Henry leapt up. "Which direction? Why didn't you follow them?"
"Northwest. I sent a half-dozen men and told them to bring in at least one alive."
"Ah, good!" Pleased, Henry threw down his napkin and strode out to the cobblestone bailey. Finally, he would have some leverage against that whore, Lady Grey.
His guards standing back, waiting, Henry paced for several minutes. The day before, he had talked to Paul MacTarril about helping him find more soldiers to add to his fighting force. The magistrate said he knew of a Highland clan who might be willing to help. Henry grinned at the idea of sending in his own band of Highland barbarians to kill MacKenzie and his guards. They might not arrive for a few days. As for now, he was eager to see if his men had captured the two MacKenzie guards who had left earlier that morn.
Finally, after a quarter-hour, his soldiers rode in. Three men had been tossed across the saddles—two of his guards.
Alarmed, Henry rushed forward. "What the devil happened? Are they dead?"
"Aye." Dried blood under his nose, Balcot gingerly dismounted and limped forward, his face a mask of rage. "The MacKenzie bastards killed Ickes and Eblin in the skirmish. We thought two of the MacKenzies left Darby Hall, but we came upon three. During a skirmish, we killed two of them, but that one yet lives." He nodded to the man on the horse. "He's the whoreson who killed Eblin, stabbed my leg and broke my nose. I was sore tempted to kill the Highland mongrel."
"Not yet. I'll question him first. Get him off the horse." Henry motioned to a lower-ranking guard whose name he hadn't bothered to learn. The guard cut the ropes from the prisoner's ankles, then dragged him from the horse.
The lean man stood tall, his black hair barely brushing his broad shoulders. His hands were bound behind his back, a gash in his lip bleeding and his scowling face banged up. He wore a blood-stained doublet and a belted plaid like the barbarians of the north. He appeared around Henry's age, mid-twenties.
"Bastard!" the ruffian growled behind clenched teeth. "You'll regret this, I vow. You don't ken who you're dealing with."
Determined to ignore his trifling insults, Henry gave a disdainful grin. "Certainly I do. You're one of Chief MacKenzie's henchmen. What shall we call you?"
The man sent him a malicious smirk. "The name's Fraser. Who are you?"
"Do you truly not know?"
With a hint of smugness, the man raised a dark brow.
This Fraser was hard to read. Henry truly would love to know if Lady Grey had figured out he was working on convincing her to return what was rightfully his. "Now, tell me... is Lady Grey your chief's mistress?"
The man's blue eyes gleamed menacingly, though one of them was almost swollen shut. When he remained silent, Henry wondered if one of the guards had hit him over the head too hard.
"Answer!" Henry commanded.
"Nay. Why are you tormenting her?"
"She is a thief. She has something that belongs to me."
Fraser frowned. "What?"
Everything. But he couldn't say that. "'Tis no concern of yours."
"Since you've taken me hostage, 'tis indeed my concern."
Henry scrutinized the Highlander. He had never seen such an arrogant prisoner before. Was his rank higher than Henry had guessed? And this man who called himself Fraser asked the questions as if he already knew the answers. If his surname was Fraser, then he must be a guard that MacKenzie had hired. Unless the whoreson was lying.
"Why did you steal Lady Grey's jewelry? Do you imagine 'tis yours?" the impudent captive asked.
Henry gave a brief laugh. "I didn't steal it, but I wish I had. 'Twas no doubt worth a fortune." He grinned at his own lie. Some of the jewels would bring a goodly sum when he took them south to sell them. "Mayhap 'twas what the jezebel deserved, losing her riches."
"She is no jezebel!" Fraser snarled. "She is a kind lady deserving of respect."
Henry snorted. "You know naught about her."
"You'll regret taking me hostage and killing the other guards." Fraser's eyes narrowed. "Cyrus MacKenzie is not only Chief of the MacKenzies but the Earl of Stornmor. He's much in favor with the king. Our chief is highly skilled at the fire-and-sword method of dealing with rebels or anyone who crosses him. Just ask the MacLeods of Lewis, if any of them yet live."
A frisson of fear prickled along Henry's nerves. "Are you threatening me?" he demanded.
