The Legend of a Rogue (League of Rogues)

by Darcy Burke

  “I know where it is.”

  Now Elspeth swung her head, as did Grover, toward the person who had spoken.

  Carrie looked at him, her eyes devoid of their usual brightness.

  “Carrie, don’t,” Elspeth said.

  She turned her gaze to Elspeth and pushed herself up from the table. “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Nine

  Leaving from Elspeth’s window proved more difficult once Tavish got outside. He’d found a footing in the stonework, then a gust of cold wind had nearly blown him to the ground. The sound of voices in Elspeth’s room nearly drove him back inside, but he didn’t know how many men he would face. Better to assess the situation and hopefully recruit the pair of grooms in the stable to help him.

  As he made his way along the stones toward the corner of the building, he was simultaneously grateful for his bare feet and annoyed. He was able to use his toes to grip the stones, but they were absolutely freezing, and the wind was fierce, so that by the time he rounded the edge of the building and dropped onto the roof of the lean-to, his feet were quite cold.

  Ignoring his discomfort, he lowered himself from the roof, then pivoted toward the stable. Lanterns hung on either side of the wide entryway. In the middle stood a man—not one of the grooms—with a musket. Bloody hell.

  Tavish waited until the man’s head was turned, then dashed over to the building, pressing himself against the icy stone. Moving quickly, he crept along the shadows. Damn, he wished he had his boots, and not just because his feet were cold. He wanted his knife. Except that he hoped Elspeth had been able to grab it.

  He couldn’t use the sword because it would flame as soon as Tavish was threatened. The last thing he wanted to do was set his opponent on fire and have that fire spread to the stables. Lann Dhearg was a powerful weapon, but in some instances, it was a nuisance that only compounded an already dangerous situation.

  Except…his grandfather had once told him that the flame could be controlled, but he didn’t know how. Tavish wished he knew. He tried to think of something that made sense, but he didn’t have time. Also, his mind was too stressed.

  He continued along the building and felt a surge of relief as he reached the wide opening of the building where the man stood. A pitchfork stood against the edge of the entryway.

  In one quick move, Tavish grabbed the implement and raced toward the man. He used the pitchfork to knock the musket out of his hand. The weapon flew out, and Tavish dove to catch it, nearly losing his balance. He swept around and used the butt to hit the man in the head. The villain crumpled to the ground.

  Tavish searched the man and found a knife at his waist. Removing the weapon, Tavish considered how he could take it with him. He had no pockets or any other way to carry it. He was already burdened with the sword since he didn’t have the scabbard.

  He tossed the knife away and dragged the unconscious man just inside the stable.

  “Fitz?” a man called from deeper in the stable to Tavish’s right.

  Tavish pressed himself against the side of a stall. Dammit. He needed that pitchfork. Or the musket. Or the bloody knife. Having none of them, he waited, his breath coming hard.

  The man rounded the corner of the stall. Tavish knew the moment he realized Fitz was no longer at his post. The villain unsheathed his sword and swung around.

  There was no help for it. Tavish had to use Lann Dhearg. He hefted the sword, and red-orange flame started at the base, licking its way upward as the other man’s eyes widened. Tavish launched, and their swords clashed.

  The other man was a good swordsman. They thrust and parried, circling each other several times before Tavish knocked the other man’s blade away. It would be too easy to finish him, but his body would go up in flames and the stable would catch fire.

  Instead, Tavish threw Lann Dhearg aside and dove for the other man’s sword. The villain did the same, and they both got there at the same time, hitting the ground on top of the sword.

  They tussled over the weapon, but the villain got his hand around it first. It was too big and bulky to wield as they tangled together, but he brought the pommel down hard against Tavish’s temple. Pain exploded in his head, but he ignored it as he continued to fight for the weapon.

  Tavish wrapped his hand around the man’s wrist and squeezed. The villain put his hand on Tavish’s neck, his fingers digging into the flesh and threatening Tavish’s airway. Tavish rolled and pushed the man’s hand away as his opponent tried desperately to use the sword.

  The light from the lanterns glinted off something else to Tavish’s left. The knife he’d cast aside.

