A Highlander’s Terror (Lairds of Dunkeld Series) (A Medieval Scottish Romance Story)

by Emilia Ferguson

  He pointed ahead to a building that looked like a barn. Rufus could just see men moving about inside through the half-open door.

  “The guard post?”

  “Yes, sir. Reckon so. Those fellers just came from there. And there's a wee flag up top.”

  Rufus nodded. “Oh, yes. So there is.”

  He set off toward it. At the door he and Brogan paused. Rufus thought fast. What reason would he give? He couldn't very well storm in and ask them where Lady Amabel was, and why her grandfather had chosen to depart on the eve of her arrival.

  Brogan looked at him, a question in his big dark eyes.

  “I have an idea,” Rufus said quickly. He headed to the door with more confidence than he actually felt. Cleared his throat.

  “Aye?” a guard asked. He sounded cautious.

  “I'm here from Astmorland,” Rufus said truthfully. “I wanted to speak with an envoy of his lordship the duke of Buccleigh?”

  The man he addressed frowned. Then he called over his shoulder. “Hey! Alex?”

  “Yes, sir?” a man asked inquiringly.

  “These fellers are with Lord Prolegnac. Take them in.”

  Rufus frowned. He had no idea who that was, but he must be a representative of the duke. The name sounded French and his interest was immediately aroused. What dealings with France was the duke involved with?

  “Thank you,” he said casually. The guard – Alex, presumably – eyed him oddly but said nothing.

  They were led in through a side gate into a vast flagstone paved area. Rufus looked around with interest. This was the courtyard of the home of Lady Amabel’s grandfather. He found himself imagining her here. Had she visited the place as a girl? What had it been like then? What did she think of it?

  He sighed. He should stop thinking about her like this. This was a serious undertaking, this task.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Wait here, please.”

  Rufus and Brogan looked at each other and shrugged. They stayed where they were told to, waiting on the practice yard outside the colonnade. They heard the guard's footsteps as he headed up the stairs and into the great hall. Rufus ran his hands down his shoulders, shivering. It was still cold outside, despite the fact that the season had progressed somewhat from the winter's chill.

  Rufus looked around. The guards seemed alert – he heard the sentry above them pacing on the wall and, somewhere, a man called a password and was answered.

  Something happening here. The whole place is on high alert. I can feel it.

  “Sir?”

  Rufus looked up as the guard returned. “Yes?”

  “Follow me.”

  Rufus and Brogan looked at each other again. In response to Rufus' inquiry, Brogan gave him a neutral look. Rufus nodded. They followed the guardsman inside.

  He led them to a small room lit with ruddy torchlight. Rufus looked around, feeling uneasy for some reason he couldn't quite fathom. He strained his eyes to see someone in the gloom.

  “Ah,” a voice said. It was a smooth voice, like satin. He immediately felt on alert. The owner of the voice melted out of the shadow, walking on silent booted feet. “Sir Douglas. Welcome. Earlier than I expected, but nonetheless welcome.”

  Rufus frowned. Who the heck was Sir Douglas? An envoy from the duke of Astley, presumably. Which was interesting in itself. He had decided to use that as an excuse to gain access to the castle on the wild conjecture that the problems in the wood were somehow connected to some problem here at Buccleigh castle. Crazily, it seemed he had turned out to be right. There clearly was a link. What could he do now though?

  “Yes, well,” he said, clearing his throat. “We'd expected to take longer. But here we are.”

  “I see.” The man peered down to Brogan, brow raised. “Who is that?”

  “My squire,” Rufus said bluntly. “Brogan.”

  “Ah.” He gave a nod. “He is discrete?”

  “He's as closemouthed as a granite brick, sir.”

  The man gave a thin smile.

  “Good. Well, then. He can accompany us. However, we must be quick. The men suspect nothing.”

  He stepped forward out of the shadow and for the first time Rufus could focus on his face. He had high cheekbones and a long face with a philosophical brow. His beard was well-trimmed and his eyes were heavy-lidded. Blue and bulbous, they gave the impression that they saw much and missed little. He shivered.

  Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Good, my lord.”

