Highland Master

by Howell, Hannah

  “We shall just ride down there,” Brett decided. “Eight of us shall ride up and four of us shall slip up behind the guards once their attention is fully on us. That way any one of them who takes it into his head to fight can be quickly subdued.”

  “Verra cautious,” murmured Brian.

  “It may be that the men in there are nay the ones we search for, and I dinnae wish to be killing guards if it can be avoided, at least nay until I see who is being held there.”

  Brian nodded and directed four of his men to start slipping up behind the guards. Brett approved the choice, for he knew well just how skilled MacFingals were in such matters. He then signaled the rest of the men to remount and they headed down the hillside to the peel tower. Instinct told him they had found Triona’s men, but he wanted to be sure before any punishment of the guards was dealt out.

  All the guards turned to them as they rode up, and Brett inwardly shook his head at their stupidity. They had now left their backs—and even, to some extent, their flank—wide-open to attack. Sir John did not choose his hirelings for skill, he decided. Either that, or after almost two years of no trouble coming their way, the guards had grown lax.

  “What do ye want?” the biggest of the six demanded, drawing his sword as he stepped closer and glared up at Brett. “This is nay some inn. Best ye ride on to the village.”

  “What do ye have locked up in there?” Brett asked.

  “’Tis none of your concern. ’Tis just where a laird keeps those deserving of some punishment.”

  Since most lairds delivered punishment by their own hand or with a rope, Brett just stared at the man. “I believe I should like to see what ye hold in there.”

  “Weel, ye can just—”

  Brett smiled when the man’s words were cut off by the sharp point of a sword in his back. Three of the other guards were on the ground, and the other two also had swords at their backs. Brett decided he was very glad that the MacFingals were his allies, and after the big guard had tossed aside his sword, he dismounted and held out his hand.

  “Keys,” he ordered.

  The moment he had them in hand, Brett walked to the door, Harcourt, Uven, Callum, and Tamhas right behind him, along with a scowling Brian. When he opened the door, the stench was so overpowering he took a step back. Once the fresh air from the outside lessened the power of the smell a little, he cautiously stepped inside, but it was too dark to see clearly. He could hear movement and the rattle of chains, but could see only shadows.

  Light flared and he glanced back to see Harcourt with a torch, and nodded his thanks. Then he looked around and began to curse. Men were crowded into the room, and he could glimpse a few peering down at him from the upper level. They were filthy, dressed in rags, and looked as if they had not had a meal for far too long. The smell of the place told him that they had been left to rot in their own filth as well.

  Before Brett could ask who they were, one tall, bone-thin man stood up, although he had to lean against the damp stone to stay upright. He was shackled hand and foot to the wall, and Brett could see the sores the shackles had caused. If these were the men of Banuilt, it was going to be difficult getting them all back home, he thought.

  “Who are ye?” asked the man. “New guards?”

  “Nay, we have come searching for some men who went missing nearly two years ago,” replied Brett. “We search for the garrison of Banuilt.”

  “We are the garrison of Banuilt. I am Aiden McKee and was the leader of that garrison.”

  “Then we have come to take ye home.”

  To Brett’s astonishment, the man looked down at himself and then gave Brett a crooked smile. “That may nay be so easy to do.”

  It was not easy just getting the men unchained and out into the fresh air. The way every one of them winced at the light of the sun was all the indication Brett needed to know that they had been caged in the dark for too long. He and Callum were just bringing out the sickest of the men when three of the guards attempted to escape. Before he could move to stop them, Brian and his men struck them down, and the other three guards, watching how quickly their fellow hirelings had died, made no move to try an escape themselves.

  They did not have enough water or clothing to clean away all the filth the men of Banuilt carried, but they did what they could. Brett was just handing Aiden some water and an oatcake, suspecting the men would need to eat with caution for a while, when Callum walked up and crouched in front of Aidan. The last he had seen of Callum, he had been talking to one of the guards.

  “Ye have been here for almost two years,” Callum said. “Do ye have any idea who caused ye to be imprisoned?”

  “It was Sir John Grant,” said Aiden.

  “Ye saw him?”

  “Only once, a wee sighting, as he didnae come close, but ’twas enough. They must have thought every one of us asleep, or too dull witted to see him. He and some men collected our horses and weapons as we were chained up for the journey here. I didnae recognize any of the men with him, though. I dinnae think they were from Gormfeurach.”

  “Probably not.” Callum looked at Brett. “It appears that Sir John has been planning on taking hold of Banuilt for a verra long time, as this takes work and careful scheming. So does convincing an entire garrison to ride off so that ye can get your hands on that land.”

  “Ye didnae fight?” asked Brett.

  “Nay, for we were asleep, or near to,” Aiden replied. “Something was in the ale, I think, and we were thinking we were amongst compatriots who would soon be fighting with us in France.” He frowned at Brett. “What made ye come looking for us? All who kenned us believed us to have sailed for France.”

  “It began to trouble Lady Triona that there had been no word from any of ye, nor bodies returned to be buried at home, nor even wounded come home to be cared for. Nothing. When she mentioned how that puzzled her, made her increasingly uneasy, we got to thinking on how, with all her trained fighting men gone, it made it all so much easier for Sir John to cause her trouble.”

