“Her father, Cousin Niall, would not agree to the match unless I could provide a home such as she deserved. I needed the coin to refurbish the small keep Da left me. Janet is used to fine things, to a walled keep and servants to order about.”
And I am not? Kara thought fiercely, then her sense of humor came to the rescue. Nay, she was not. Nor did she want to be. “She may have found someone who could give her these things.” Janet sounded shallow and selfish enough to do just that.
“If so, ’twas because Cousin Niall pressed her to do so. I’d not put it past him. Though he promised Janet could choose her own husband, he has always hated me. Still...”
“You do regret loving me.”
“Nay. Never that,” he said so forcefully she had to believe. Then he sighed and scrubbed a hand over his stubbled chin. “I am not certain of much except my love for you. Meeting you, loving you, has made me realize what I felt for Janet was friendship and gratitude. She, alone, made me welcome at Threave. Small and fragile as she was, she championed me, taking my part against her father. I admired her courage, and I desperately needed someone to fill the emptiness left by Mama’s death. Janet became my companion, my confident, my anchor in a troubled. world. She was the sister I never had. Only I didn’t know...”
He looked so miserable Kara ached for him. “I understand. When I was little, I wanted to wed Eoin.” She grinned as he started. “He is fifteen years older than I, but many lasses wed older men, or so I told him when I proposed.”
Duncan chuckled and shook his head. “Poor man.”
“Fergie refused permission, because I was only ten. When Eoin wed Annie, it broke my heart—for all of three days. Fergie gave me a new pony, and I swore off men...till you, love.”
“Fergie is a wise man.”
“Wise, aye, but...” She sobered. “His heart pains him from time to time, and I fear...” She could not say the words. “We need someone to lead us.”
Duncan nodded. “I will fight in his place, if it comes to that. But I wonder if we couldn’t find a peaceful solution.”
“Make peace with the MacGorys? They’re savages.”
“We said the same about Saladin’s people,” he said slowly. “But we were evenly matched. A treaty seemed the only way to avoid wiping each other out. The MacGorys cannot conquer you, nor will they want to winter in the hills. Mayhap—” He broke off and stood in the stirrups. “What is that?”
Two dark splotches stood out against the snowy hillside a quarter mile or so across the valley floor. Everything around them was pristine white.
“Stay here,” Duncan said over his shoulder as he rode off.
Kara followed without a qualm. When she saw what awaited them, she was sorry. Two bodies sprawled facedown in the snow, like dolls tossed aside by a careless child. “Are they...dead?”
“Aye,” Duncan muttered. He stood, giving her a clear view of the face pillowed in the snow.
“Orna.” Kara slid from the saddle. Shock held her immobile. “Poor thing. The other must be her husband, Cuddie. They live in a croft beyond those trees and were inseparable from the day they wed fifty years ago. They must have gotten caught in the snowstorm. But what were the old fools doing out in the first place?”
Duncan crossed to her, his expression hard. “They were not killed by the storm.”
“What?” She tried to move past him, but he held her fast.
“They were...murdered.”
“No one would harm them. They were old, feeble and as poor as everyone else in the valley.” She started forward.
He caught her. “Do not look. They were tortured.”
Kara felt her gorge rise. “Who...who would do such a thing?” She looked up at Duncan for answers, but his eyes were flickering over the landscape, so filled with fury she scarcely recognized them. “You know who it was?”
“MacGorys...the bastards.”
“Inside Edin Valley? That’s impossible.”
Duncan opened his hand and showed her a bunch of thick black hairs. “Wolf fur. Cuddie ripped it from his killer. He and his wife did not die easily or quickly. The MacGorys must have wanted information about the valley.”
“Oh, my God. How many of them do you think there were?”
“Only two.” He led her past the bodies, their faces mercifully covered by their cloaks. “See those tracks?” At her nod, he went on. “Two men afoot, heavy men by the depth of their prints. They came from the north, back toward Stratheas and are traveling south down the valley.”
“Toward Edin Tower.” Fergie. Black Roily.