  “Well, then. Shall we to the task at hand?” he said.

  Rufus swallowed hard and shrugged. “Indeed, sir.”

  “Good.” He was smiling now, though Rufus could not see his face, turned away as he strode ahead. The smile was in his voice, weaving through and warming it to the consistency of warm water, soothing and enveloping. There was something Rufus deeply distrusted about this man, though he still could not have said what.

  He followed the strange man up the stairs and then to their left, heading up more stairs and to a turret.

  “You will find that things are not...quite as smooth as you might expect,” Lord Prolegnac was saying slowly as they ascended the poorly lit staircase. Rufus leaned against the wall, wanting to be sure he would not miss his footing and go crashing back down the stairs, dislodging Brogan.

  “We're used to difficulties,” he said softly. The man chuckled.

  “As I would assume. Ah. Here we are. Now, we will have to take precautions I had not otherwise expected, so you may need to wait awhile here. I will summon the others so we can do...what must be done...in secrecy.”

  “Oh.” Rufus frowned. Now he really was curious. Where were they being taken? What must be done? The turret was dark and shadowy up here, not the sort of place he would expect to be brought for a simple discussion about some agreement or other.

  He heard the man draw a key from a pouch somewhere about his person – the click and rattle of keys clinking together alerted him to it. He frowned.

  The key slid into the lock and turned. Then Lord Prolegnac turned to them, a strange expression in his hooded eyes.

  “I suggest you go in quickly, sir. I shall lock the door behind you while I fetch the necessary witnesses...we do not wish there to be any risk of, shall we say, disturbance.”

  Rufus nodded. He was mystified now. “Of course, sir,” he said firmly.

  He felt Brogan lean closer as the door drew open and he resisted the urge to grip the lad's fingers in a gesture that would give them both some concrete reassurance.

  “There we are,” Lord Prolegnac said softly. “Now, in you go, quickly. I'll join you in a few moments.”

  Rufus nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He took a deep breath and, expecting to confront some unknown terror, stepped in across the threshold. Brogan followed.

  The room was dark. Rufus blinked, trying to see through the pressing gloom. He could see the soft glow of firelight in a hearth, though the place was cold. A torch illuminated one corner. The only window was an arrow-slit, admitting no light now the day was dark.

  The door slid shut behind them.

  Rufus looked around. It seemed as if there was no one here and, for a horrible moment, he suspected that he and Brogan had been trapped here.

  “Hello?”

  “Rufus?”

  Rufus stared. He knew that voice. How in Heaven's name was it possible?

  “Amabel?”

  She was there. He saw her emerge from the corner, stepping out into the flickering light of the torch. She was dressed in simple white wool and her soft, curling hair was loose and wild around her shoulders. Her face was white, cheek bruised high up from what looked like a blow. She had been weeping recently, though she had stopped.

  “Amabel!” he said again. He ran to her, Brogan close behind him. He reached for her, arms outstretched, but she put up a hand and pushed him gently away.

  “Rufus?” She sounded as though she didn't quite believe he was here. She peered
at him hesitantly, as if she couldn't trust that it was him. “How did you get here?”

  Rufus shook his head. “I don't know, milady,” he said truthfully. “And I'd love to ask you the same question. Now, I think there's a more important one. How do we escape?”

  Amabel shook her head. “If I knew that, Sir Rufus, I would have done it already, not so?” She was smiling, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. Rufus sighed.

  “Yes. I suppose so. But come. Hurry. We don't have much time...” he took her hand, drawing her to the wall beside the door. An idea was forming in his mind.

  Amabel flinched when his hand touched her wrist and he loosed his grip, letting her follow him. All three of them leaned against the door and he whispered his plan to them in the moments they still had to explain it.

  When he had finished, Brogan was grinning up at him. “By! Sir. What a fine notion...”

  Rufus sighed. “It's a daft notion,” he countered. “But we could make it work.”

  Brogan nodded. Eyes shining, he hurried to the fireplace and the torch, bracketed to the wall.

  Amabel stayed where she was and Rufus went to the corner to fetch the pail of water he'd noticed earlier.

