Adrienne Basso (22 page)

“Bring the oxen to the butcher in Wrenshire,” Alec added. “He’ll take a hefty portion fer himself and not ask any questions about how ye got them.”

The moment the trio left, another lengthy discussion ensued among the remaining men, complete with a few raised voices. Gilroy abruptly stopped the argument with a slash of his hand and the grumbling men fell silent.

Dirk drawn, Gilroy turned and approached her and Aileen. Fiona scrambled into a sitting position, a difficult maneuver with both her hands and feet tightly bound, yet somehow she managed. Aileen struggled to do the same and the women huddled against each other for support and courage.

“I’ll cut ye loose, but I give ye fair warning. As long as ye obey me, no harm will come to ye,” Ewan said, crouching down at their feet.

The promise sounded far more like a threat, but Fiona wasn’t about to argue. The tight bindings had rendered her hands and feet numb and she was certain Aileen was suffering as well.

“We will do as you say,” Fiona agreed, holding out her bound wrists.

With a swift, sharp swing, Ewan sliced through the thick ties and they fluttered to the ground. Blood immediately rushed to Fiona’s hands, creating a tinkling, throbbing pain. Wincing, she flexed her fingers, the residual stiffness making it difficult to move them.

He raised the knife a second time and freed her feet. A small trickle of blood ran down her foot where the bond had rubbed the flesh raw. Retrieving the sliced linen from the ground, Fiona searched for a clean section and touched it to the spot to soothe the wound.

“What about me?” Aileen asked in a quiet voice, the small quiver betraying her unease.

Gilroy’s eyes narrowed, but his lips curved into a smile. “Ye haven’t agreed to my terms, lass,” he said, pointing the knife toward Aileen’s face. She gave a small cry, hardly more than a whisper.

“Be careful!” Fiona admonished, protectively blocking the knife with her body.

Gilroy pulled back in surprise. “I would have thought ye’d want me to slit her throat.”

“What?” Fiona was shocked by the dreadful words he spoke with ominous cheer.

“If she’s dead, then the earl cannae make her his wife.”

“What a perfectly odious thing to say!” Fiona exclaimed, her eyes widening in horror.

He lifted his chin a bit higher. “Aye, there’s horror in truth, milady, make no mistake about it.”

He reached out and Aileen gave a soft cry, but that did not deter him. He swiftly cut the ties around her wrists. Then his hand held her ankle and he cut the binding around her feet. Fiona thought his hand lingered too long on Aileen’s shapely calf. He glanced up and found her staring at him. He grimaced in distaste, then pulled the hem of Aileen’s gown down past her ankles.

But Fiona had seen the gleam in Gilroy’s eyes. Frantic, she glanced through the trees, wondering how far they could get on foot.

“Remember yer promise to me,” Gilroy warned, as if able to read her thoughts. “Ye’ll not get far before I catch ye and ye won’t be happy when I do.”

“We promised to obey ye,” Aileen said with dignity. “We dinnae promise not to escape.”

Gilroy leaned back on his haunches. “I can see that Laird Sinclair has raised a bold lass.”

Aileen tossed her head. “I am a lady, sir, not a lass.”

Gilroy broke into a lazy grin so reminiscent of Gavin that Fiona nearly smiled, too. It tugged at her heart, giving her a thin shard of hope that beneath all the anger and resentment there lay a modicum of decency.

“Be ye lady or lass, ye’re still under my control. And ye’ll do what I say.”

A warm flush of blood pinked Aileen’s cheeks. “My father will have yer head on a spike if ye mistreat us.”

Gilroy’s grin widened. “He needs to catch me first.”

“Ewan!”

They all turned. Alec stood grim-faced, his wiry frame attempting to hold back a few of the men. Gilroy’s expression became pensive. “Stay within my sight at all times, do ye understand?”

“The earl will pay you handsomely for our safe return,” Fiona blurted out.

Gilroy gave her a hard look, his mouth twisting in a thin line. “It’s not just coin I’m seeking from the earl. Though I suspect ye already knew that, Lady Fiona.”

And with that cryptic comment, Gilroy turned and walked away.

