“That was a dirty trick,” the man who’d been hit said as he got to his feet.
Will dragged his gaze back to his opponent and smiled. “If ye wanted a fair fight, ye shouldna ha’ attacked a house full o’ women and children.”
He hefted his sword and stood ready to swing. The man before him shrugged. “I go where my master tells me. I’m not paid to ask questions.”
“With a master like Ramsay, I’m surprised ye’re paid at all.”
Three more men rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of Will. He recognized two of them. And they obviously recognized him, judging from their confused frowns.
“Butler?” one of them—Thomas, if he remembered correctly—said. “What the devil are you doing here? Last I heard, you’d deserted from camp. And why are you fighting with Murphy?”
Will shrugged, but his heart hammered against his ribs. “I merely wished a quick visit home. And here ye are battering down my door. If ye wished me to return, ye only had to ask.”
Thomas frowned again, but at least they weren’t attacking. Yet. Will needed to stall them long enough for Rose and the ladies to get to safety. He’d never win against so many, but perhaps some sense of comradery or at least confusion would give him a chance to escape. The women and children hidden in Lady Alice’s chamber should be safe enough as long as they remained in hiding. He wanted to plant himself in front of the door and fight any who tried to enter. But that would only alert their enemies that there was something inside worth protecting.
No, he needed to lead them away.
He slowly backed up, one step at a time, keeping his gaze on the men in front of him. Thomas’s sword dropped a bit, but they were still on guard. They were, however, keeping pace with him, slowly stalking him down the hallway.
“I’m no’ yer enemy,” he said, his gaze flicking to two more men who joined them. “There’s no reason for us to be fighting one another.”
Murphy snorted and rubbed his head. “Not my enemy, eh? You killed George,” he said, jerking his head toward the body they’d all ignored until then. “And someone hit me over the head.”
Will shrugged again, pretending a nonchalance he didn’t feel. “A reflex. It wasna I who attacked first. I merely attempted to defend myself and my home.”
“This is your home?” Thomas asked. “Why would you be working for Ramsay if you had a place like this?”
One of the men in the back looked into Lady Alice’s chamber, and Will’s heart lurched. He needed to get them all out of the hallway and out of the house. He didn’t want to take the same route that Rose had taken, but there was no way he could get past the gang in the hallway to go down the other stairs. He could go into one of the other chambers, but there would be no escape from there. Even if he managed to get out a window, he doubted anyone would follow him.
He hesitated a second more and then decided. He’d have to put his trust in Rose and have faith that she’d gotten the ladies out of the house. Or at least hidden safely. Because if he didn’t act quickly, the group in front of him might decide to start exploring. The hallway was too narrow for them all to fight him up there. But if he ran, they might all follow.
“I never said this was mine. Only that it was my home.”
Thomas’s frown deepened and Will backed up more, quickening his pace ever so slightly. He was nearly to the stairwell now. He needed a slight head start, of course, but he couldn’t get too far ahead. They needed to follow him.
“As for why I’d work for Ramsay, well, that is easy to answer.” He took a deep breath and then smiled. “My name is no’ Butler. It’s Will MacGregor, at yer service,” he said with a little bow. “I was sent to Ramsay’s camp to spy on the evil bastard. Did a fair job of it, too, I reckon.”
“Why, you traitorous swine,” Thomas said, lunging for him.
Will didn’t wait to see if the rest were as offended as Thomas. He just turned and sprinted for the stairwell, pulling over the iron sconce that stood in front of it as he did so. That would slow them down. A little. His wounded arm burned with pain, and a warm stickiness trickled under his sleeve. The stitches had most likely broken open, but he couldn’t worry about it then. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could. From the clattering behind him, he was definitely being followed. He could only hope no one decided to stay behind.
He burst into the old kitchens and forced himself to take a straight path to the door. There was quite a bit of old furniture piled up along with other nooks and crannies and crumbled walls where someone could be hiding. Rose might be there, and the urge to find her was almost overwhelming.
