They found the supplies, silenced the guards, and set fire to the carts holding them before Artan really began to feel confident of success. That confidence faded abruptly as, during their escape, they stumbled across five Ogilvey men laughing as two of their number wrestled two young girls to the ground. When Ian the Fair crept up to his side and softly cursed, Artan inwardly sighed. He had not been sure of the identity of the two girls, but it appeared that Ian the Fair was, and that meant they were of Glascreag. He knew he could not turn his back on the girls, probably could not have even if they had not been Angus’s people. The fact that they were only made his need to help them that much stronger.
“Those lasses are the daughters of the blacksmith,” whispered Ian.
“Why arenae they inside Glascreag’s walls?”
“The mon said they were off visiting their grandsire and wouldnae be back until the morrow. Ah, poor lassies. This will sore grieve their father.”
“Be ready to run.”
“Five of them; six of us. No running.”
Glancing behind him, Artan saw the others crouched there, their swords at the ready. “It must be done quietly.”
Although he regretted the killing, Artan had to admire how swiftly and quietly his men had done their gruesome work. However, the girls screamed like banshees. It did not surprise Artan to hear more men running their way. For just a moment, he thought they would escape, but their lead on their pursuers was lost when one of the girls stumbled and fell. The cries escaping her before Ian the Fair told her rather bluntly and crudely to be quiet led their pursuers right to them.
Seeing how many men were running toward them, Artan knew he and his men had no chance of escaping unless the pursuit was delayed. Even a few minutes’ delay would be enough. With a sharp jerk of his head, he silently ordered his men to grab the girls and keep running, pleased by how quickly they obeyed him. Unsheathing his broadsword, Artan faced his enemies. There were at least two dozen of them, and Artan decided that Sir Fergus might finally have discovered how many of his men were needed to bring down Sir Artan Murray.
With a roar, he charged them, swinging his broadsword wildly and causing a brief panic amongst the men. A few men actually stumbled to a halt, gaped at him, and then turned and fled. Artan held to the attack, his huge sword and furious fighting causing a few more men to back off. For one brief, glorious moment, Artan thought he might actually win or at the very least be able to escape. Then something slammed into the back of his head. He had the wild thought that he really should have told Cecily what he had planned to do; then he sank into blackness.
Chapter 16
“He did what?” Cecily stared at Angus and then at the five men standing behind her uncle. “He went outside the walls right into the camp of the enemy?” All six men nodded as they watched her warily. “I cannae believe it! If he gets out of this alive, I will kill him myself.”
She knew she was yelling if only because she could see that Angus could actually hear what she was saying over the piercing wails of the two girls Artan had sacrificed so much to save. She was just about to scream at the two girls to be quiet when there was the sound of an open hand striking flesh, twice, followed by a blessed silence. Cecily looked over her shoulder to see Crooked Cat standing watch over the girls.
“Thank ye,” she said to the woman.
“My pleasure. They were making my head ache.”
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Cecily turned back to face Angus and the other men. “He has been captured?” She could not even think of the other possibility, let alone speak of it.
The man Angus had called Ian the Fair nodded his bald head. “I held back to see what happened, kenning that the laird would want to hear it all. Sir Artan had them all shaking in their boots. I think he might have e’en beat them and made an escape, but ere I could act, some coward crept up behind him and hit him with verra big stick. Then the cry came up about the supply carts burning and they dragged Sir Artan away.”
Some of the fear inside of her eased just a little. “What do ye think they will do with him?”
“Try to make a trade,” replied Angus. “Ye for him.”
Although the mere thought of returning to Sir Fergus and Dunburn made her feel ill, Cecily nodded, “All right.”
“Wheesht, lass, dinnae stand there looking as if ye are about to be hanged. We willnae give ye to the fool.”
“If that is what they ask for to spare Artan’s life, then I shall pay the price.”
“Nay, Sir Chinless wants to marry ye to get whate’er wealth might be left after the hellish pair ye call your guardians have been spending it for so long. He cannae let your husband live. If he hasnae reasoned that out yet, he soon will. Nay, ye will act as if ye mean to pay the price.” He slung his arm around her shoulders and began to lead her out of the great hall. “I suspicion that fool will soon strut up to the wall to make his bargain. Ye will listen, mayhap plead and insult him a wee bit, and then ye will tell him that ye will accept it. The trade has to be Artan’s life for your return, nay just a retreat.” When she nodded, he continued, “That is all ye have to do. Just play along as if ye are going to do exactly as he says. Me and the lads will do the rest.”
