Kilts and Daggers

by Victoria Roberts

  Grace’s eyes widened as Fagan felt the tip of the blade at his back.

  “That’s verra true, my lady. ’Tis good that we still have ye then, aye? Get up verra slowly and drop your sword to the ground.”

  Fagan let out a heavy sigh, and then he lifted himself from Grace. “Let the lass go and take me in her stead.”

  The red-haired man laughed. “I donna think so. I will nae tell ye again to drop your sword to the ground, and while ye’re at it, ye can throw away the blade ye carry in your boot.”

  As Fagan removed the sword from his scabbard, he hesitated. Grace sat in the grass, and he cast a determined look at her. She knew not to move. Without giving the bastard behind him any warning, Fagan spun around as steel met steel. He thrust and parried with the mercenary with every intention of removing the bastard’s head from his shoulders. At least that was what he’d hoped.

  Out of the corner of his eye he spotted two armed guards making haste toward Grace. The lass had her back toward the men and didn’t even know they were coming. He wouldn’t chance her being harmed or take a risk that she might do something rash. He had to protect her—even if that meant protecting her from herself—so he did the only thing that came to mind. He held up his arms and yielded, dropping his sword to the ground.

  Grace sprung to her feet and stood between Fagan and the guard. “Please don’t kill him.”

  Fagan placed his hands on her shoulders and tried to move her to the side, but she wouldn’t budge. “Grace…”

  “What kind of man are ye that ye hide behind the skirts of a lass, eh?” The men threw back their heads and roared with laughter. “Mayhap he’s nae a man at all? Tell me… Does the lass hold your bollocks for ye as well?”

  “He’s more of a man than any of you ever will be!”

  One of the guards removed Fagan’s blade from his boot. When Grace lowered her arm and her fingers trailed down her thigh, Fagan stilled her hand. Now was not the time to lose their only weapon.

  The guard grabbed Grace forcefully by the arm. “Come. Ye should be happy that ye have a companion to share the darkness with now—well, until the captain returns and decides what to do with our new guest. Back in the dark ye go with nay food and water for your insolence.”

  “Go to hell,” she spat.

  The guard’s eyes darkened. “Donna say I didnae warn ye.”

  * * *

  Grace found herself once again embraced by Hades with the hounds of hell guarding the entrance and exit of the bloody gates. But in this instance, Fagan was by her side. Together they’d figure out a way to end this madness. If anyone could discover a way out, she had to have faith it would be him. They sat against the stone wall, and he wrapped his arm around her. She laid her head on his chest and sighed.

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking. When you dropped your sword… I just didn’t want to lose you. You must think of me as a fool.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I donna, but ye need to control your anger around these men. They are hired for a reason, and if ye nay longer suit their purpose, they donna need ye. ’Tis better to say naught. I donna want to see ye hurt.”

  “I don’t think you can see me at all.”

  “There is truth in that. Are ye really all right, Grace?”

  She paused. “Now that you’re here, I’m much better. I was sick with worry about you.” She gently rubbed his arm. “What are we going to do about Ravenna and Uncle Walter?”

  “Ruairi should be here soon. As long as the weather holds and it doesnae rain, he should be able to track us here. He’s nae the best tracker, but I’ve been leaving signs around for the past few days that I know even he could follow.”

  There was a heavy silence.

  “Do you know anything about this Earl of Orkney?”

  “The king imprisoned the earl, his own cousin Patrick Stewart, because the earl resisted his laws on Iona. The lands of Orkney were then forfeited to the realm. Ye know how I told ye the Gordon was Ruairi’s father-in-law?” He hesitated. “Lass, I cannae see ye nod. Ye would have to say aye or nay.”

  “I wasn’t thinking. Yes, I remember.”

  “Gordon joined Patrick Stewart’s son, Robert, to gather arms against the realm. They had intended to seize the Palace of Birsay, and then Kirkwall Castle and St. Magnus Cathedral, but your sister stopped them.”

  “Ravenna?”

  “Aye, she sent word to the king. I donna know what evidence this servant has or had, but this is the first I’ve heard about it.”

  “From what the guard told me, I know these men will not stop until the Earl of Orkney is freed.”

  “I donna think the king would ever release Stewart. Mayhap the evidence of the servant was enough for the king to finally take his head, but I donna know for certain.” Fagan rubbed his hand over her shoulder. “So now that ye’ve had ample time to think about your choices, are ye going to give up learning about spy craft and leave it to the actual spies? I’m certain Lord Mildmay and Ravenna would be relieved to hear it from ye when ye see them.”

  “Do you want to know something?” When he didn’t answer, she added, “Fagan, I cannot see you nod. You would have to say yes or no.”

  He chuckled.

  “In truth, I’ve had a lot of time to think about a great many things, especially between us. Oh, how I’ve regretted the hurtful words that I said to you. I wish I could take them back. But you have to know that I didn’t mean them, any of them. I only wanted you to see reason. I’m English; you’re not. Nevertheless, my mind, my heart, couldn’t imagine losing you. I couldn’t bear the anguish of never seeing you again, never having you in my life. That fear alone was nearly my undoing.” She rubbed her fingers over his chest and was for once thankful for the darkness.