  “Now,” he whispered. “We wait.”

  They all stood together in their positions. Rufus felt his heart pounding as they waited. The silence pressed close. Then, abruptly, the silence was broken by the sound of feet in the hallway. The hollow thud of booted feet on flagstones, coming closer.

  Rufus drew a breath, heart thumping, as he stood at the edge of the room. He caught Amabel's eye. They looked at each other and he waited, counting in his head as they stood there.

  A key scraped in the lock. The door opened.

  “Now,” he whispered.

  Brogan doused the torch. Rufus threw the water on the floor before the door. Amabel ran to the corner of the room.

  “What the..?” A man's voice shouted.

  “Guards!” Lord Prolegnac yelled.

  A few things happened at once. Two men ran across the floor toward Brogan. They slipped on the wet flagstones and crashed to the ground with a groan and the sound of metal, clanking on stone. Rufus tensed. He was armed with his stabbing sword. Brogan had nothing. He ran toward the men, stabbing down.

  Beside him, Brogan wielded the torch with merciless efficiency. Rufus heard a solid thud as he hit a man in the head and some of the shouting subsided. He heard a sword whisper in the scabbard and tensed as Lord Prolegnac swung at him. He and Brogan were facing the door, with some advantage of the light that poured in through it. The men facing them were blind.

  “Forward!” he shouted to Brogan. He charged at the man with the sword, reducing the space so that he could stab up and up...

  He swore. The man wore mail. At this proximity, the sword in his hand was useless, but then so was Rufus' own knife. He cursed and, sheathing it, wrapped his arms around his assailant and tried to throw him sideways, grappling like a wrestler.

  “Agh!”

  He heard Brogan yelling loudly as he wielded his makeshift club and another man went down, hitting the floor with the sound of a sword, leaving numbed fingers. He heard someone speaking Latin, saying a prayer.

  He roared and threw his whole weight sideways, but Lord Prolegnac stood upwards. He hissed as someone stood hard on his foot with a mailed boot.

  He felt his knee go out from under him and then he was falling, dragging the man with him to the ground.

  “Brogan!” he shouted in warning as two guardsmen came through the door behind them. He tried to sit up, but Lord Prolegnac was grappling for his throat and he felt a hand tighten round his windpipe.

  He coughed and jack-knifed his body, trying to dislodge the man. He heard Brogan finish the two at the door – he must have armed himself with a weapon from one of the fallen, for there was the sound of metal clanging on metal and then there was an ominous silence.

  Brogan threw his weight sideways and the man rolled, but the hands on his throat stayed put. He was snarling and coughing, but slowly the light was blurring in front of his eyes and he felt his consciousness wavering, the darkness closing in. He couldn't breathe. He felt his chest heaving and the first wave of panic flowed through him as his vision darkened and he realized he was floating...drowning...

  Suddenly, there was another sound, a wordless, high-pitched scream. The weight on him bucked and folded and, suddenly, the hands were loose from round his throat. It was an instant, but it was enough. Spluttering and seeing white dots floating on a haze of darkness, he threw himself sideways and rolled, coming up over the fallen man.

  Who himself was staggering, shaking his head drunkenly. Rufus shot to his feet and stared.

  “Rufus!” Amabel hissed. “Now.”

  Rufus saw her where she stood by the door, a wrought-iron fire guard in her hand. He saw Lord Prolegnac glare at him dazedly and realized what must have happened. She had hit him! He grabbed his sword where it had fallen and nodded.

  “Amabel, Brogan. Out!”

  Brogan was already in the doorway, a stabbing sword in hand. Amabel ran to the door then paused, looking back.

  “Run!” Rufus yelled. He gestured to her and then followed his own advice as he heard Lord Prolegnac get to his feet. He ran. He slammed the door shut behind them, but he knew he couldn't lock it and it would delay their enemy a few seconds only. He joined Brogan and Amabel as they ran headlong for the stairs.

  They ran down. Behind them, he could hear Lord Prolegnac, his boots hard on the stone.

  “How...way out?” he shouted to Amabel.

  “Go left!” she hissed as they ran. “Not...out...front.”