But she would be safest if he could get the men behind him out of the house. Stopping to look for her would only put everyone in more danger. And he’d already done enough to condemn them all.
He had no idea what he’d do once he got outside. There were at least six men on his tail. He could never defeat so many on his own. But it didn’t matter anymore. As long as he bought enough time for the others to reach safety, that’s all that mattered. He neared the door and turned around, waiting to be sure the others were coming after him.
Thomas and his crew crashed into the kitchen, and Will sprinted for the door. He squinted against the sudden brightness of the sun but didn’t stop. He needed a plan.
Movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he looked toward the small copse of trees that sat toward the back of the manor. Rose and Lady Alice were on either side of Lady Elizabet, helping support her as they ran for the trees. There was a shout, and Will saw Ramsay rein in his horse and run into the trees with two men.
No!
Will cursed and took two steps in that direction. But Thomas, Murphy, and the rest of their men spilled out of the kitchen doorway and Will stopped, his chest heaving.
Every cell in his body screamed at him to run after Rose, protect her from the devil who threatened her. But if he did so, he’d lead six more men straight to her. As it stood now, there were only three men chasing the women. All the women were armed. They wouldn’t be a match for Ramsay and his men, but they could hold them off for a little bit. Hopefully, long enough for John’s men to reach them.
If Will followed, he’d only be bringing more of the enemy.
No. He must lead them away from Rose. As far as he could.
He picked up a stone from the crumbling wall and bellowed in fury, throwing it at the men following him. All the rage and anguish building in him fueled his strength, and the stone felled one of the men, dropping him to the ground with a spray of blood.
Will turned and ran.
He dashed for an old rundown silo that sat in the shadow of the manor. The men were close behind him and he ran faster, his legs burning and trembling beneath him. He pushed inside the door and took quick stock of his surroundings. A stone staircase wound its way around the inside wall of the building, though there was a large gap about halfway up. There wasn’t much else on the inside aside from piles of stone from the dilapidated walls.
A slight breeze on the back of his neck was the only warning he had that someone was upon him. He spun, his sword already poised to counter the blow. The blades clashed with a clang that rang in his ears. He stumbled back a few feet. The stones under his feet shifted, knocking him off-balance. He blocked another blow, barely. Dust choked him and made his eyes water, but he kept swinging at his opponent. He wasn’t even sure who he fought. It didn’t matter. There would be another to take his place if Will managed to fell him.
“There’s no escape for you, Butler. Or MacGregor, whoever you are. Give up now and maybe we’ll kill you quickly. If not, we’ll give you to the master and let him punish you as he sees fit.”
Will coughed and gripped his sword in both hands, finally getting a good look at who he fought. Thomas.
He shook his head. “We dinna have to fight each other, Thomas. I always liked ye. Ye’re a decent man, aside from who ye work for.”
“Sorry, mate,” Thomas said. “Unlik
e you, I’m no traitor.”
“I guess that settles it then.” Will swung again, this time forcing Thomas back a few paces. Enough that Will had some room.
Being on the stairs wasn’t ideal, but Murphy was creeping up on him from the side, and he couldn’t let himself be flanked by the men or there’d be no escape.
Thomas followed him up the stairs and lunged. They were done talking. Will swung, climbed a step, swung again. He wasn’t winning, but neither was Thomas. He was running out of stairs. The gap was only a few steps away. And both men knew it.
“You’re out of stairs,” Thomas said with a cold grin.
“Aye, I noticed.”
He glanced down below. Murphy and another man stalked him, swords ready to attack if Will jumped. He cursed as Thomas tried to force him, blow by blow, toward the gap.
Will had three options. Throw himself at Thomas in the hope he could knock him off-balance and down the stairs without breaking his own neck or getting skewered in the process. Jump from the stairs and take his chances with the two men who stood ready and waiting below.