  “I know you’re a man with pride and honor, but I pray that you feel something deeper for me. I don’t want the only reason you want to wed me to be because you took my virtue. I know this makes no sense, because my mind tells me to run, and my heart tells me to stay. But I promised God that if he returned you to me, I’d be honest with you. There is something that I’ve been meaning to tell you for quite some time. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Yes, I will marry you. As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters. I love you, Fagan.”

  He gave her a quick pat on the head. “I know.”

  Eighteen

  When Grace sat up abruptly, Fagan tried to stay a chuckle. He knew the lass had fought her feelings toward him at every turn. Granted, the words she said were true. He was a man filled with pride and honor, but that was part of the reason why he was so persistent about their future. The woman was so caught up in the fact they were enemies that she’d never lifted the veil to see what was in front of her eyes. She finally admitted her true feelings for him only when she thought he was dead. The amusing part of that was he didn’t blame her.

  For days, he’d driven himself mad with worry. The thought of Grace being held captive by barbarian mercenaries was pure torture. She was a beautiful woman, and he knew these types of men took anything for their pleasure. The idea that any other man would lay his hands on her tore at his insides. That’s the moment when the clouds parted and he realized that his feelings for the lass went far deeper than one night of passion.

  Even though he knew it was in his best interest to tell Grace how he felt, he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to have this conversation here in the dark, being held prisoner by a bunch of mercenaries. But from the silence that encircled him, he knew he might not have a choice.

  “I know? That’s all you’re going to say to me after I gave you my heart? Now I really am the fool.”

  “Grace…” He reached out, fumbling to take her hand. “Ye are an intelligent lass. Deep in your heart ye’ve always known how I felt about ye. I donna want to start our future in this place. I want to gaze into your eyes and see your bonny f
ace when I tell ye that ye’ve made me the happiest man alive.” He pulled her into the circle of his arms and held her there.

  She sighed. “Oh, Fagan. We are quite the pair, you and I. Do tell me you have an idea of how to get us out of here. We need to escape before Ravenna or Uncle Walter arrives.”

  “The more I think on the matter, the more I believe that we donna need to worry about Ravenna. Ruairi would ne’er let her come. And besides, Calum should have reached Sutherland lands before the mercenaries sent their message. Ruairi is already on his way.”

  “But you know my sister. What if she received the message after Ruairi departed? There wouldn’t be time for her to contact Uncle Walter for help. Do you think she’d sit idle when mercenaries have made a threat on my life?”

  “I heard Ravenna with my own ears. She gave her word to Ruairi that she’s retired from serving the Crown. She is now the dutiful wife of the Sutherland laird.”

  “Dutiful wife? You do know my sister is a Walsingham? If she thought one of her sisters was in danger, I’m confident that she’d travel on her own, even if that meant defying her husband. I don’t think we should sit around and wait for Ruairi and his men. If there is something we can do, any chance we can escape, we need to do it. The captain is away and I don’t know when he’ll be back. But I do know there are fewer men standing guard now than before, and I’m fairly certain there are only three of them. Do you think you can handle them if they’re separated?”

  “I donna question my prowess on the battlefield, lass. I give pause because I donna want to see ye hurt. One wrong move, Grace, and these men will nae hesitate to kill ye. Ye cannae do something rash. Your actions—and I must say your sharp tongue—could make matters worse.”

  Her voice went up a notch. “You know me.”

  Fagan hesitated. “That’s exactly my point.”

  “I admit that sometimes I might act out of anger or pride—”

  “Might? Ye know that ye do.”

  “But Fagan—”

  “I need to think. I am nae yet ready to place my future wife in peril.”

  He felt a poke in his chest and assumed it was her finger. “You listen to me. If you have any intention of being my husband, then you need to understand something. I will do anything for my own blood, as I would do for you. No one threatens my family.”

  “Are ye sure ye donna have any Scots blood in ye, lass? I find it hard to believe all that fire within ye belongs to the English.”

  Grace dismissed his words and continued. “I am not willing to risk my sister or my uncle’s life by not even trying to escape because you fear I might be placed in harm’s way. Besides, Ruairi is your liege. He would kill you if anything happened to my sister, his wife.”

  “And I would ne’er forgive myself if anything happened to ye.”

  “Then instead of thinking of all the reasons why we shouldn’t attempt to do anything, let’s work together and come up with an idea to save my family.”

  “A bheil fhios agad?”

  “Fagan, at least be man enough to insult me in English.”

  “Do ye know?”

  “Do I know what?”

  “That ye sound exactly like Ruairi.” He chuckled. “God help me. I will nae only wed the woman I…er, care for, but I’ll be marrying my best friend.”

  “And I think, Mister Murray, every marriage should be so lucky.”

  * * *

  “Wake up!”

  Drifting back and forth between sleep and consciousness, Grace wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or if Fagan was calling to her. She fought to open her eyes. For a moment, she forgot where she was. “Where are you?”

  “Shhh… I’m standing by the door. The light comes closer. Do ye know what to do?”

  She stood and stretched her aching back. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Nay matter what happens, ye stay back.”

