Drummonds, true Drummonds.”
“There were a few who were ready to betray their clan, their blood, and aid that usurper in the hope of some reward. I didnae see any of them here, however. They will probably have to be cleared out of Dunncraig.” She glanced in the direction William had fled and shivered. “’Tis nay o’er yet.”
“Weel, if any of those curses ye hurled at his head should take, he will be verra easy to find,” Eric drawled, and he grinned when Wallace laughed. “It should be quite easy to find a bald, toothless, pain-ridden mon who limps and has blackened toenails and fingernails.”
“Ye heard it all, did ye?” Bethia felt somewhat embarrassed.
“Right up to the threat of a twisted monhood.” He chuckled when she blushed deeply, but then grew serious. “What were ye thinking of, my heart? Ye were pushing those men hard, stirring up their darkest fears. They were aching to cut ye down.”
“Actually, I was hoping that they might hesitate to murder me out of fear. They were clearly more than ready to believe I was some witch. Aye, and all because I didnae eat the poisoned food William had sent to me and James.”
“They could just as easily have killed ye a lot sooner than they had planned to.”
“All I could think to do was to gain some time,” Bethia said quietly. “I had already gotten him to boast of all his crimes and argued over the wisdom of killing James and me. Then he mentioned that he thought I was a witch. It gave me the idea of trying to make him think it was dangerous to kill me. After all, if he was fool enough to even think I was a witch, surely he was fool enough to believe my claim that I was and to fear my great powers. I wasnae sure rescue would come, for I thought both my guards were dead, but I was compelled to try to gain enough time for someone to come and rescue me. Bowen had told me that I must be back by sunset and I kenned he would set out to find me as soon as that time had passed. I was trying to hold off the execution William had planned for me and James.”
“Weel, as a plan it wasnae perfect, but it served its purpose,” Eric said, nodding a greeting to Bowen as he joined them.
“Time to leave this dark place,” Bowen said, briefly touching a sleepy James’s curls.
“Aye,” Bethia agreed. “’Tis a place of death, those promised and those fulfilled.”
Bowen nodded as he started to walk toward where the men from Dunnbea had left their horses. “And witchcraft.”
Bethia sighed and shook her head as all three men laughed. “I shall ne’er hear the end of this, shall I?”
“Nay.” Bowen bent to kiss her cheek, then laughed again. “Twisted monhoods, eh? Jesu, that was terrifying.”
When all three men laughed yet again, Bethia decided to just ignore them. She allowed them to have their fun. It was good to hear the laughter, for she doubted it would last long. William was still out there and now he wanted revenge.
Chapter Twelve
“At least ye didnae get any of our men killed with your foolishness,” said Lord Drummond.
Bethia inwardly sighed and filled her trencher with food. She had succeeded in avoiding her parents when she had first been brought back to Dunnbea. Eric had skillfully gotten her upstairs and into their bedchamber, where she had had a calming bath and a rest before her parents had even seen her. By the time he had returned to take her to the great hall for the evening meal, she had hoped that enough time had passed to dull the bite of her parents’ tongues. It made her sad to discover that had been a foolish hope.
Her parents obviously did not want to admit that they had been wrong about William Drummond. It would also require them to admit that she had been right about the man, and that was evidently something they could not abide to do. Somehow it had all become her fault, as if she had set out to get herself brutally murdered just to spite them. Not once had they asked if she had been hurt. What really troubled her, however, was that they had not asked after James either. Their only grandchild had been held at swordpoint and they said not a word. It was as if the child did not exist.
“I am sorry,” she said. “At least we have reduced the number of our enemies to one.”
“And just how is it that he got away?”
That question carried a criticism of Eric, Wallace, Bowen, and Peter, and Bethia could not allow that. The laird of Dunnbea sat on his well-rounded backside, safe inside the walls of Dunnbea, and then dared to belittle the efforts of his men. Even as that thought passed through her mind, Bethia nearly gasped in shock. Never had she had such an angry, almost disloyal, thought about her father. All she could think of was that her need to defend the men who had so gallantly rescued her and James had briefly overwhelmed her, prompting such wicked thoughts. Her father was the laird, she sternly told herself. He had every right to question his men. Bethia wondered why that reminder did not fully kill her anger, then decided that she was simply too tired to be reasonable.
“He used his men as his shield,” Eric replied. “We were unable to kill them fast enough to reach him.”
Lord Drummond grunted and gave Eric a cross look before returning his attention back to his overfilled trencher. Bethia breathed a silent sigh of relief and tried to eat something. Her father did not like to be criticized, no matter how subtly, and that was just what Eric had done. Worse, she could sense a cold anger in Eric. Although she understood his sense of insult—for himself and for the other men—she prayed he would keep it controlled. She did not want to be caught in the middle of a quarrel between her husband and her father.
A few more remarks were made about her rescue and the threat William still posed. Her father not so gently criticized, and Eric and Wallace not so gently defended themselves while rebuking him. There was no outright argument, but Bethia soon found it all very hard to bear. The food she had managed to eat now sat like lead in her stomach, and she completely lost her appetite.
“I believe I will seek my bedchamber now,” she said to Eric, but loudly enough so that her parents could hear.
Eric kissed her on the cheek. “I will join ye soon.”
�
�Eric,” she whispered, sensing his lingering anger at her father and fearing he might unleash it once she was gone.
“Dinnae fret, my own. I willnae allow myself to be too provoked.”
She nodded and walked out of the great hall. It was both pleasant and unsettling that he could so easily guess her concerns. Bethia hoped it was because he understood her well and not because her face was too easy to read. After all, if he could too easily read her emotions in her expressions, so could others, and she did not want her parents to see the occasional surges of anger and resentment she found harder and harder to control.
“Ye didnae stay verra long in the hall,” Grizel said as Bethia entered her chamber.
“I couldnae eat another bite,” Bethia replied as Grizel began to unlace her gown. “Father isnae happy to discover he was so completely wrong about William and I fear he tries to find fault with the men. That makes Eric and Wallace angry. The food I was eating began to sit like a rock in my gullet as I waited for someone to cease being politely angry and become truly enraged.”
“I would suspect no mon likes to hear the battle he just fought at risk to his own life being demeaned and criticized by a mon who hasnae lifted a sword in o’er a dozen years.”
The sharpness of Grizel’s tone surprised Bethia; then she recalled that Peter had been one of her rescuers. In a way, her father was heaping scorn upon Grizel’s husband as well. Bethia wished her father would be more cautious in his criticism, then decided it was probably too late for the man to change his ways. The fact that so many men lingered in service to Dunnbea despite her father’s constant complaints was probably out of loyalty to Wallace and Bowen. They simply waited patiently for the day when Wallace would be the laird of Dunnbea.
“I am sure my father doesnae completely scorn their efforts,” she murmured and ignored Grizel’s snort of disbelief. “How is James?” Bethia asked as, dressed only in her shift and a thick robe, she sat on a stool in front of the fire so that Grizel could brush out her hair.
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