  “Aye.” Aiden shook his head. “All we saw was glory and riches. ’Twas nay a good thing to do, and mayhap we deserved some punishment for it.” He looked at the peel tower. “But, I think, nay this.”

  “Nay, this was undeserved. But, in a way, ye will be serving your lady weel. This is something she can use against Sir John. This is something that e’en her liege laird cannae accept and excuse.”

  “How many have ye lost?” asked Callum.

  “Four men. They just couldnae abide it anymore, I am thinking. Hunger and thirst also make it hard to fight disease. They are buried close to here—they would take a few of us out to do the burying when one died.” He glanced toward several of the Banuilt men who were carefully being set on hastily made litters. “We may yet lose a few more.” He looked back at Brett. “Ye say it has been nearly two years?” When Brett nodded, Aiden cursed. “Then I am surprised we have lost so few. There is nay a curse strong enough to fling at Sir John Grant for this.”

  “Nay, I agree, but this may nay have been his plan. I think the guards began to enrich themselves with what was meant to keep ye and the others alive. I dinnae excuse the mon, nay at all, but it would make no sense to let ye all rot, when he plans to wed Lady Triona and rule over Banuilt. Trained men are nay so easy to come by.”

  “Aye, but he didnae pay heed to what was happening with us, either, or the guards couldnae have stolen anything. He set us in this hole and then forgot about us, or near to.”

  “Verra true. But now we must think of how to get ye all back to Banuilt.”

  “I could walk if it came to it, although I would need to rest many a time along the way.”

  “There will be nay walking. A few carts are all that is needed.” He looked at Callum. “I have the feeling ye would ken where to find some.”

  “Aye, and the horses to pull them,” Callum replied as he stood up and, briefly grinning at Aiden, hurried off to get what was needed to take the garrison home.


  “Do ye ken a woman named Joan at Banuilt?” asked Aiden.

  “Aye, I have met her. She is weel,” replied Brett.

  “And still weaves the finest cloth in Scotland?”

  “So Lady Triona claims.”

  Aiden looked down at his bone-thin, weakened body. “Well, I willnae be coming home to her in the best of looks, but ’twill be good to be back with her.”

  “She will be pleased that ye are alive and home. The rest can be mended.”

  “I pray ye are right, Sir Brett.”

  Brett prayed he was right, as well. The men were badly weakened, and the ones being put on the litters the MacFingals had hastily made looked too close to death for his liking. It was a sad end for men who had ridden off thinking they could sell their skill for coin to help their families. It was also difficult to understand how any man could do such a thing to so many men innocent of any crime save that they protected something he wanted. About all he could say in Sir John’s favor was that the man had not simply slaughtered them all, but his neglect and disinterest in how they fared had nearly done the deed anyway.

  The only good thing about this whole tragedy was that it provided the rope to hang Sir John with. Brett was certain that when Triona and Sir John’s liege laird heard about this, he would end all protection for Sir John Grant. Triona finally had the hard proof she had been seeking to condemn the man.

  Chapter Twelve

  “M’lady! They have returned!”

  Triona stared at Angus, who was so agitated that he was nearly hopping from foot to foot as he stood before her, and struggled to understand just what he was telling her. “Who have returned, Angus? Sir Brett and his men?”

  “Ye must come and see, m’lady. Your mon and the rest are in the bailey now. Come! Follow me!”

  Your mon, she thought as she stood up to follow Angus out to the bailey. She and Brett had been lovers for only three nights, and yet all of her people now called him her man. Brett had to know that, but he did not seem bothered by it. Then again, he had not been around much during the day. He had actually become very secretive, and all of her questions about what he was doing had received very vague replies. She knew she had decided to leave him alone about it, trusting him to tell her what she had to know when he could, but curiosity had nearly made her change her mind half a dozen times.

  A small part of her was a little upset, even a tiny bit hurt, at how quickly her people had accepted Brett. Even though they had never insisted she get a man, had never even shown any dislike of her sitting in the laird’s seat, the speed with which they had joined Brett’s name to hers made her wonder if they had all actually wanted her married but had just been being kind. They looked to him for direction now as often as they did her. She sighed and told herself she was being foolish, but it still stung just a little.

  I need to remind him that I am laird here, she thought crossly, as she forced her thoughts away from such petty concerns and back to what the man was hiding from her. Triona had no fear that he had any regrets that they were now lovers. His passion for her still burned hot, something that continued to astonish her. Yet he was keeping something secret, and she badly needed to know exactly what. She was no longer certain she had guessed right about the cause.

  She stepped outside, took one look at what was happening in the bailey, and had her answers. Brett had been hunting for her men. He had said he would, had even sent Harcourt and Callum out to find out what they could, but she had not thought much about how that hunt was going, since she could do nothing to help with it, only pray it would go well. Now she knew he had been successful. Her man had brought home her garrison.