“The rest being that ye will rescue Artan?”
“That is the plan. And, nay, I willnae tell ye what the plan is, only your part of it. Here is how ye will do it so that it will have the best chance of all going as we want it to.”
As they made their way to the top of the walls surrounding the keep, Angus told her what she had to do. She was to do all she could to keep Sir Fergus’s attention fixed solely on her, and that would give Angus and his men the time to get to Artan and free him. Angus made it all sound so easy, but Cecily knew there were all kinds of things that could go wrong. She pushed those thoughts aside and promised herself that she would believe wholeheartedly in her uncle and his skills. It was the only way she could cling to her sanity.
“Cecily Donaldson, I have your lover!”
For a moment Cecily almost swooned, but Angus’s grip on her arm kept her upright and gave her strength. She stepped nearer to the wall and looked down at Sir Fergus. His horse did not look so white now and his fine clothes were not so clean either. She suspected that annoyed him.
“’Tis Cecily Murray now, Sir Fergus,” she called back. “The mon is my husband nay my lover, so I am Lady Cecily Murray, wife to the future laird of Glascreag.”
“Aha, that has set Old MacIvor to thinking just as I had hoped it would,” murmured Angus.
“Why should that trouble him?” Cecily asked Angus.
“Old MacIvor is a cautious fellow. He is always aware that he hasnae won against us yet. He willnae be wanting to kill my heir until he is sitting in my chair in my great hall drinking my ale.” He frowned at her. “Dinnae ye faint, lass.”
“Then cease talking about people killing Artan.”
“Fair enough. Here, pay attention. Lord Chinless is ignoring Old MacIvor and wants to say something to ye.”
“I could just spit on him,” she muttered and ignored her uncle’s grin.
“Ye were betrothed to me!” Sir Fergus yelled. “Ye took vows and contracts were signed.”
“I declared them all null and void when I discovered that ye planned to kill me and keep my widow’s portion,” she yelled back. “I would say that ye broke all of your vows first. That didnae sound much like cherishing and protecting to me. And ye bedded Lady Anabel. I want no adulterer for a husband.”
“Ah, good one, lass. Old MacIvor is a pious fellow for all his rough ways. He frowns on adultery,” Angus said.
Looking at the huge, hairy man sitting on a horse just behind Sir Fergus, his heavily muscled body bristling with gleaming weapons, Cecily found it a little difficult to think of him as pious. She was also finding it difficult to remain calm and play this game with Sir Fergus. Angus had assured her, however, that this was how it should be done and she had complete faith in his knowledge of such th
ings.
“Ye cannae just decide ye dinnae want to be betrothed anymore,” said Sir Fergus after casting a narrow glance at the large, scowling Laird MacIvor behind him. “Now, here is what ye will do if ye want Sir Artan Murray returned to ye alive. Ye will come to me in two hours and put yourself in my care. Then and only then will I allow Sir Artan to return to Glascreag. If ye dinnae come to me in two hours, then for every ten minutes I have to wait, I will send ye a piece of him.”
“If he keeps talking like that I am going to be violently ill,” Cecily told her uncle, her voice shaking.
“Just be sure to lean o’er the wall and aim for that fool,” Angus said as he awkwardly rubbed her back.
“What promise do I have that ye will keep your word?” she called down.
“Ye have my word as a king’s knight.”
Cecily was about to tell him just how little she thought that was worth when Laird MacIvor called out, “Ye have my word. Did ye hear me, Angus MacReith?”
“Aye, I heard ye and I accept,” Angus called back.
After watching Laird MacIvor and Sir Fergus ride away, Cecily looked at her uncle. “There was a message there, wasnae there? Laird MacIvor was telling ye something.”
“Aye,” agreed Angus as he escorted Cecily off the walls. “He was telling me that he already kens that Sir Fergus’s word isnae worth warm spit. And if that chinless fool e’en starts to think of breaking his word, old MacIvor will make sure he is dead before he finishes the thought.”