"Nay." Fraser grinned without humor. "Simply being honest. Is that not what you want?"
"Why is he helping Lady Grey if they are not lovers? Is he a relative?"
"Nay. 'Tis because he's an honorable man. Something you ken naught about."
"Don't expect me to believe your lies. And I'm far more honorable than you barbarians." The two had to be lovers. 'Twas the only explanation that made sense. "Where were you headed?"
Fraser merely glared.
"Answer!"
"What do you want from Lady Grey?" he asked instead.
"Devil take it!" Henry felt like throwing his dagger at the insolent prisoner. "Put him in a dungeon cell. I'll deal with him later."
The Highlander struggled against the four guards who dragged him, cursing and yelling, toward the dungeon's entrance.
After watching to make certain they had the uncivilized man under control, Henry strode through the great hall and up to the solar. Smiling and feeling self-satisfied, he dropped into a chair behind his massive oak desk. He hadn't counted on this bit of good fortune and leverage. But this Fraser of the MacKenzie clan clearly needed some incentive to talk. Henry must have more information before he made his next move.
If Chief MacKenzie and Lady Grey were lovers, and if Fraser was an important henchman of MacKenzie, could Henry force Lady Grey to give him what he wanted through Fraser? She probably didn't care about Fraser, but the chief and earl might.
Could Fraser be even closer to the chief than a henchman? He might be a relative. Henry had no inkling if Fraser was his given name or his surname, or even his real name at all. Of a certainty, he was no peasant or lower-ranking guard, for he was as insolent as a cocky young prince. With his lean, muscular frame, he appeared to have trained as a warrior the whole of his life.
Could he be MacKenzie's brother? That thought propelled Henry from his chair, and he paced before the window. Brotherhood was something Fraser would wish to conceal if it were true, for 'twould give Henry great leverage.
In that case, the chief would be highly motivated to get Henry what he wanted from Lady Grey—the deeds to every property she possessed signed over to him. They were his birthright after all. His father had owned all of them in the past and hadn't been of sound mind when he'd deeded them to her.
Henry's new wife, Georgina, was insatiable when it came to clothing and redecorating. Plus, after the latest two stud horses he'd purchased, funds were low. He needed to refill his coffers.
Soon, Georgina would be having her autumn dresses designed and they would cost a bloody fortune. He didn't know why he didn't just tell her to stop wasting money. But she was a most exciting woman in the bedchamber. He had no need of whores or mistresses. Besides, he did not want to be like his father.
None of his father's other mistresses had amassed a fortune in property the way Lady Grey had. He'd had his solicitors and investigators check into all of them. Most of the women were near penniless now that his father was dead. All except for Lady Grey. She was far too canny and intelligent. He could not wait to see her destitute.
'Twas time to find out exactly who this Fraser was—a mere guard, or relative of the chief. Henry trotted down the steps and across the great hall, two of his guards following.
In the bailey, one of his men came running. "M'laird!"
"What are you doing here, Owenby?" Henry demanded. He and two more had been assigned to watch Darby Hall and put an arrow through anyone they saw.
"Padgett and Raber were killed." Owenby breathed hard.
"How?" Henry demanded.
"Some of the plaid wearing Highlanders
arrived, along with a coach. We attacked like you ordered, but the MacKenzies shot Padgett and Raber with arrows. They have a deadly archer."
"Are you certain they were killed?" Henry yelled.
After jumping back, the man bobbed his head up and down emphatically.
"How many men arrived?"
"I counted six. Four Highlanders, the coachman, and another guard. Raber got one of the Highlanders in the thigh, though."
Henry ground his teeth. He'd hoped to eliminate all of MacKenzie's guards and weaken his force to naught. At least he hadn't garnered a whole army. Henry still had the upper hand. Now, he had to figure out how to use the Highlander in his dungeon to his advantage.
Ignoring Owenby, Henry strode to the dungeon's entrance. "I'm here to question the prisoner," he told Galway, the brawny warden.
"Aye, m'laird." Taking the nearby torch from the wall, he led the way down the dark narrow steps. Henry had never been down here before. He had no need of it. Fraser was his first prisoner. Henry grinned, enjoying his newfound authority.