 

 

Ewan cursed loudly. Encouraged by a disgruntled Magnus, the men were starting to argue again. Some couldn’t decide how much the women were worth in ransom, while others thought it foolish to even let the earl know they were the ones who had taken them. Then there were a few who were in favor of simply getting rid of the
problem.

The passionate words and heated exchanges let Ewan know it wouldn’t take much to spark a fight and have them turn against each other. And him.

The boon that Ewan had believed had come his way the moment he spied Lady Fiona and Lady Aileen riding outside the castle, unattended and with no protection other than the few men riding with the grain cart, was starting to become his misfortune. But only if he let it.

There still had to be a way to turn this to his advantage. Both these women were an important prize, and truth be told, he did not want to waste it on mere coin. Though the raised voices and disgruntled comments suggested he might be forced to compromise and do what the majority of them wanted.

Still, Ewan’s mind could not help but run wild with the endless possibilities of requests, most of which involved humiliating his brother in some manner. Having him kneel and pay homage to Ewan in front of the entire clan before proclaiming him a recognized and respected son of the Earl of Kirkland, no longer a bastard with no name and no heritage.

Other thoughts were less grand—forgiveness of any and all of Ewan’s past transgressions, a pardon for his men, a promise that they would be allowed to live as free men and not outlaws. Or the grant of a holding of his own on McLendon land, along with the right to keep his own men-at-arms. It didn’t have to be a large demesne. A small keep would suffice, but one that was his and his alone, where he would be free to do as he pleased.

It seemed that his requests were only limited by his imagination, yet in reality Ewan knew the earl would refuse to grant even one. Or if he did, he would relent and take his revenge.

“If we hold them fer ransom, the earl will know who each and every one of us are,” Magnus insisted.

“Nay,” Ewan retorted. “I’ll be the one negotiating with the earl. He’ll not know any of ye. Ye’re safe.”

Mollified, a few of the men nodded their heads. But Magnus wasn’t satisfied. “The women have seen us. They can describe us, identify us.”

Ewan shrugged. “We already live as outlaws. What does it matter if the McLendons know yer names?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Instead of looking at him, several of the men stared at the ground, avoiding his gaze.

“If the earl discovers who we are, we will be hunted men fer the rest of our lives,” Alec said. “We’ll never be able to return our families to a proper village life.”

“Aye, and they might suffer fer our sins,” Magnus added.

Ewan knew this was his fault. Magnus was a greedy man. He’d been poised to strike for months, just waiting for the opportune moment to challenge Ewan’s leadership. Could he hold him off this time? Or would he finally be forced to fight?

“What exactly are ye proposing, Magnus?” Ewan asked.

Ewan saw the other man’s jaw trembling as he fought to contain his excitement. “We cannae risk letting them go. But I say we have our fun with them first.”

Ewan didn’t bother to hide his revulsion. “Rape, first? Then kill them? Is that what ye mean? Then say it plainly.”

Magnus stroked the stubbly beard on his chin. “We cannae risk them betraying our identities to the earl.”

Ewan squared off against Magnus. “I dinnae believe Laird Sinclair will let the murder of his daughter go unpunished. Do ye wish to bring the wrath of the Sinclairs as well as the McLendons down upon our heads?”

“Ewan’s right. There’s no need to look fer more trouble,” Alec said, stepping forward. “I say we ransom the Sinclair lass. She’s a prize likely worth her weight in gold.”

Several angry expressions quickly turned to greed. “What about the Englishwoman?” Ewan asked.

Alec shrugged. “We keep her.”

“Keep her?” Ewan’s eyes held a steely edge. “As what? Yer pet?”

“I thought it a fair compromise—”

“It’s not.” Ewan cut Alec off with a withering glare.

“I’ve heard what ye have to say and now I need to think on it. I’ll tell ye what we’re doing once I’ve made my decision.”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “And if we dinnae agree with what ye decide?”

Ewan looked at the other men and burst into laughter. Yet he was the only one—none of the others even cracked a smile. Sobering, he gazed at the disgruntled band. “Enough!” he shouted. “I’m still the one in charge. Any man who no longer wishes to follow my lead is free to go.”

“We dinnae want to leave.” Magnus spit on the dirt in front of him. “And we dinnae want to take orders anymore from ye.”