Or a third option, which was even worse than the first two and had less of a chance for survival. But it would take out more men. He wouldn’t think about the fact that one of those men would most assuredly be him. He took a deep breath and gripped his sword tight. If he was going to die, he might as well take as many of his enemy with him as he could.
Thomas raised his arm to strike again, and Will took his chance. He swiped his hand across the crumbling wall of the silo, sending a shower of gravel and dust into Thomas’s face. Thomas howled, grabbing for his eyes, and Will kicked out, his foot catching Thomas right in the gut and sending him tumbling backward down the stairs.
The men below shouted and scrambled, one running for Thomas, the other circling below where Will stood on the stairs. Will raised his sword in both hands and threw it as hard as he could at the man standing below. The man raised an arm to protect himself from the blade, but not in time. The sword sank into his shoulder, and he dropped with a scream.
Murphy turned away from where Thomas lay unmoving at the bottom of the stairs and looked at the man screaming on the floor. He went to him, and Will jumped, grabbing at the beam that ran across the width of the building above his head. His hands slipped on the dust-covered wood, but it gave him enough of a swing to use the momentum to slam into Murphy, knocking him to the ground as he broke his fall.
The landing sent sharp jarring pain through his legs and up into his back and he rolled, gasping to catch his breath. Murphy lay crumpled on the floor. But their shouts had drawn the attention of the men outside. Will had only seconds.
He stumbled to his feet, pulled his sword from the shoulder of the man who now lay quiet and gasping on the floor, and ran for the back of the building. His legs hurt with every step, but nothing was broken. He couldn’t stop.
Sunlight streamed through some stones at the back, and Will threw his body into them, grunting with the pain that shot through him at the impact. But the stones loosened. Twice more he threw his body into them before they gave, tumbling him outside in a pile of rubble.
The horses were only yards away. He prayed he could make it. He prayed Rose and her ladies still lived. Prayed someone would make it to them before it was too late.
He stumbled and ran toward the horses when a fiery burst of pain dropped him to his knees. A dagger jutted out from his side, and another man ran toward him. He grasped the dagger and pulled it from his body with a yell. The man was almost upon him. He stayed on his knees, head down, watching from the corner of his eye. When the man was almost on top of him, sword raised for a killing blow, Will spun and struck upward, driving the dagger straight into the man’s heart.
The man fell. Will dragged himself to his feet, hunched over and clutching his side to protect the knife wound. He staggered toward the horses and had barely managed to drag himself into the saddle when two more men raced toward him.
He turned the horse south and spurred it forward. The more men he could lead away from Kirkenroch, the better. He was done for. His life’s blood drained from his side and out of his arm. His body ached from the battering it had taken. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and die. But Kirkenroch, and Rose, were still in danger. In danger because of him.
He’d done this. He’d led these men to the gates. It had been his word that had sent half of Kirkenroch’s fighting force to defend the wrong castle. His mistake in taking Rose, a disastrous decision that had not only given Ramsay the clues he needed but had probably led Rose to her death with her mistress when she should have been safe at home, far away in London.
He could never atone for his mistakes. But he could give his life to defend those he’d wronged. He could only pray it would be enough. That he was able to remove enough men that Kirkenroch’s men would have a chance to defend their gates until help could arrive.
Horse hooves thundered behind him and he kicked his horse into a faster run, ignoring the jarring motions that sent fresh waves of agony through his body.
He led them into the forest, toward his cottage. The trees and undergrowth grew thick there. There were few trails and many opportunities to lead the men following him into danger. He risked a glance behind him. Six men gave chase, and he smiled, despite the pain wracking him. They were fools. But he was a traitor in their eyes. They’d want to capture him, see him punished.
Good. Their hatred would lead them all to their deaths.
And then he could go to the cottage and await his own.
Chapter Thirteen
He wasn’t back yet. And he wasn’t coming back. Rose knew it, deep down. Whether he was dead or too wounded or too damn stubborn, he wasn’t coming back.