  Tavish released the villain’s wrist and rolled. He reached out, then closed his fingers around the knife and picked it up. The man was already on his knees, his eyes intent, his lip curled. Unsheathing the dagger, Tavish threw it at the man, catching him just below his collarbone. Without hesitation, Tavish grabbed the sword from the man and drove the blade into his gut.

  Chest heaving, Tavish wiped at the blood streaming down the side of his face. He got to his feet, sweat trickling down his back despite the frigid air.

  He swept up Lann Dhearg and rushed deeper into the stable in search of more of the miscreants and for the grooms. These men had to be from the Order of the Round Table.

  Another lantern hung at this end of the building. Its light illuminated the pair of grooms tied together in a heap in an unused stall, both unconscious.

  “Damn,” he muttered. He’d been hoping to use their help. After ensuring there were no more villains, Tavish quickly untied their bonds, then raced back to the inn while he madly tried to come up with a plan.

  Two villains in the stables. How many inside? One had come into Elspeth’s room, but there had to be more.

  Clinging to the shadows along the outside of the inn, Tavish made his way to the first window into the common room. He crouched low and peered in through the corner.

  It seemed everyone had been gathered—they sat at tables while six men armed with guns and swords encircled them. Tavish noted Balthazar’s knitted cap atop his bald head as well as the fiery curls of his daughter. Then his breath caught as he saw Elspeth, also seated at their table along with her aunt.

  Tavish no longer felt the cold on his feet, but his blood turned to ice as a tall blond man started toward her. She got up and avoided him, going to the fireplace, where she stood beside another man. His close-cropped beard was familiar…Tavish recognized him from earlier in the day when he’d gone to visit Kerr. He’d passed the man on his way.

  That made nine—the two in the stable and seven in the common room. But were there more anywhere else?

  How he wished he could hear what they were saying. Then the man hit Elspeth across the mouth. Tavish leapt up, Lann Dhearg tight in his grip, as fury tore through him.

  Reason won out. If he charged inside now, he would lose. He counted seven men, most with pistols. He needed to split them up somehow so he could even the numbers.

  He watched as the man who’d hit Elspeth—and would surely pay for it before the night was finished—and two others took her and Carrie toward the back of the inn. Toward Carrie’s chamber.

  That left four men. Forming a plan, he ran around to the back of the inn to the kitchen door, which was, as expected, locked. “Had to try,” he muttered.

  Using Lann Dhearg’s pommel, he broke through the window and quickly scrambled inside, cutting his arm on a shard of glass. The door from the common room swung open and in ran one of the men—directly toward Tavish. He moved quickly, slicing his feet on the glass scattered about the floor. He’d hoped to draw two of the men, not one.

  He’d take what he could get. When he lifted Lann Dhearg, the sword flamed. Once again, he had to consider how his actions might set the whole bloody place on fire. The sword was becoming a liability. Still, he couldn’t put it down.

  The other man yelled as soon as the flames took over the blade and lifted his pistol. Glancing about, Tavish saw a knife on a table
used for preparing food. As he’d done in the stable, he threw the weapon. This man, however, provided a much better target. The knife landed in the hollow of his neck, silencing him as he crumpled to the floor.

  “Go and shoot him!”

  The directive came from the common room. Scarcely a second later, the muzzle of a musket peeked around the door. Tavish threw himself toward the back door and pushed the bolt aside. The musket fired, and wood splintered over his head. He considered facing the man, but others had guns. He’d taken one of them, anyway.

  Tavish opened the door and ran into the cold night, his mind already churning with another plan.

  Grover held Elspeth’s arm as Carrie, held by Kent, led them toward the back corner of the inn. A third man named Thane came with them. He appeared to be the youngest of the brigands and wore spectacles.

  Once Carrie had told them to follow her, Elspeth had relaxed. Carrie couldn’t lead them to Tavish or the sword.

  Carrie took them to her room, where they all crammed inside. Dougal Kerr was still on the bed asleep. However, there were bindings keeping him there, just as Carrie had said.

  “What the bloody hell is this?” Grover growled. He let go of Elspeth and stepped toward Carrie.