“Well, if that’s what ye want, then so be it.” With a determined look, Ewan unsheathed his sword. Magnus and two others did the same.

By the time it was confirmed that both Fiona and Aileen were indeed missing, Gavin’s anger was roaring through the castle. Yet as riled and outraged as he was, the earl knew he needed a calm, clear head. Still, it was difficult to keep his temper in check as he waited for Father Niall to be brought to him.

And when the priest revealed Fiona’s plans to leave, and his part in her departure, Gavin was nearly spitting with rage.

“I could wring yer neck fer this, priest or no,” Gavin said in a low growl.

Father Niall bowed his head. “My regret knows no bounds, my lord. I shall never forgive myself if anything sinister befalls Lady Fiona. Or Lady Aileen.”

Gavin could hardly hold still. “Be gone from my sight before my anger overcomes my common sense and I act upon it,” he snarled.

Father Niall quickly hurried away. Gavin expelled a deep breath, striving for a clear head. He looked up. Connor, Duncan, and Aidan stood before him at the ready. Thank goodness.

“At least we know that Lady Fiona left with the grain cart that was heading north,” Aidan said. “And Lady Aileen departed soon after, following the cart. It shouldn’t be too hard to find them.”

“But they left early this morning,” Duncan said.

“’Tis a heavy, lumbering cart drawn by a pair of oxen,” Aidan replied. “A small contingent of men on horseback will easily catch them before nightfall.”

Gavin nodded. Aidan’s calm confidence soothed his badly frayed temper. Wasting no time, the men hurried to the stables. The horses were being readied when a shout from the guard tower rained down from above.

Bloody hell, now what?

A bedraggled group of men staggered into the bailey, their faces covered with dust and dirt, their eyes weary with exhaustion.

“We were set upon by thieves, milord,” one of the men said in a pitiful voice. “They stole the grain, cart and all.”

“’Twas Gilroy and his thieving band of mercenaries,” a second fellow declared. “I’ve no doubt about it.”

Gavin’s eyes searched frantically among the small group, dismayed to find only a handful of men. “What about the woman who was traveling with ye?”

The man scratched his head. “She only rode with us fer a few hours, then turned to meet another rider. Another female. We think the women rode off together.”

“And ye let them?” Gavin shouted.

“Our task was to protect and deliver the grain,” the man sputtered.

Connor grabbed Gavin’s arm. “Perhaps the women got away?” he asked hopefully.

Gavin took a moment to consider it. “Nay. If they were free, they would have returned. I fear Gilroy has stolen far more than our grain this day.”

Gavin leveled a furious stare at no one in particular, then spun himself in a frustrated circle. A litany of grievous harm that might befall Fiona, and Aileen, ran through his mind, causing his heart to slam rapidly against his chest. Seeing his agitation, Aidan stepped forward.

“Do ye think Gilroy knows what a prize he’s captured?”

“Aye, he knows.”

“Then he’ll want to ransom the women,” Duncan insisted.

“Some might advise that we wait fer Gilroy to contact us with his demands,” Connor suggested.

Gavin ran his hand through his hair. Sit patiently waiting for Gilroy to make his move? Never!

“We’ll ride together to the spot where the grain was stolen and then split our most able-bodied men into four groups, each riding in a different direction, north, south, east, and west,” Gavin decided. “We four will command the units. We will search our lands and beyond, if necessary. We willnae return until they have been found.”

The three brothers nodded. “We will bring them back,” Duncan stated emphatically. “Unharmed.”

Aidan saw to organizing the men while Gavin gave the order to ready the horses. As he prepared to mount his horse, he laid a hand on his gut, which had been churning from the moment he realized Fiona was gone. His fears for her safety were making him nauseous and he despised the weakness.

Gavin lifted himself onto his horse, staring impatiently at the rest of the men as they prepared to leave, until a frightened voice caused him to look down.

“What’s wrong?”

Spencer stood before him, his eyes darting frantically from one man to the next. Gavin stared down at him for a hazy moment. A grim silence descended upon the bailey as Gavin, Connor, Duncan, and Aidan all exchanged troubled glances.

“Is it my mother?” Spencer sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Tell me. Please.”

“Lady Fiona and Lady Aileen have gone missing,” Gavin reported. “We are making ready to search fer them.”