“Or the pass. They have not been able to take it or to trick you into coming out. So—”
Kara’s blood turned to ice. “But why only two men?”
“They may be scouts. Whatever, we’ve got to find them and stop them from taking the information back to their leader.” He scowled. “Hard to believe they came over the mountain.”
Kara swallowed. “There’s another way into the valley. A wee, twisting tunnel through the mountains that comes out below Stratheas. There is a slab of stone blocking it, and no one knows of it save Fergie, Black Rolly and me. I—I would have told you, only there’s been no time.”
“I understand. But now two MacGorys may know. I want you to ride back to Stratheas, gather a party of warriors and tell them how to find the mouth of this tunnel. If the stone is displaced, they’re to reset it. Either way, they must wedge something into the base so it cannot be opened.”
“Where are you going?”
“After the MacGorys. We’ve wasted too much time already. Go to Stratheas and stay there. Do not go down to the tunnel.”
“But...”
Duncan grabbed her upper arms and hauled her up against him. “Kara, if you love me, you will do exactly as I say. How can I keep my mind on finding the MacGorys if I’m worried about you?”
Kara nodded. “I will not go to the tunnel,” she said. But neither was she letting Duncan face the MacGorys alone. She’d give his orders to the captain of Stratheas’s guard and return.
Chapter Eight
Duncan emptied his mind of everything but finding the MacGorys. Thanks to hours spent in the woods as a boy, he was an experienced tracker. He rode slowly along the base of the mountain, one eye on the footprints in the snow, the other on the land ahead, alert for an ambush.
A half hour after leaving Kara, he cautiously rounded a bend in the trail and spotted a small croft nestled into a grove of trees up ahead. His gut clenched when he circled and found the tracks led straight to the hut but not away. Driven by the images of more dead innocents, he left his horse well back in the trees and threaded his way through the pines. Coming up at the front of the windowless croft, he debated the wisdom of rushing the door or—
The door popped open and a girl ran out, a bundle clutched to her chest, her eyes wild with fear. Behind her hurtled a man straight from a child’s nightmare. Huge and dark, half his face obscured by a beard as black as his scraggly hair. He had arms and legs as thick as tree trunks, and a wolf’s skin slung across his body. A MacGory!
“Run!” the MacGory shouted. “There’s naught I like better than a good hunt. Whets my appetite, it does.” His laugh as he lumbered after the girl was more terrifying than drawn steel.
Duncan drew his sword and measured the distance across the clearing. Too far, he’d never reach the MacGory before he caught the girl. And once he did, the fiend would not hesitate to use her as a shield to force Duncan’s surrender. The lass darted through the trees like a hare driven before a mad fox, shifting this way and that. Suddenly she changed direction, heading straight for Duncan.
“Come on,” he silently urged. “A few more steps.” They were close enough so he could hear her labored sobs under the panting of her pursuer. Now!
Duncan stuck out his left hand, grabbed the lass’s arm as she stumbled by and swung her behind him. In the same smooth movement, he stepped onto the path and met her charging pursuer with a length of tempered ste
el.
“Argh!” the man cried. He tried to stop, stumbled and pitched forward onto Duncan’s sword. His eyes rounded in shock. Blood bubbled between his lips as he reached for the blade protruding from the middle of his chest.
“Damn.” A dead man would tell no tales. Duncan pulled his blade free and shoved the man down. Kneeling beside him, he pressed the dripping blade to the man’s throat. “Who are you?”
“Egan...MacGory. Who...?”
“What are you doing in the valley?”
Egan shook his head, eyes already glazing over. He died before he could answer any more questions.
Damn. Spinning on his heels, Duncan regarded the girl cowering against a rough-barked oak. “Where is the other one?”
She shuddered and clutched her bundle more closely. It whimpered piteously, one tiny hand coming out to grasp at the air. “Dinna kill us,” the girl murmured.