“So, Laird MacIvor isnae really a bad mon?”
“Och, nay. Most of the time he isnae any trouble. ’Tis just that he has always wanted Glascreag, as have most of the lairds that came before him. He couldnae resist the chance that this wee trouble might be enough to let him inside the gates.”
The moment they reached the ground Crooked Cat ran over and hugged Cecily. For a little while Cecily allowed herself to be comforted; but then she took a deep breath and stood back a little, although she kept a tight grip on Crooked Cat’s hand for a little while longer. She was terrified for Artan, and even knowing that, in an odd way, Laird MacIvor was protecting him did not ease that chilling fear by very much.
“’Tis clear that Sir Fergus doesnae ken that new wives are to be tucked in the corner of the kitchen until the battle is o’er,” Cecily said, and was surprised to feel herself smile a little when Crooked Cat laughed.
“There is my brave wee lass.” Crooked Cat took Cecily by the arm and tugged her toward the keep. “Now we must get ye ready.”
“Exactly what does that mean?”
“Weel, I think we shall dress ye as a widow. That should be a sound slap in that fool’s face. And we have to make sure we hide all your weapons.”
“I have ne’er used a weapon,” Cecily felt compelled to confess.
“Wheesht, dinnae fret about it. That fool willnae expect ye have any, aye? Ye willnae be needing any skill. All ye will have to do is get close enough to the chinless bastard to stick a wee knife or two into him.”
Cecily looked at her uncle who just grinned. “Ye do have a plan, aye?”
“Aye, I do, lass,” he replied. “Dinnae worry. All ye need to do is make Sir Fergus the Chinless think he has won this game. Keep him from thinking too much on how ye may be part of a fine trick on him, eh? I just wish I could have thought of a way to warn MacIvor.”
“Why would ye want to warn MacIvor? He is Sir Fergus’s ally.”
“Nay, MacIvor is his own ally and, as I said, he isnae a bad fellow. Just as he kens hurting Artan willnae gain him anything but grief, I ken that hurting him will do me little good, e’en if he has put himself in the way.” He shrugged. “Ah, weel, my lads ken that as weel as I do, and MacIvor isnae as stupid as he looks. I think he will quickly guess what is about to happen and disappear or, at the verra least, have his men do so. Now, off ye go with Crooked Cat and get yourself ready to do your part.”
Artan winced and shifted his body slightly in a vain attempt to find a more comfortable position upon the ground. It had taken a lot of men to bring him down and he could be proud of that, but it had cost him. He had several wounds that had bled freely, leaving him weak. They needed to be tended to and soon or they could easily become fatal wounds. Infection and fever had killed more men than any sword or arrow.
The abuse he had suffered at Sir Fergus’s hands had not helped. Once he had been tied head and foot and leashed to the same stake Cecily had been tied to, Sir Fergus had become brave enough to attack him. Only Laird MacIvor’s intervention had stopped the man from beating him to death.
When both Sir Fergus and Laird MacIvor walked into the tent, Artan just stared at Sir Fergus. The look of distaste that crossed MacIvor’s heavily bearded face gave Artan his first hint of hope. Despite his attempts to gain hold of Glascreag, the man was not without a sense of honor. The way Sir Fergus had dealt with a fellow knight obviously troubled the Highlander. That did not mean the man would rescue him, but Artan suspected there would be no more beating of a wounded and securely bound prisoner, at least not while Laird MacIvor was near at hand.
“Ye had best do just as ye have promised,” Laird MacIvor said to a scowling Sir Fergus.
“I gave my word, didnae I?” Sir Fergus snapped.
MacIvor spat at Sir Fergus’s feet. “That for your word, laddie. There is a lot about this that ye have ne’er told us. That lass isnae some Lowland wench who ran off with a bonnie face, is she? For a moment I thought I was seeing an angel on old Angus’s walls, mayhap e’en a ghostie. Then I remembered that Moira MacReith wed herself to a Lowlander, some gentle, scholarly fellow. That lass is Angus’s niece.”
“Who is betrothed to me!”
“Did old Angus sign the papers? Did he e’en ken she was being given to ye? Nay, I think not.”