  “The sword is there.” She pointed at the door to her Chamber of Sorrow.

  Grover nodded toward Kent, who directed his pistol at Carrie. “Open it.”

  Carrie sent a glance toward Elspeth before going to push open the door. She went inside, and Grover followed.

  “Go,” Kent said, pushing at Elspeth. She joined them in the small chamber, as did Kent. The room was quite cramped with all of them inside.

  “What the devil is all this?” Grover asked.

  Carrie shrugged. “I collect things. The sword is there.” She pointed to a sword hanging on the wall.

  Elspeth’s breath caught. It was a risk… Hopefully none of them would know it wasn’t truly Lann Dhearg. Did they know it had runes on the hilt or a herringbone pattern on the blade? Did they know it wouldn’t flame for them? Were they expecting it to be too heavy to carry? The sword on the wall possessed none of those traits.

  She looked toward Carrie, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod as her eyes shot to a spot just behind Elspeth. Turning her head slightly, Elspeth saw a small dirk with a hollow circle at its base hanging on a hook on the wall. What did Carrie mean to do? Elspeth’s pulse sped.

  Grover removed the sword from where it hung and lifted it up. “Thane! Come look at this.”

  Thane squeezed into the room, his gaze instantly landing on the sword in Grover’s hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “Supposedly Dyrnwyn.”

  They thought this was the sword of Rhydderch Hael? If they were from the organization Tavish had mentioned, and it seemed they were, it made sense they were looking for one of the thirteen treasures. Were they even aware of Lann Dhearg?

  Thane took the sword from Grover and turned it in his hand before laughing with youthful exuberance. “The hilt is all wrong. Dyrnwyn has a red jewel in the pommel. But that wasn’t its original form. It was gold, with runes—”

  “Enough,” Grover snapped.

  Thane nodded as he pressed his lips together.

  Grover pivoted toward Carrie, snarling. She grabbed a mace from the wall and swung it at Thane, who was closest to her.

  The second Carrie attacked, Elspeth grabbed the dirk and struck out at the nearest man, which was Grover. He dodged the knife and hit her in the forearm. Carrie cried out, distracting Elspeth. She lost hold of the dirk, and it flew from her grip.

  Elspeth watched in horror as Carrie fell to the floor in a heap next to a seemingly unconscious Thane. “Carrie!” She tried to go to the fallen woman, but Grover grabbed her upper arm.

  He screamed in her face, his spittle showering her cheek. “Bitch!” He shoved her toward Kent. “Take her!”

  Kent put his arm around Elspeth’s middle and hauled her from the Chamber of Sorrow. Something inside her snapped. She kicked at him and tried to wrest free of his hold.

  One of the villains from the common room appeared in the doorway to Carrie’s room. His gaze flicked nervously toward Kent. “Tomlin is dead. Fitz came from the stable—he was hit in the head and fell unconscious. Ed is taking care of him.”

  Grover had come out of the Chamber of Sorrow and now swore viciously. Kent began to throw things—a pitcher, a basin. Then he went into the Chamber of Sorrow, where he pulled things from the walls, all the while shouting and cursing. Elspeth could clearly see him from where she stood.

  “Kent!” Grover went back into the Chamber of Sorrow and grabbed the man’s shoulder. “You can’t save him now. But you can kill the man who did this.”

  Kent stopped and turned, his expression cold and terrifying. He combed his hand through his hair. “I will see him dead.”

  Elspeth’s blood turned to ice. She didn’t doubt he would try to kill Tavish at the earliest possible moment. Assuming Tavish was still alive. Her insides went colder still.

  “Yes, you will kill him,” Grover assured Kent. “You will have revenge for your brother.” He turned suddenly and came back into Carrie’s room. “You.” He clasped Elspeth’s forearm, then turned his head to the man who’d come to inform them of Tomlin’s death. Grover pointed toward the Chamber of Sorrow. “Jackson, tie up the serving maid and bring Thane.”

  Jackson nodded and stepped into the room. Grover dragged Elspeth into the corridor and shoved her against the opposite wall. “You know this man who killed Tomlin. Tell me who he is.”