“I’ll not hurt you,” Duncan said as gently as he could with his nerves shouting for speed. She couldn’t be more than ten and so frightened she’d tell him nothing if he pressed. “I’m Kara Gleanedin’s betrothed. I’ve been trailing some bad men. Where is the one who was with this wretch?”
“Hut,” she whispered. Her eyes went black with panic. “Mama. Poor Mama, she told me to take wee Peter and run while she...”
Duncan nodded. Removing his cloak, he slung it around the shivering girl. “Stay here. I’ll go and see to your mama.” He cleaned his blade on the MacGory’s tunic, then trotted off toward the hut. As he cautiously approached the open doorway, he heard a woman’s cries and a guttural grunting that curdled his stomach.
His teeth clenched so tightly they hurt, Duncan slipped into the hut, shoved the bastard off his victim and onto the floor. Once more, his blade flirted with dirty MacGory flesh.
“What the hell,” the fiend snarled. He was older than Egan, his face scarred and weathered. “Who are ye?”
“Divine retribution.”
“There’s no clan of that name hereabouts.”
“Who are you? How many in your party?” Duncan asked.
“Sim MacGory’s my name.” His flinty eyes shifted toward the square of light coming in through the doorway.
“Egan’s not coming. He’s dead.”
“Bastard!” Sim bucked, then lay still when the blade nicked his throat. “He was my son.”
“I’m not surprised. Where is the rest of your clan?”
The MacGory pressed his lips shut. It would not be easy to pry secrets from this hardened old reprobate. Duncan had never had a taste for torture, no matter how foul the prisoner, but his time in the East had taught him that fear could be a greater loosener of tongues than the lash or thumbscrews.
“See that pouch at my waist?” Duncan asked softly.
The MacGory grunted. “Ye going to pay me?”
“Such fine, pale leather is much prized where I’ve been. This one was fashioned from the skin of a man who stole from me.” Duncan smiled grimly as the man’s eyes widened. “Aye. I made him stitch it up for me before I finished him.”
“His...his own skin?” The MacGory’s throat worked against the sword. “Jesu...”
“Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll see you are dead before I carve you up.”
“Ivor would kill me if I betrayed him.”
“I’ll find out...one way or the other. ’Tis immaterial to me how long it takes, but by the time I’m done, you’ll be sorry you didn’t speak more quickly.”
The MacGory spilled his secrets like the craven brute he was, eager to prey on the weak, yet weak himself. A dozen MacGorys had been given the task of searching the hills outside the valley for some way in. After weeks of painstakingly combing every foot of the countryside, he and Egan had stumbled upon the tunnel. Uncertain where it led, they were exploring when they came upon the old couple gathering the last of the acorns.
“They said this was Edin Valley, right enough, and told us how far ’twas to the pass at the south end.”
Duncan nodded. If these two had found the tunnel, others might. His mind seethed with plans and counterplans. First he needed to secure his prisoner. Duncan risked a quick glance at the woman. She’d pulled her skirts down and huddled against the far wall. “How are you called, lass?”
“Ma-Mairi.”
“I’m Duncan MacLellan.”
“Kara’s knight?” Some of her wariness fled.
“Aye. I need to be off, but I can’t leave this vermin roaming free. Can you get me a stout rope to bind him with?”
She nodded and scrabbled in a dark corner, coming up with a narrow loop of hemp. Her thin face was pinched with pain, but her hands were steady as she tied Sim’s wrists and ankles. “What will ye do with him, Duncan?”
“I’ll—”
The thud of hooves and babble of excited voices her-aided the arrival of several people in the yard. A big man burst into the hut. His head swung back and forth like a bear at a baiting, then he snarled something at Duncan.
“Nay, John!” Mairi leapt on the newcomer, sobbing. “’Tis Kara’s Duncan. He saved me from yon bastard.”
Duncan rose slowly. Just as he gained his feet, a body streaked through the doorway and slammed into his.
“Duncan!” Kara cried. “When I saw the dead man, I feared—”
“Shh.” He stroked her back and held her close, thanking God she hadn’t been with him when he’d come here. “You were supposed to stay at Stratheas.”
