The Highlander's Crusader Bride: Book 3 in the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

“And risk guards in the laird’s chamber?” Arbela tossed back at him.

  “I doubt he has guards there. Ye do not believe they allow Caelen to recline in his chamber whilst they search for ye and Bram?”

  A cloud swept over Arbela as she considered Caelen’s likely fate. “We are less likely to meet MacGillonays in a storeroom than on the stairs,” she stated. “Let us give this door a try.”

  The ancient leather hinges creaked softly as Alex and Kade tugged at the door. The room beyond was a slightly paler shade of dark, another door on the far side of the room outlined by a light source beyond.

  They moved to the far door, and, to their surprise, it opened, revealing a mass of barrels stacked three and four high. Light trickled in from a torch burning in a sconce further along the passageway, outlining the rotund obstacles.

  “Without a lot of effort—and making a great deal of noise—we will not be able to clear the passage,” Kade noted. “We must find another way to let the MacLean’s soldiers into the castle.”

  Arbela strode past him, slipping through a narrow space between two barrels. “Once I’m finished, ye can let them in the front gate.”

  Slurred cries of drunken revelry punctuated the air. Arbela’s hand went to the hilt of her sword, furious at the liberties being taken in her home. Alex rested a heavy palm on her shoulder.

  “They will not forget this night, sister,” he assured her. “We will right this wrong.”

  She swallowed, drawing a settling breath, relaxing to center on the job ahead.

  A low screech of indignation caught her ear. The darkened form of a woman, platter in her hands, assisted across the passage by a swat to her bottom, followed the sound. A man loped behind her, mouth to her ear, promising things Arbela did not want to consider. The pair disappeared into the hall.

  “Follow me,” she whispered. Snaking around the stacked barrels, she wound her way down the darkened passage, pausing at the entrance to the kitchen. One breath in through her nose, out through her mouth, she then slid silently around the framework. Her gaze took in those in the kitchen, both women she recognized—Cook and her assistant, Dona. The caps on their heads sat askew, their aprons smeared with grease from more than a casual wipe of messy fingers.

  Dona glanced up, her face pale. Eyes widening, she opened her mouth, but Arbela silenced her with a shake of her head. The woman reached to Cook beside her, tightening her fingers over the other woman’s hand. She glanced up sharply, a frown on her face. Following her friend’s gaze, her eyes lit on Arbela.

  Arbela offered a reassuring smile, gliding soundlessly to the women’s side as Alex and Kade joined her in the kitchen. “We have returned to retake the castle,” she murmured. “Will ye help?”

  The two women nodded, and in short course, Arbela emptied half the contents of a container of wolfsbane into a vat of whisky.

  “The oafs discovered the laird’s supply, and have been quaffing it in staggering amounts,” Cook reported, disgust plain for the swilling of good whisky. “They willnae notice the bitter flavor.” She filled two pitchers with the tainted liquid. “This should settle the louts in the hall—those still able to drink,” she amended.

  Dona took the pitchers and set them on the long table, then paused, sending Arbela a troubled look. “Praise God ye are here, my lady,” she said. “I wish ye well.”

  “MacGillonay took the castle, but our men put up a tremendous fight,” Cook said, an approving expession on her face. “Killed a few of those vermin before they were beaten. Ye’ll find the MacKerns who remain in the pit. I dinnae know how ye will release them without a fight from the guards.” She placed a hand on Arbela’s forearm. “Ye have saved the lad, aye? He is safe?”

  “Bram is with my father,” Arbela reassured her.

  “We thank ye for yer help and for yer information,” Alex said. “We will settle our accounts with MacGillonay before the day is out.”

  “Bless ye, sir,” Cook replied. “Ye’ll be sending them to their just reward, and that’s the truth.”

  “Finish here, then hide in the storeroom,” Arbela told the women. “We will find a way to let ye out of the castle as soon as we assess the number and placement of guards. We mean to empty the castle of all but those who can wield a sword.”

  The women nodded. Cook waved an iron skillet. “I may not heft a sword, my lady, but there’s few can withstand a whack of my skillet!”

  With a nod of readiness, Arbela, Kade and Alex disappeared into the dimly lit hall, their clothing blending into the shadows.