“But I heard one of the men said the women are in grave danger. Is that true?”

A raw tension stretched through Gavin as he tried to formulate an answer. “There might be trouble,” he conceded. “’Tis the reason we are in such a hurry to find them.”

The lad looked stricken. “’Tis my fault. I should have told ye.”

Gavin felt the hot flames of anger lick at his chest. “What do ye know of this, Spencer?”

“She sent for me earlier today, before dawn. To say good-bye. I asked her not to go, but she insisted it was necessary.”

“Did she tell ye where she was going?”

“No. She only said that she would write to me once she was safely settled.” Spencer’s brow furrowed with distress. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell ye.”

Disappointment poured through Gavin. Not at the lad’s deception, for he expected him to be loyal to his mother, but at the lack of any additional information that might aid them in finding Fiona.

“Ye need never apologize for being faithful and true, but ye must remember a knight’s vow to protect his lady, even if the lady doesn’t always wish it.”

Looking thoroughly miserable, Spencer gave a slight nod of agreement. Having no time to offer any additional comfort, Gavin drew his horse forward. But he had barely cleared the stable yard when a blur of brown fur darted in front of his horse, nearly unseating him.

Pulling up hard on the reins, he managed to stop his stallion before it collided with the creature. A chorus of curses was heard from the others who had witnessed the encounter, a sentiment Gavin fully echoed. Yet with his efforts so focused on controlling his mount, he was unable to get a close look at what had run across the bailey.

Gavin’s initial reaction of annoyance quickly melted, replaced by a renewed arousal of hope when he realized it was Fiona’s mangy cur. Almost as if knowing he had barely avoided causing a disaster, the dog sat obediently still, except for his tail, which swished rapidly in the dirt.

“Search Lady Fiona’s room and fetch me something, anything she left behind that would have her scent on it,” he commanded.

“I’ll do it,” Spencer cried.

“Hurry, lad,” Gavin shouted at the boy’s retreating back.

Spencer’s awkward gait grew more noticeable as the lad struggled to increase his speed. Yet he returned a few minutes later, carrying a blue silk gown that Gavin immediately recognized.

Burying the pang of dismay at discovering Fiona had deliberately left behind his gift, Gavin knew he could use it to their advantage. “Give it here,” he said, motioning impatiently with his fingers. “We’ll ride to the place where the grain cart was ambushed, then hope the beast will catch Lady Fiona’s scent and lead us to her.”

Aidan raised a skeptical brow. “It could work. The dogs are usually successful in tracking deer and rabbits.”

“’Tis worth a try,” Gavin said, as he hastily rolled the garment into a ball and stuffed it in the leather bag that hung on his saddle.

Spencer took hold of Gavin’s reins. “Please, my lord, may I come with ye?”

It was out of the question. They would be riding fast and hard and the lad’s presence would slow them down. Yet it was cruel to crush the hope in the child’s eyes so brutally.

“I need ye to stay here, in case the women return on their own,” Gavin said. “Will ye do that for me?”

Though clearly disappointed, Spencer nodded. Gavin leaned down and patted the lad on the shoulder. “Take heart, Spencer. I willnae rest until she is found.”

 

 

Fiona and Aileen sat on the edge of the camp, watching the exchange between Gilroy and his men with growing unease.

“If they begin fighting among themselves, we must capitalize on the distraction and seize the chance to escape,” Aileen muttered.

Fiona grimaced. “We won’t have a chance of getting away unless we can reach our horses and they’re on the other side of the camp.”

Both women sighed with frustration at the sight of the two rows of tethered horses, knowing it would be impossible to get near them unseen.

“Maybe we can melt into the forest once they draw their swords?” Aileen suggested, a rising note of desperation in her voice. “They’ll be so distracted, they might not notice we are gone fer a few minutes, giving us an advantage.”

Fiona glanced at the circle of grumbling men. Though they were intent on airing their grievances, she noted several kept darting speculative looks their way. “There are too many keen eyes trained on us. Let’s hope that Gilroy can keep his men under control.”

Minutes later, the shrieking sound of swords being unsheathed dashed any hope of that happening. Two of the men stepped forward. Sword drawn, Gilroy stood between them.