“I couldn’t.” She looked up at him, lashes spiky with tears, her eyes brimming with love.
“See if you can calm Mairi, will you? I’d best be off to talk with Fergie about what needs doing.”
“You’ve learned something?” At his nod, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Tell me.”
Duncan hesitated. “War is men’s business, Kara.”
“Surviving is everyone’s business.” She looked around at the others who had crowded into the hut. The women were comforting Mairi and her bairns. The men had dragged the MacGory out into the yard and were questioning him none too gently. Lowering her voice, she added, “Fergie is not as strong as he was.”
“Eoin, then. I’d speak with him.”
“When we are wed, the men of Clan Gleanedin will follow you, but till then, I am Fergie’s heir.”
Duncan glared at her. “I’ll tell you what I know, but you are not riding out to fight. No matter what.”
“Fight? What of your notion to sign a treaty with them?”
Duncan looked across the hut to Mairi. The dimness couldn’t hide her cut lip or the bruises on her throat. Worse was the lingering horror in her face and that of her small daughter. “The MacGorys have less honor than the Infidels. Nor do I think men who torture old people and rape children are the sort to keep their word,” he muttered.
“I’m glad you see that, but how are we to stop them?”
“I’m not certain, yet.”
“But you have a plan.”
“An idea.” It was sneaky and devious, unworthy of a Crusader knight, but he realized that some things went beyond honor. He only hoped God would understand what he was about to do.
Next morning, Kara stood atop the pass and watched the sun rise above the mountains. Its long, golden fingers stretched across the plain, dancing on the ripples in the river. The snow had melted, but a heavy frost the previous night left the grass sparkling as though sprinkled with fairy dust. High above, a hawk wheeled and banked in search of a stray mouse. On the riverbank, another, more subtle type of hunt was underway.
“Have they taken the bait?” Fergie muttered.
Kara whirled. “You’re supposed to be resting.”
“And how would a man do that, with the life of his clan at stake?” His face was gray, but his eyes crackled with vitality.
“Duncan will not let us down.” Her gaze went to the men working on the far side of the river.
’Twas easy to spot Duncan, his dark head rising above her red-maned clansmen. Stripped to the
waist despite the chill, they busily cleared the brush and trees from the bank. Another party of men used the green timber to fashion a palisade. Once up, it would prevent anyone from approaching the water and make it doubly difficult to sneak up on the pass.
At least Duncan hoped the MacGorys were canny enough to figure that out. He wanted to push them into making a move, into taking a chance on attacking the seemingly vulnerable work party.
“Do you think they’ll come?” she asked.
“Aye. Our men look like a bunch of dumb, frightened sheep. Why ye cannot even see anyone standing guard to sound the alarm. What wolf could resist such easy prey?”
“Indeed.” Kara looked over her shoulder at the spiny ridge of the mountains. Nothing stirred on the cliff face, yet behind every boulder hid a bowman. All part of Duncan’s plan. What if it didn’t work? What if the MacGorys came in such numbers that they overwhelmed the men working in the open?
“Easy, lass, ye’re shaking like a leaf in a storm.”
“I’m afraid.” She chafed the gooseflesh on her arms, her gaze swinging back to Duncan.
“Ye love him, do ye not?”
“With all my heart.”
“And what of yon knight? He was that eager to be away when we first took him in, but he fits in right well now.”
“He’s had a hard life, Fergie, orphaned at ten, raised by a cousin who despised him. He’s found happiness here with us. When this business with the MacGorys is settled, he plans to ask if we may wed,” she added shyly.
“Ah.” Fergie lifted her off her feet and hugged her. “I hoped ’twould come to that.” Setting her down, he wiped his eyes on his tunic sleeve.
“What is it?”
“I’m happy for ye, that’s all. I’ll not rest easy till I know my wee lass is settled with a good man.” But he avoided looking at her, which wasn’t like Fergie at all.
“Does your chest pain you?”
“Nay.”
Unease prickled her skin. “Fergie, what is it?”
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