  And if her men had actually gone to France, they had fared very badly, she thought as she slowly went down the steps. They all looked ragged, dirty, and hungry, a few of them so weak that they had to be brought home on litters. There was also no sign of the horses and weapons they had taken with them when they left. That was a costly loss and one she would not be able to replace for a very long time. They had the garrison back, however sad and weakened they looked, she thought, and that was really all that mattered. She would worry about all the rest later.

  It was difficult, but Triona finally shook off the shock and confusion that had kept her from doing little more than standing and staring. Chaos ruled in the bailey as family members crowded around looking for their sons, fathers, and brothers. The men also needed to be attended to as quickly as possible. Straightening her shoulders, she walked into the crowd and began to snap out orders. There would be time later for all her questions to be answered.

  Brett dismounted and handed his mount over to a wide-eyed young boy. As his companions came to stand by him, he watched Triona bring order to chaos with but a few sharp words. She even made time to comfort the people who had found out that the men they looked for would never come home. It was a miracle that the number of men lost was so small, only four, although several of the men brought in on litters might yet die.

  When Triona hastened to the side of one man standing surrounded by others, and paid him particular attention, Brett experienced a sharp stab of jealousy. Despite the rags, dirt, and harsh marks of hunger, the tall man appeared to be a handsome devil. He was just realizing that the handsome devil was Aiden when Triona turned, jumping up and down and waving at her friend Joan, who was just rushing through the gates. Brett’s jealousy faded rapidly when he saw the looks exchanged by Joan and the man before they embraced. His relief that Triona’s care and concern had been for her friend’s man, that there was no lurking romance, told Brett that a large part of him wanted to be far more than Triona’s lover.

  “Sir John needs to die,” said Harcourt, his voice hard and cold.

  “Aye,” agreed Brett. “Slowly, just as he left all of these men to slowly rot.”

  “Would have been more merciful just to kill them all the day he lured them away. I cannae imagine what it must have been like to sit in the dark for so long, your belly cramped with hunger, and smelling your own stench.”

  “I doubt Sir John has given them another thought since he got them away from here,” said Callum. “He had them chained up and ne’er looked back. He had accomplished what he wanted to, leaving Banuilt with no trained guard, and so he didnae care much what else happened concerning the men he betrayed.”

  Brett had to agree. The guards watching Triona’s garrison had been hired men who had clearly helped themselves to most of the supplies that might have been sent to feed and clothe the prisoners, had even confessed to it at sword point. Sir John had helped himself to most of the horses and weapons and simply ridden away, giving little thought to the Banuilt men after that. The guards they had brought back as prisoners would attest to that. Finding the missing horses and weapons at Gormfeurach would be even more proof of a crime dire enough to get the man hanged. Watching as the last of the men were helped into the manor, he thought that a far better punishment for Sir John would be to be imprisoned and forgotten in the same manner as he had forgotten these men.

  He watched a pale Triona walk toward him. There was a glitter in her eyes that told him she was fighting the urge to cry. The moment she was in reach, he put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close. It did not surprise him when she began to weep quietly. Triona cared deeply for the people of Banuilt, even ones she had occasionally been angry with for deserting Banuilt to seek personal glory, as she had believed.

  “Why didnae he just let them all sail to France?” she finally asked as she stepped back and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her sleeve.

  “Mayhap because they would have discovered his trick once there and come back home,” said Uven, and then he frowned. “It would have been difficult to hold fast to the lie if they had arrived in France and all was nay as they were told it would be.”

  “And mayhap he feared they might actually get hired, get some coin, and come back here to help strengthen Banuilt,” added Harcourt.

  “But to just let them slowly starve?”
she whispered.

  “I am nay certain one can say that was actually his plan,” said Brett, hating how he was actually defending the man. “What he did was hire some guards, send them supplies or the coin to buy some—or told someone else to see to it—and then ne’er looked to see if they were doing what they had been hired to do. So, kenning that they were nay being watched, had no one to answer to, the guards helped themselves to what was sent to care for the prisoners. Any fool could have told him it was a verra bad arrangement.”

  “Those three bound men ye had taken aside were the guards?”

  “Aye. I thought ye might wish to talk to someone with a tale to tell, someone who can help ye get your liege laird to finally heed your accusations against Sir John.”

  “Och, aye, and I shall write to the mon right now. I can send the missive off with a few men and those guards, within the hour.” She started toward the manor and then stopped, slowly turning back to Brett. “Sir John stole all the horses and weapons, didnae he?”

  “I suspicion he did, save for the few Banuilt horses we found to pull the carts, ones taken by the guards themselves. So, as soon as we have something to eat and drink, we will saddle some fresh horses and go have a wee look for them.”

  “Do ye think Sir John will be at Gormfeurach?”

  “Nay, I dinnae, but I do think he will ken that we have gone there. He watches all that happens here verra closely, and will soon ken we have discovered the garrison. He has also proven verra elusive since the day he grabbed ye and tried to force ye to marry him.”

  “So he is weel into the wind.”

  “We will find him.”

  “I have nay doubt of that. Just be verra careful. For my sake. And dinnae do anything too harsh to the mon if ye catch him soon, nay until I have an answer from my liege laird. I cannae believe the mon will stand by Sir John after this is kenned, but I think it would be best if we have some firm decision from the mon on what we can do ere we act.”