  Chapter 24

  The stench of unwashed bodies and spilled whisky and the roar of men well on their way to knee-walking drunkenness assaulted Arbela’s senses as they peered around a pillar at the entrance to the great hall.

  “I count nineteen men in this room,” Kade murmured.

  Arbela squinted against the glare of torchlight. “Seventeen,” she countered.

  He leaned close. “See four feet sticking from beneath the overturned bench.” He grinned. “My guess? Their snoring annoyed someone.”

  Arbela rolled her eyes. “Assuming near fifty men with a handful killed, that leaves fewer than two dozen unaccounted for. Mayhap a dozen on the walls, half that number guarding the pit.”

  “So, a few roaming the halls?” Alex looked to the other two for confirmation.

  “Aye. They should be easiest to dispose of,” Arbela said.

  “What do ye propose, sister?” Alex asked.

  She arched a brow, fighting the tug at the corners of her lips. “I have a few surprises in my bag,” she admitted.

  Alex elbowed Kade. “I knew it. Father doesn’t like to remember the two summers she spent with our uncle whose castle—unbeknownst to Da—boasted a training camp for the Hashashin order. I wager Arbela has a few unconventional ideas in mind.” He jerked his chin at Arbela’s bag. “What do ye suggest?”

  She motioned them to a small alcove and swung her bag from her shoulder. Opening the drawstring closure, she peered inside. “After we ensure a room is clear, we can leave these just inside the doorway.” She hefted a bag that clanked faintly. “I scattered some in the entry to Bram’s room, so take care. They will pierce a boot and the barbs make them exceedingly nasty to remove from your foot.”

  “Caltrops,” Alex said, impressed.

  “Whilst I am remembering, I also set a splinter on the wooden latch of Bram’s door.” She shrugged. “And coated it with a poison that will likely give someone hives and a racing heart—’twas a small dose—so take care if ye go to his room.”

  Kade’s eyebrows shot up. “I’d heard rumors of why yer da brought ye home a wee bit early one summer, but he has done well to keep the reason quiet. This is why?”

  “Aye,” Arbela grinned. “Those of the Hashashin order are hated and feared—and for good reason. But as I am not likely to best a hardened warrior in hand-to-hand combat, I saw no reason not to learn a more subtle approach.”

  She gave each a handful of items. “Stretch these thin ropes across passageways, slightly above ankle height. And we will grab one of Cook’s large pots and set it atop the door to the privies.” Briefly, she outlined her plan. With a nod of understanding, the three separated, slipping down the halls of the beleaguered castle with no more noise than the first fall of a summer rain.

  * * *

  Caelen rolled to his feet, fingering the scabbed line over his stomach where MacGillonay’s sword had nicked him during the fight. A slight stickiness told him it still oozed and needed bandaging, but the pain of the wound was overshadowed by the ache in his head. A form blocked the scant light spilling into the noxious pit, and Caelen halted, anticipating the ladder lowered for his use.

  He mounted the rungs, mentally urging himself to endure the climb as every muscle screamed from the abuse MacGillonay’s men had inflicted on him earlier. But out of the pit was one step closer to freedom. If freedom wasn’t an option, he would take as many of the bastards down with him as was humanly possible. A
nd he’d include the MacGillonay if he could.

  His slow ascent allowed his eyes to adjust to the light as he broke free of the pit. His left eye was still swollen, allowing only a glimmer through the slightly parted lids. The torches affixed to the walls warmed the room, and a few held aloft lit the guards who had little to do other than keep others away from the hole. Once inside the dark confines, there was no way out. A battered table, its surface cluttered with empty dishes, leaned against the wall, out of the way in the small room. The builders of Dunfaileas Castle had wasted little space enclosing the pit. Caelen’s ancestors apparently had scant mercy for wrongdoers.

  “Hurry,” MacGillonay sniped. “I dinnae have time to spend coddling yer injuries. Ye brought them upon yerself, so grit yer teeth like a man and come face me.”

  Caelen did grit his teeth, but in anger, not against the pains of his body. At the moment he was fairly certain he’d sell his soul for a sword and a few moments alone with MacGillonay.