“Two against one? Are none of the others going to fight beside him?” Aileen cried in outrage.

“Apparently not,” Fiona replied, as a terrible sense of foreboding flooded through her. She set her elbows on her knees and put her head in her hands.
Think!
There had to be a way to use this situation to their advantage.

“Mother Mary!” Aileen hastily crossed herself and moved closer to Fiona.

Fiona looked up. Aileen’s face went pale. Fiona shut her eyes at the screeching metal ring of the first strike of sword upon sword, but they flew open when Aileen hissed out a startled breath.

Fiona strained to see between the men assembled around the fight. They fought without shields, making the attacks even more deadly. Gilroy feigned left, struck right, then did the reverse, alternating his strikes with precise efficiency, beating back his opponent. The man stumbled backward into the onlookers, but one of them caught him and shoved him forward again.

But he was forced to wait his turn, as Gilroy was already engaged in combat with the second man. Pushing himself, Gilroy began to roar with each swing of his sword, the battle cry almost as powerful as the weapon. He deflected each blow and beat back his second foe, then tossed his sweat-soaked hair off his brow and waited for the next move as the pair stood side by side.

Gilroy’s opponents exchanged a pointed look.

Oh, no.
Heart pounding, Fiona watched the two men run forward, charging Gilroy at the same time. Holding his great sword in both hands, Gilroy braced his feet apart and swung the heavy sword high over his head, slashing first to his left and then the right.

Blood spurted instantly from Gilroy’s opponents. They fell to the ground, one clutching his stomach, the other his neck and shoulder. Writhing in pain, the mortally wounded men were pulled from the circle by a few of the others, a trail of bright red blood marking their exit route.

Fiona’s stomach roiled. So much blood! But even more concerning was the hard, bellowing breaths Gilroy emitted. He was tiring. Which was precisely what that worm Magnus had counted upon. Fiona now realized that allowing the other two men to fight first had been a calculated risk, for it was presumed the one who killed the leader was the next to take the position.

But Magnus was also aware of Gilroy’s skill, which was clearly superior, even fighting against two. What better way to increase his odds than to face a tired and breathless Gilroy?

Yet before he stepped forward to challenge Gilroy, Magnus’s eyes narrowed on her and Aileen. Fiona felt her throat tighten. Bitter tears filled her eyes and guilt gnawed at her heart.

It was her fault they had been captured and were now in mortal danger. ’Twas true she could not have known that Aileen would follow her, but she still shouldered the blame. Fiona’s sins were hers to endure, but Aileen was innocent and did not deserve such a gruesome fate.

And Fiona had no doubt it would be gruesome. She had seen enough soldiers in her time to recognize the signs of desperation in Magnus’s eyes, the barely suppressed rage that once unleashed would be uncontrollable.

And directed at her and Aileen. If Gilroy lost this battle, they were doomed.

Glaring venomously, Magnus slashed his sword at Gilroy’s head, but Gilroy moved to his left at the last second and the steel whizzed through the air. Magnus snarled at the near miss and charged hastily. Gilroy struck at his kneecap and Magnus went down hard, cursing as he fell.

Gilroy spun around, moving in for the kill, but Magnus rolled to his right and avoided the blow. He came up fighting mad. He attacked with meticulous force, advancing ruthlessly, the harsh grate of metal striking metal rattling Fiona’s teeth. Valiantly, Gilroy fended off the blows, but he was clearly on the defensive.

What Magnus lacked in grace and finesse he made up for in brute strength and determination. His arm never seemed to tire as he wielded his heavy sword again and again.

Magnus jabbed at Gilroy’s chest. The thrust found its mark and pierced his leather leine croich. Gilroy leapt away. Fiona winced at the certain pain and saw a spurt of blood erupt from Gilroy’s shoulder. Thankfully, it soon slowed to a trickle, but the sight spurred Magnus’s attack.

He pressed harder, the blows ringing loudly in the clearing. Then Magnus brought his sword up from underneath, striking hard at Gilroy’s blade. The hilt of the mighty weapon jolted out of Gilroy’s hand and went flying through the air. With a sinister shout of triumph, Magnus pointed the tip of his sword in Gilroy’s face.