  Kent had come out behind them and now moved to Grover’s side. He wound his hand in Elspeth’s hair and pulled until her scalp burned. “Tell me!”

  Elspeth fought to keep her panic at bay as tears of pain burned her eyes. “I don’t know him.”

  “You lie.” Grover bared his teeth at her again as he leaned close. “Does he have the sword?”

  “I don’t know anything about a sword.” Elspeth wanted to pull away from Kent’s hold, but to try would only increase the agony in her head.

  “She lies,” Kent spat. “They knew about the sword.”

  “We don’t. Carrie—she was just trying to appease you with one of the swords in her collection. You’re the one who mentioned a sword.”

  Grover stared at her. “I know you’re lying about knowing him. It seems reasonable you’d lie about the sword too.” Grover tipped his head in the direction of Carrie’s room. “Perhaps I should have Ed kill the serving maid to find out what you know.”

  Kent pulled on Elspeth’s hair. Hysteria rose in her throat. She struggled to breathe as the blistering ache in her scalp persisted. “His name is John MacLean. I swear I don’t know anything about a sword.” She wanted to say he didn’t either, but how could she know unless they’d discussed it? And that would quite negate the entire lie.

  Grover frowned. “We’ll see.” He looked over at Kent. “Time to lure Mr. MacLean to us.”

  He wrapped his hand around Elspeth’s arm once more and stalked toward the common room, pulling her along with him. Thankfully, Kent had let go of her hair. A tear snaked down her cheek, and she used her free hand to wipe it away. She didn’t want Aunt Leah to see her distress.

  Grover pulled her back toward the fireplace. Kent was hard on their heels.

  Balthazar stood, his eyes moving from them toward the back of the inn and back again. “Where’s Carrie? Where’s my daughter?” His voice held a dark frenzy that tore at Elspeth’s heart.

  Elspeth wanted to assure him that she was fine, but couldn’t.

  “If ye hurt her—” Balthazar cut himself off with a sob.

  Aunt Leah reached for his hand and pulled him to sit back down. She kept hold of him as her gaze met Elspeth’s. Elspeth gave her a small encouraging nod that was completely at odds with her fear.

  Grover cleared his throat. “It’s come to my attention that there is a guest missing from this gathering. A Mr. MacLean. I’m beginning to
think he has something I want.” He strolled toward Balthazar, who twisted in his chair as Grover approached.

  “Mr. Pitagowan,” Grover said pleasantly, standing next to Balthazar’s chair. “What can you tell me of Mr. MacLean?”

  “Nothing. He’s just a guest.”

  “You must be able to tell me where he’s from or what he’s doing here, whether he went to see anyone—that sort of thing.”

  “He’s from Glasgow. That’s all I know.”

  Grover turned in a slow circle. “Can no one tell me why this man went to see Dougal Kerr?”

  “Why would any of us know that?” Balthazar took his hand from Aunt Leah’s and rose, his brows pitching low over his eyes in anger. “Ye come in here and threaten everyone. Ye strike Miss Marshall and ye did Lord knows what to my daughter.” He looked around at the other guests. “There are more of us than them!”

  Exhaling, Grover nodded toward Kent. He came forward and slammed the butt of his pistol into the side of Balthazar’s head, sending him sprawling to the floor. Aunt Leah shrieked, and the other women did the same.

  “Tie him up and gag him,” Grover said. “Tie them all up!”

  Chapter Ten

  Screams from the inn drew Tavish to run to the common room window, his bloodied feet protesting as they hit the near-frozen ground, particularly when he ran over a large rock. He crouched low as he’d done before and peered inside. A pair of the villains were tying the guests to chairs, while others held pistols to keep anyone from rebelling. Tavish noted that Elspeth wasn’t among them but was standing with the leader.

  He swore and stood up from the window, going to pace in the shadows of the corner of the building. Holding Lann Dhearg in one hand, he scrubbed the other over his face. He needed to set these people free.

  Going back to the window, he counted the villains again. Five. But shit, one of them was the man he’d knocked out with the musket in the stable. Five in the common room, two dead, two missing. He realized Carrie was missing too and swore again.