  “How may I be of service?” he mocked as he stepped away from the edge of the pit. “Do ye wish to set yer men against me again?” He clucked his tongue. “Och, but I am awake this time and able to defend myself. It would never do to allow even odds, would it? In that case, state yer business, MacGillonay. I have a riveting game of scatter the rats going on below.”

  And I’d enjoy a similar game here. His frown deepened.

  “Ye will tell me how yer brat escaped the castle,” MacGillonay demanded. “I have neither time nor patience to send out another search party without better knowledge of where they were headed.”

  “The wee lass I married slipped past yer soldiers?” Caelen mused, his words laced with mockery. MacGillonay’s fist fell before Caelen’s partially blinded eye perceived the movement. He staggered beneath the blow, but remained on his feet, peering at the laird in disgust.

  “Always taking advantage of others, eh, MacGillonay?” Caelen spat, noting the tang of copper on his tongue as he registered the split on the inside of his mouth where the blow smashed against his teeth.

  “Mayhap I should give ye a hearty meal and a bed to rest in before I dispatch ye?” MacGillonay countered.

  Caelen shrugged. “Uncertain as I am that I would eat anything served by yer command, a bit of food wouldnae go amiss. Though I find the company below far better than among the vermin scurrying about up here.”

  “Tell me what I want to know!” MacGillonay shouted.

  Caelen sent him a look of disgust. “I wouldnae tell ye even if I did know,” he growled. “What benefit is it to attempt to protect what is mine if I tell ye the how of it the first time ye ask?”

  “It is not—!” MacGillonay spun about, waving his arms at the soldiers gathered about. “Bring me the wench!”

  Caelen stiffened as two guards rushed from the room. Several moments passed before one returned, skulking in the shadows.

  “Well?” MacGillonay demanded. “Where is she?”

  “We dinnae know, Laird,” the man replied. “She wasnae in the room.”

  “This is how ye coax a bit of cooperation between men, MacGillonay?” Caelen taunted. “Frightening women to force the issue? I’d say that pulls ye right out of the category of worthy opponent—and directly into that of coward.”

  “Shut up!” MacGillonay roared. He advanced on the hapless soldier. “Ye mean to tell me she has escaped? Was there no guard on her door? Or could at least one of ye not keep yer trousers on long enough to keep watch?”

  “There is no guard,” the man answered, drawing deeper into the shadows. “Neither in the room nor out.”

  MacGillonay pointed a trembling finger at Caelen. “Chain him! I will deal with him in a moment.”

  An uproar surged through the narrow passage into the small room as three soldiers rushed inside. One scratched himself fervently, reddened areas clearly evident on his skin. Another limped haltingly, scarcely placing one foot on the ground. The last dripped a liquid from his plaide onto the floor the others were careful to avoid.

  “What is the meaning of this?” MacGillonay snapped, eyeing his soldiers.

  “There is a dark spirit at work, Laird,” one gasped. “I searched the lad’s room as ye instructed, and have incurred the wrath of a Saracen spirit now eating at my flesh!” He dug his fingernails into his skin.

  “I did as ye ordered,” the second avowed. “But as soon as we entered the room, I stepped on some trick the woman left behind. It pierced my boot and even now digs into my foot. I cannae remove the boot without great pain, for the barbs have dug deep.”

  “And what of ye?” MacGillonay asked, waving fingers at the third soldier.

  He stepped warily across the floor. His plaide glistened. “I ran to this one’s assistance,” he admitted. “I stepped into oil spilled across the doorway and skidded several feet before I lost my balance.” His eyes flashed angrily. “I lay stunned for a time before I rose.” He gestured to his clothing. “The wool soaked up the oil quickly.”

  “Bring the kitchen staff to me,” MacGillonay growled. “Their carelessness will cost them dear.”

  Carelessness? Caelen considered the plight of the three men. Would Arbela have thought to set a snare on the floor of Bram’s room? And what torments the first soldier? Poison? He snorted. I can account for my men who fought and died or are incarcerated with me. I cannae account for the wee lass I married.