Unless she found him and dragged him back. And he was a fool if he thought she wouldn’t.
“Stop fidgeting, lass,” the housekeeper said. The woman had been kindly tending to Rose’s wounds. Thankfully, they weren’t bad. Scrapes and bruises. An eye that was blackening nicely. Nothing that would stop her from going after William.
“I’m sorry,” she said, jumping up. “But I must go.”
“And where do ye think ye’re running off to?”
“I have to go after William. He was wounded. He’ll need help.”
“Och, leave that to the menfolk, lass. They’ll find him right enough.”
Rose shook her head. They might find him. They might not. Either way, she couldn’t sit there waiting.
“Well, if ye insist, take these with ye,” the housekeeper said, shoving her sewing kit at Rose. “And these as well.”
She helped her gather as much as she could, everything they thought she’d need. Bandages and needle and thread in case he was wounded. A bit of food. And a bottle of whisky that sent a pang of guilt through her to take. But she stashed that in her bundle as well. William would need it. And if he didn’t, she would.
She wished she had her dagger, but she hadn’t seen it since she’d given it to Lady Alice.
Within a few minutes she was ready. She took a deep breath and went to speak to her mistress. She pushed away the guilt that flooded her at the thought of Lady Alice. Rose was supposed to stay with her. Guard her. Serve her. Leaving her felt wrong. But William out in the wilds on his own, maybe hurt, maybe dying…
Rose shook her head. She had to go.
She hurried to her mistress’s door and raised her arm to knock. But before she could, the door opened, revealing a startled Alice.
“Rose? What is it?” Alice asked, her voice full of concern.
“My pardon, my laird, my lady,” Rose said with a small curtsy and nod to each of them, “but I must beg your permission to leave for a short time. I would never ask, but I have no choice.”
Alice frowned but answered, “Of course, you may have as long as you need.”
“Thank you, my lady,” she said, relief flooding through her. She went at once to the small room off the main chamber where she’d been sleeping and began to
pack.
“Only please tell me what is wrong,” Alice said, following her. “Perhaps I can help.”
“Is Rose here?” She could hear Elizabet asking from the main chamber. “The housekeeper said she sat still barely long enough to have her wounds tended and then announced she had to go save William.”
Alice looked at her, surprised. “Rose?”
She sighed and glanced up. “William has not yet returned, and there has been no word from him. The search party doesn’t know where to look. I do.”
“Then tell us, lass,” Philip said. “We’ll send men—”
“You can’t spare them,” she said, adding a “sir,” with wide eyes when she remembered whom she addressed. “I can find him quicker, with less trouble to the rest of the house.”
John strode back to the chamber door and called out to one of the young lads who was always nearby to do his laird’s bidding. After a quick exchange the boy ran off, and John came back to the group.
Rose ignored them, shoving a few more provisions in her saddlebags and checking back through them to make sure she had everything she could possibly need. She knew she probably seemed churlish. Or crazy. But the urgency ate at her. If she didn’t leave soon, she’d start to panic.
“Are you sure you wish to do this?” Alice asked her as Elizabet tucked extra supplies into the bags. “At least wait for morning.”
“I cannot,” Rose said. “He’s already been missing for several hours, and he was wounded. He would have returned by now if he could.”
Alice and Elizabet exchanged a glance, and Rose jutted her chin in the air. “I know what everyone thinks. But you don’t know William as I do. The man is as stubborn as they come and not nearly intelligent enough to give up and die like a normal man. He’s out there suffering somewhere. I owe the fool. And so, I’m going to find him and bring him home, so he can suffer in peace.”
Philip looked at her, with a curious but understanding expression. Then he nodded and went over to her. He handed her a small dagger. Her dagger. The one she’d given Alice. The one William couldn’t stop stealing from her. She choked back the sob that threatened to erupt and nodded her thanks at him before slipping it into the pocket of her skirt.
How to Forgive a Highlander (MacGregor Lairds) Page 12