  Rufus nodded. As it was, he could hear the man bellowing for guards and he knew that the way through the front gate would be barred to them. It was Amabel's home, though, and he trusted she knew all the ways out. He followed her and Brogan, chest heaving, throat aching where the near asphyxiation had burned it, as they ran.

  “This way!” Amabel yelled. “Through the back entrance.”

  They followed her through a hallway with a vast, high ceiling, running over stone floor toward the back gate. There, they burst through.

  The night outside was cold. Rufus shivered, heaving in lungfuls of iced air, doubled over with the pain in his throat. He heard sentries on the wall shouting.

  “Go!” he hissed to Amabel. He had to make sure she got out of here.

  “We go straight,” she called back. “All of us!” she shouted, reaching out a hand for him.

  Amabel and Brogan ran and Rufus did his best to keep up. His head ached still, as it had during the choking. He followed the two down the path toward a gate in the wall.

  “Here!” Amabel whispered. She drew back a bolt and then they were all running through into the forest.

  “Stop them!” someone shouted.

  A spear whistled overhead, rattling through the leaves.

  Rufus stumbled on behind Amabel and Brogan and together they headed into the safety of the trees. They ran and ran. Rufus thought he might expire of running, his head aching, lungs burning. How much worse for Amabel and Brogan though? They ran on.

  After a few moments, Amabel stopped, breath heaving. He could hear she was in pain, her chest heaving as she sobbed breath into her lungs. He and Brogan stopped and looked around. He knelt forward, coughing. Brogan had his hands braced on his knees, drawing in lungfuls of air.

  “We seem...safe,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” Amabel murmured. She sat down heavily. She leaned against the trunk of a tree and closed her eyes.

  Brogan sat down too. They all sat quietly a while, slowly recovering their strength.

  “What in Heaven's name...just happened?” Brogan whispered.

  Rufus sighed. “No...idea.” He drew in another slow, rasping breath. His chest still ached.

  “Lord Prolegnac,” Amabel hissed the name, “sent my grandfather away. He seized control of Buccleigh. We have to leave.”

  “I notice
d,” Rufus said, coughing. “But why?”

  “I don't know,” Amabel said. She shifted and Brogan guessed she was trying to stand. He was too tired to try yet. He knew they should go, but here in the deep shadow of the trees they were at least away from the risk of guards for the moment. He heard a hunting horn in the distance and sighed, getting slowly to his feet.

  “We should go,” he said.

  Amabel nodded. “There's a ford near here,” she said. “At the river there's a mill. We could sleep in one of the barns.”

  Rufus frowned. “Would they not hand us to the guards?”

  Amabel shook her head. “I know Mr. Webster and his wife – the miller,” she explained. “They've known me since I was a little girl, playing in these woods. They wouldn't betray me.”

  Rufus was less certain of their loyalties, but he sighed and stood. It wasn't as if they had much choice. Night had fallen fast and the woods had their own dangers, as they knew. They had to find somewhere to spend the night.

  “Well, then. Off we go.”

  They followed Amabel's slow steps into the trees.

  As they walked, Rufus found his mind slowly settling down again. He found himself piecing events together, trying to make sense of them.

  Amabel looked at him. “How did you...find me?” she asked. Her blue eyes were huge and Rufus realized for the first time that she had been held captive in that place. He might be tired, but how much worse had her ordeal been? He reached for her hand. She flinched away, but let him grip her fingers and they walked on together into the woods. As they did, he thought about his answer.

  “I was...it was a lucky guess,” he said slowly. “Remember we discovered the duke of Astley had...tried to detain us in the woods?”

  “Yes?” Amabel asked, frowning. “What has this to do with him?

  Rufus sighed. “I don't know, my lady. Mayhap nothing. Except for the fact that, when we got to Buccleigh” – he indicated Brogan, including him in the conversation - “We had a run in with the guards. I had the idea of pretending to be an envoy from Astmorland. That got us in.”

  Amabel stared at him. Her eyes were huge, soft lips parted in a small expression of horror. “You mean to say...” she stopped. “Oh. That explains so many things. Too many.”