"Fraser MacKenzie, I can well imagine your brother, the chief, will want you back forthwith." Through the iron bars, Henry watched his prisoner for reaction.
The torchlight flickering across the man revealed his eye was almost swollen shut and his hard jaw could've been cut from stone. Then, one side of his cut lip kicked up and he grunted. "Do you truly think the Earl of Stornmor would send his brother out with only two guards?"
"Aye, because he has very few men with him—which is, come to think of it, very arrogant of him. Likely, he sent you for reinforcements, so 'tis fortunate that I intercepted you." Henry grinned. "I'm thinking you'll bring a grand ransom of... whatever I ask."
"You're mad if you think the Earl of Stornmor will bargain with you. He would just as soon burn this place to the ground."
"Not with you in it, I wager."
Chapter Eighteen
After the wee Henry weasel left, Fraser glared at the cell door, then muttered a string of curses. If only Cyrus hadn't sent Irving and MacNeil, those two would yet live and Fraser would be nearly to Castle Rebbinglen by now.
Of course, Cyrus had only wanted to protect him.
Maybe Fraser should blame himself. His brothers had always told him his risk-taking would get him into trouble. He didn't want to believe them. He never felt more alive than when he was on the edge of disaster.
But now he was fully immersed in disaster. Cyrus didn't have enough men left to lay siege to this castle. He'd be forced to buckle under the bastard's demands. He and the two MacKenzie guards may have killed two of Henry's men, but the man had at least twenty to thirty more, that Fraser had counted.
He sat down on a rectangular stone block in the corner. This dungeon cell was cool, dank and musty. The only light came from a tiny window in the corridor. 'Twas far too small for a man to fit through.
Hell, what if he didn't survive this? He never thought about his own mortality. As far as he was concerned, no one could bring him down. But mayhap he'd been wrong.
The lovely face of a dark-haired lass popped into his mind. Would he ever see Lady Talia Murray again? He had not seen her in a long while. And as he'd told Cyrus, she was likely married to one of the MacKay clansmen. After all, she'd moved to their castle when her sister, Seona, had married Keegan MacKay.
Talia had only been eighteen summers when he'd last seen her, too young for him to dally with, especially with her being a virginal lady. Though Keegan was a good friend, he would've likely throttled Fraser if he'd seduced the lass. Or Keegan might even try to force Fraser to marry her.
Fraser admitted he had been a bit disappointed when she hadn't traveled with Isobel and Dirk to Castle Rebbinglen. But why would she? If she wasn't yet married, she'd likely stayed by her sister's side. And if she was married, she might have a bairn by now.
He arose and paced across the packed earth floor. Nay, he would focus on seducing other lasses and push Talia from his mind, as he had been doing for two years. He didn't want to be tied down with only one woman, at least not until he was thirty or thirty-five. He vowed to be the last of his brothers to take a wife. As long as Cyrus would marry and sire a few sons, Fraser had no need to.
However, when he had sat alone, observing his brother Shamus with his bride, Maili, he'd experienced a strange twinge. He was uncertain what it was—envy, loneliness? He shrugged, annoyed because 'twas an emotion he hadn't felt when he was younger. He had truly thought Keegan mad when he'd blatantly admitted that he wished to wed Lady Seona because of his deep feelings and devotion to her alone. But now, Fraser felt a hint of understanding.
Still, what did it matter at the moment? Imprisoned, he could do naught about going to visit Talia. He didn't ken how the present conflict would get resolved. No doubt Cyrus would protect him at any cost, 'haps even risk his own life in a rescue attempt. Fraser prayed it didn't come to that. The clan needed Cyrus far more than it needed Fraser or any of the other MacKenzie brothers.
THE NEXT DAY, CYRUS checked on James multiple times. Although Mistress Almsly had removed the arrow from his thigh and stopped the bleeding, James was fevered and in great pain. The various herbal tisanes she forced him to drink helped him sleep through most of it.
Cyrus had spent the rest of the morning in the gatehouse or courtyard, strategizing with the few able-bodied guards he had remaining, while Elspeth was doing some sort of bookkeeping in the study.
During noon meal, Reid rushed in the front door and toward Cyrus where he sat at the table with Elspeth. "Chief! A small army is approaching."