  * * *

  Drunken revelry exchanged for bleary-eyed soberness left the men in the hall holding aching heads and an assortment of other ailments not necessarily brought on by a simple excess of whisky. Arbela, Kade and Alex paused at the entrance to the hall, carefully avoiding the smear of oil and scatter of small metal beads on the floor.

  “I believe we can leave these lads for a few moments,” Alex said, noting the state of the men seated at the tables or sprawled on the floor. He nodded to Arbela. “Nice work. Most of them will not be able to lift a sword with any force or accuracy for some time.”

  “We must take out those who guard the postern gate,” Arbela replied. “And any along the parapet who may be close enough to notice their absence.” She reached into her bag and withdrew a slender tube and a small sack. “Have ye seen a dart tube in action?”

  Kade and Alex shook their heads, clearly astonished. Arbela smiled. “Ye will.”

  Keeping to the shadows, Arbela led the way up the stairs to one of the openings to the walk along the top of the curtain wall. Three guards stood between them and the narrow gate. She waved Kade and Alex behind her, then slipped silently onto the parapet, crouched low, her stained cloak blending into the pattern of stones.

  The first guard faced away, clearly unconcerned with a possible threat from the stair, trusting, perhaps, his fellow soldiers in the hall below.

  That was your first mistake. Arbela crept closer. The man kept his eyes trained on the fire on the beach. And that is your second.

  Knowing he would not be able to see her for several moments while his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Arbela stood and raised the tube. Placing the dart inside, she took a deep breath then placed her lips against the end of the tube. With a quick expulsion of air, she sent the scrap of wire, fletched with a bit of rabbit fur and tipped with poison, winging across the short distance to the guard.

  He clasped the side of his neck, turning toward the source of the attack. Arbela stood motionless as the poison quickly did its work and the man slumped to the floor.

  Kade and Alex leapt from their hiding places, not bothering to check the downed man as they quickly dispatched the next two guards. They left one propped against the wall, his profile visible to satisfy any glancing check.

  Pulling a rope from her bag, Arbela tied it about the dead guard’s waist, using his weight to hold the line steady as she slid quickly to the ground below, Kade and Alex following. Quickly slicing the tough leather hinges of the postern gate, she rendered it unable to be secured, then dropped six caltrops to the ground.

  “Find all six before ye op
en the gate,” she warned. “They are for any who attempt to repair the gate, not us.”

  Alex and Kade gave her wry salutes as they turned together and made their way back to the hall where chaos greeted them.

  MacGillonay stood, hands fisted at his waist, surveying the scene in the hall. Though Arbela saw him from behind, she would never mistake the stocky figure, bristled beard visible even from this angle. He would not leave Dunfaileas alive, she would see to that. But there were still too many soldiers on their feet to protect him. A dozen or more to three was not her idea of fair odds.

  “Follow me. I know a back way to the kitchen,” she whispered. Bending low, the three slipped down a walkway leading to the herb garden. She eased open a narrow door and peered inside. Wreckage of the trays laid out by Cook and her assistant littered the prepping table surface and much of the floor. Only a faint flavor of whisky scented the air.

  “I imagine they sought Cook after they ran out of whisky,” Alex whispered. “I am glad ye thought to send her and Dona away.”

  Arbela nodded. “Drunken men never have good thoughts on their minds. I am also glad we hid the serving girl away and discovered the one being held in the room beneath the hall.” Fire blazed anew in her veins at what hell the MacGillonays had put the poor girl through before they’d rescued her.

  Her gaze moved beyond the debris to what she sought. “There. We will smoke the bastards out of the castle.”

  While Alex and Kade grabbed armloads of dried gorse stacked beside the bread oven and piled the kindling into one of Cook’s largest pots, Arbela tapped warily on the door to the storeroom, well hidden behind another row of stacked barrels. Hearing no noise within, she cautiously unlatched the door, nudging it open with the toe of her boot.

  “’Tis Arbela!” she hissed loudly. The dark stain hovering overhead descended without damage and Cook stepped to the light, her heavy skillet lowered. Three other women followed timidly behind.

  “Glad I am to see ye, My lady,” she breathed, her normally rosy cheeks pale with the burden of the past hours. “We’ve heard naught since ye sent us to hide in here. Have ye run the bastards from the castle?”