  “I understood that the first five times you told me.”

  “Then remember it again.”

  It was a pity there wasn’t any light. The man could’ve seen her rolling her eyes at him. She stood against the wall as the torch was placed in the crack outside the door. When the lock jingled, the guard walked in and hesitated. Fagan tackled the man, pummeling him into the stone wall.

  Two fists came down on Fagan’s back with a heavy thwack and he grunted. He pulled away from the guard and returned an elbow in the man’s face, but something wasn’t right. Grace inched closer to the light.

  Her heart sank.

  The guard wasn’t one of the three men who had been watching her. This was the bloody captain, the scarred man. Heaven help them. The leader and his men had returned. She wasn’t sure if Fagan noticed who the miscreant was. Although she’d promised to stay back and not intervene, words escaped her.

  “Fagan, it’s the captain!”

  If he didn’t bring the scarred vagrant to his knees now and the man called out, there would be no escape. The captain balled his fist into Fagan’s gut. If that wasn’t bad enough, then he lifted his leg and gave Fagan a swift kick out the door.

  Fagan landed hard on his back and then flew to his feet. He shoved the captain back against the door as it closed with a bang. Grace pushed, and the latch must have closed. The darned thing locked, and she was trapped inside alone.

  The torchlight on the wall was flickering, and large shadows contorted in strange images on the wall. The captain reached down and pulled out a dagger from his boot. With a sudden forward movement, the blade scraped Fagan’s arm. She tried not to make any noise, fearing she’d distract Fagan from his purpose.

  “I should’ve made certain ye were dead myself.”

  Fagan stepped back, missing another swing of the blade. “Aye, ye should have.”

  “I will nae make that mistake again.”

  “Aye, well, ye can try.”

  The captain swung his weapon again, and Fagan ducked in the nick of time. He quickly stood, ramming his fist into the man’s face. She heard a crack and blood dripped down the captain’s nose. Grace could not tear her eyes away from the men. She was even afraid to blink. Lifting her skirts, she unsheathed her dagger. She was thinking that perhaps she could toss the blade to Fagan through the bars, but then he disarmed the man. She breathed a sigh of relief when the captain’s dagger fell to the ground.

  Without warning, the captain dropped to the floor and wrapped his legs around Fagan’s, bringing Fagan to the ground with a heavy thump. Fagan sat up, and the man’s arms encircled him, holding Fagan against his chest in a firm grip. The man choked Fagan with one arm while extending his other arm to reach for the dagger.

  Fagan fought to set himself free as Grace panted in terror. This could not be happening. The hilt of the dagger was now at the captain’s fingertips. Fagan kicked and struggled against the restraining arm at his throat.

  In a split second, Fagan’s eyes met hers. As if she had some strange hint of foresight, she was suddenly fully aware of everything around her. She couldn’t quite explain the feeling, but something passed between them and a sense of dread washed over her. His eyes sent her a private message as if he was saying good-bye or he was sorry, maybe both.

  Without a doubt, this had to be one of the moments that Fagan talked about because Grace no longer thought rationally. She permitted her anger to rise, fear for his safety guiding her. Her heart was hammering, her breathing ragged. How could she be expected to stand, helpless, and watch the man she loved die—again? Oh, no. Fagan would not die like this. They would be wed, have children of their own, grandchildren even, before she’d ever allow him to depart from this world.

  She leaned her body against the door and stretched her hand through the bars. Gripping the dagger, she knew she didn’t have ample time to study the target. Fagan’s life depended on her aim. The captain’s fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade, and Grace r
eleased hers into the air.

  Fagan cried out in agony.

  * * *

  “A mhic an Diobhail!” O son of the Devil!

  “I’m sorry!”

  The captain was about to impale Fagan with his dagger when Fagan pulled Grace’s blade out of his own thigh. Using all his strength, he drove the pointy end straight into the bastard’s black heart and gave it a twist.

  Heavy footsteps echoed in the corridor, and Fagan realized that he had failed Grace. Five paid killers rushed into the cavern with wide eyes and glowered at him. He was certain it didn’t help matters that he was covered in blood, their captain’s and his own. As the red-haired man stepped forward and glanced at his fallen comrade, there was a raging storm in his eyes. Fagan knew that expression all too well. The man turned and met Fagan’s eyes, already killing him with his steely gaze.

  The red-haired guard gestured to his men. “I am in command now. See to the captain, and I will see to this bastard.”

  “Aye, captain.”

  Two men lifted the scarred man’s body and carried the corpse out of the cave. As two other guards grabbed Fagan under the arms, pulling him roughly to his feet, he closed his eyes to mask the pain.

  “Leave him alone!”

  “Shut your mouth, ye English wench. And donna worry about him because I’ll be back for ye next.”

  “Fagan…”

  He turned his head and winked at Grace. “Nay worries, lass. We’re just going to have a wee chat.”

  The men led Fagan into the larger cave. As soon as they dropped him to the ground, another guard clamored into the room from the narrow passageway. He was just as big and ugly as the others and gazed around at his cohorts.

  “Where is the captain?”

  “Dead, thanks to this arse,” said the red-haired guard. “I am now in command.”