Cyrus shot up from his chair. "The MacKenzies?"
"Nay. Lowlanders."
"Damnation." Cyrus strode out the door and down the steps. "How many?"
Reid followed closely behind him. "At least two dozen."
"Hellfire." 'Twould be an uphill battle, being so outnumbered. Cyrus had faced similar odds before, but never while protecting a lady. He paused and glanced back to see if Elspeth was close-by. Indeed, she was only a few paces behind him. "Take your staff into the cellar as we discussed, including your two guards. Neither are recovered enough to fight."
"Of course." Elspeth rushed back inside, while he continued toward the gatehouse.
Mistress Almsly already knew, at the first sign of trouble, she was to bar the door of the room where she was tending to James. Moving him would cause him great pain.
In the gatehouse, Cyrus peered out at the road in the distance. "'Tis a larger force than we have."
Reid nodded. "'Haps four or five times as many."
Muttering a curse, Cyrus looked around for the bow and quiver but remembered they were in the hall. The quiver didn't contain enough arrows to kill all those men, anyway. He would have to use another tactic. His and Elspeth's cellar idea was probably the best one, fighting two or three men at a time in the narrow corridor.
"Reid, I want to post you and Norval by the gates. Keep an eye on the wood across the road, too. He could've divided his forces."
"Aye, Chief." Reid left the gatehouse.
A moment later, Elspeth ran up the steps.
Cyrus glared at her. "What are you doing here? You're to stay in the cellar with the servants."
"Nay! I won't leave you to fight them alone." Wide-eyed, yet determined, she stared out at the road. "If that's Henry, 'tis me he's come for."
Disbelief and outrage stormed through Cyrus. "You can't fight them! I have five soldiers and plenty of weapons. We'll take care of most of them. If we lose half our men, those of us left standing will retreat to the cellar and confront them in the narrow corridor, as we discussed. I've informed all the men of the plan."
Her anxious eyes pleaded with him. "I don't want you or your men to lose your lives fighting my battle."
He ground his teeth. Damnation, she was as stubborn as he was.
"MacKenzie!" The shout echoed from the distance.
The approaching party had halted about a hundred yards away.
"
Go. Take care of the servants and your guards who are injured," Cyrus ordered Elspeth. "They need you. I'll deal with this weasel."
Thankfully, she hurried down the steps, while he turned his attention back toward his foes.
"I have your brother!" a man yelled from the distance.
"Fraser?" Cyrus muttered a series of curses. Squinting, he could barely see his brother's dark hair and plaid among the other men. He was on foot. Had they forced him to walk the entire distance?
The man in front had to be Dalacroy, but Cyrus needed confirmation.
"Who are you?" Cyrus demanded.
"The Earl of Dalacroy."
If the whoreson harmed Fraser, Cyrus would strangle him. Where were Irving and MacNeil? Scanning their ranks, Cyrus was unable to locate his guards. Had they been captured, too, or were they dead?
"Put down your weapons!" Dalacroy shouted, causing his fancy chestnut mount to dance about and snort. "If you wish to get Fraser back alive, you will send Lady Grey out here to me!"
"Leave the lady out of it! We'll fight man to man." From what Cyrus could tell, the young earl was short and scrawny, probably not a trained soldier.
"Nay. My quarrel isn't with you; 'tis with Lady Grey! She has several things that are rightfully my inheritance."
The man was crack-pated. Cyrus would have to deal with him carefully until Fraser was safely away from him. "Bring Fraser closer so I can talk to him!"
One of Dalacroy's guards dismounted, grabbed one of Fraser's bound arms and shoved him forward. As they walked closer, the coward used Fraser as a human shield. His brother did not appear to be badly injured, thank the saints.
"Are you well, brother?" Cyrus called.
"Aye. Don't give in to their demands!"
"Bring him back," Dalacroy ordered. "And send the jezebel out to me, MacKenzie."
"Bastard." Cyrus watched the guard shove Fraser back toward the gathering. "I'll exchange myself for Fraser," Cyrus yelled.
"Nay! As I said, your only option is to send Lady Grey out to me. You will then be free to take your brother home."
Highlander Besieged Page 18