“That doesnae matter. Her guardians gave her o’er to me. They are the cousins of her father. Her father’s wishes take precedence over those of some Highland laird.”
“Angus is her uncle and her laird. I ken that for a fact. I dinnae ken these Lowland cousins. And their word doesnae mean her father would have betrothed her to ye. Aye, and I only have your word that she is your betrothed.” The tone in MacIvor’s voice made it very clear that he held Sir Fergus’s word on that as lightly as he did on everything else.
“She admitted it just now. Ye heard her.”
“I also heard her say she had cast aside those promises for what seem verra sound reasons.”
“Such as the fact that she is my wife,” said Artan, who cursed when Sir Fergus kicked him. His eyes widened when MacIvor immediately held a sword against Sir Fergus’s throat.
“Just what do ye think ye are doing?” squeaked Sir Fergus. “We are allies.”
“Sad to say we are, indeed, as I gave my word and I keep my word. Howbeit, there will be no more kicking a wounded mon who is bound up like a pig for the spit. This mon is a knight and he is the heir to Glascreag. And I doubt ye will ken the importance of this since ye are a Lowlander, but he is also a Murray. I have no wish to find myself on the wrong side of them and all their allies.”
Sir Fergus glared down at Artan and then strode over to a small table and poured himself a drink. “Weel, there is no need for ye to linger here, m’laird,” he finally said. “I will nay abuse the mon again, and he will soon be gone, aye? Once Cecily arrives, we can send this mon back to Glascreag and I shall return to Dunburn and have my wedding.”
Laird MacIvor frowned. “How can ye have a wedding? The lass is wed to this mon.”
“Kidnapped and then handfasted with him. It can easily be set aside.”
“Kidnapped, handfasted, and vigorously bedded,” said Artan. “It willnae be so easy to set that aside. And with all that vigorous bedding I have probably already set a bairn in her belly.”
“Ye may want to temper your words a wee bit,” murmured Laird MacIvor to Artan as he watched Sir Fergus go white with fury.
“I am nay concerned about any bairn ye may have set
in her,” said Sir Fergus, but his lingering fury was clear to hear in his voice.
Recalling that the man’s plan was to rid himself of his reluctant bride after a suitable amount of time and then claim her widow’s portion, Artan felt his anger grow. He could not believe Angus would hand Cecily to this Lowlander, not after all Artan had told him. He suddenly felt a small flicker of hope spring to life in his chest. He knew Angus would not give Cecily to Sir Fergus, yet the man felt sure she was coming. That had to mean that Angus had a plan.
Glancing at Laird MacIvor, Artan wondered if he could make use of the distaste and distrust the man already had for Sir Fergus. If he could make Laird MacIvor so disgusted with his ally that he utterly regretted allying himself to the man, then MacIvor and his men would leave. It seemed the laird was already at that point, but he could still feel bound by his word and he was very determined in his wish to gain and hold Glascreag. Still, it was worth a try as MacIvor’s defection would aid Angus in whatever he was planning.
“Ah, of course,” he murmured. “I was forgetting your plans for the lass. Ye mean to allow her to live for a few months and then ye will be rid of her so that ye can collect her verra handsome widow’s portion. How long do ye plan to let Anabel and Edmund live ere ye do what ye must to claim Dunburn in your poor late wife’s name?”
“Ye are mad,” Sir Fergus said, then gave a frowning Laird MacIvor a sickly smile. “He would say anything to ensure that he can keep the woman promised to me and her dower.”
“Ye are eager for her dower as weel, I suspect,” said MacIvor. “Only reason I can see for working so hard to fetch back a lass who doesnae want ye.”
“Of course her dower is important, but ye saw the lass. What mon wouldnae want her for a bride?”
MacIvor shrugged, then strode over to the table where Sir Fergus stood and poured himself some wine. After studying an increasingly nervous Sir Fergus for a moment, MacIvor pulled a stool over to the table and sat down. Artan was disappointed that the man had not left, but the look of dislike MacIvor made no secret of as he stared at Sir Fergus was enough to give Artan a little bit of hope. It seemed that Sir Fergus had just lost his ally. Now, since the man had not left, Artan just had to wonder how complete the cut was.
Highland Barbarian Page 19
