Highland Ruse: Mercenary Maidens - Book Two

by Martin, Madeline

  She would save Claire, even if she did so at the expense of her own life.

  Their large group moved through the forest toward Edirdovar. The red stonework could be seen above the treetops, growing larger and larger as they closed in on their target.

  While Sylvi led the other female spies, Delilah stayed by Kaid’s side per his insistence.

  She knew if it were up to him, she would not have come.

  She also knew he realized she would never allow herself to remain behind.

  The shush of an arrow being shot was as loud in the silence as a musket ball being fired. Another arrow cut through the air and thunked into the tree beside Torra’s head. One arrow pinned the other into the thick bark by its middle.

  An impossible shot.

  A shot only one woman would be able to make.

  Delilah turned to find Percy’s hooded form sliding another arrow from her back and crouching low in the brush.

  A hand caught Delilah’s, warm and strong—Kaid.

  “It’s beginning,” he muttered. He searched her face with his determined gaze. “Be safe, my love.” He caught her face in his large hands and pressed a hard kiss to her lips, so fierce the scratch of his whiskers ground against her chin.

  “I love you,” she whispered against his lips.

  “And I ye,” he growled.

  Then he turned from her and loosed his war cry.

  Both MacKenzie and MacLeod warriors roared their own cries, the shouts blending together.

  Delilah slipped from Kaid’s side to join Sylvi and the other women, who continued onward in stealthy silence with only the hiss of Percy’s arrows. They moved quickly and easily in their black leines and men’s trews. While the women could fight in gowns, battle required more liberating garments.

  The guards surrounding the castle grounds were quickly and easily dispatched. There weren’t many.

  But MacKenzie knew they were coming. No doubt almost all of his guards were stationed within the walls of Edirdovar, ready to defend the castle.

  Little did they know how easy their walls could be breached.

  The edge of the forest met them, and beyond it stood their prize. The redstone castle of Edirdovar.

  Kaid stepped forward, into the line of sight.

  Figures along the top of the castle drew back their bows and Delilah’s chest tightened.

  “Torra MacKenzie is the rightful ruler of this castle.” Kaid’s voice rang clear and confident in the thin night air. “If ye willna relinquish Edirdovar to her, we will take it by force to seat her in her rightful place.”

  A tall figure appeared at the high edge of the castle, his arms folded behind his back with an arrogance only Seumas MacKenzie could wield. “I welcome ye to try.”

  He turned to a man on his right, who held an arrow nocked. “Attack.”

  The archer hesitated. Negotiations prior to battle were sacred, even among paid men.

  “Attack.” The word came louder, and this time the archer did not hesitate. But Kaid had already melted back into the shadows of the forest with the rest of the force. The arrow shot through the air and landed soundly into the rich soil, the head sunk almost midway to the shaft in the wet earth.

  The MacLeod and MacKenzie archers took aim and fired along with Percy. Her confirmed hits were easier to spot. The men she shot did not pitch over the castle, dead or soon to be—they were merely hit in the arm, the hand, disabling them from attacking further without being lethal.

  Delilah adjusted her grip on the hilt of her sword, more out of anxious anticipation than necessity. Once they breached the castle walls, she could find Claire.

  A glow of light flared to Delilah’s left, and her heartbeat quickened.

  It was time.

  The pungent odor of sulfur tainted the air, followed by the hiss of a flame catching. Delilah looked to the left, where Isabel’s exotically painted face was lit in a brilliant wash of fire.

  Cupped in her palm was the thick round pot filled with gunpowder and plugged with wax. The string jutting from the milky center fizzled and smoked. Isabel grinned and rolled the pot over the cobblestone walkway to the massive wooden door barring their entrance into the castle.

  The flame swirled and danced during the pot’s path toward its destination while the gritty warbling sound of clay on stone captured everyone’s attention. The pot bumped harmlessly into the door and remained there for a moment before the flame met the wax.

  The flame went out.

  A disappointing fraction of a second sucked at Delilah’s spirit before the pot exploded and left fine dust raining down where it had once been.

  While the door still stood, a majority of the bottom portion was gone and a large crack had appeared at its center.

  One more would do it.

  And it was already rolling toward its destination. This one exploded with more expediency than the first, and with far greater impact. Fragments of the door flew into the air and landed on the stone ground with hearty clunks.

  Kaid’s men cried out once more and together they rushed toward the open entrance while the MacLeod and MacKenzie archers covered their attack. Delilah let herself be taken with the rush of bodies along with Sylvi.

  Everyone caught at the entrance for the briefest of moments, bodies all tangled against one another in haste to get in, until one person pushed free and made room for the next.

  The excitement and energy crackled amid the chaos and left Delilah’s pulse thrumming in her ears until all she could hear was the pounding of her heart and the shouts of men.

  She shouldered her way into the castle. The barren hall greeted her with memories she did not welcome.

  She was finally inside the castle.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Delilah ran down the first hallway where she knew the doorway to the dungeon would be. Despite her haste, she was aware of every sound, every movement, her body on high alert for any kind of danger.

  She didn’t want to descend to the dungeon any more than she wanted to be in the castle. But if Claire was down there…

  Delilah shuddered at the thought of the girl huddled in the dark, frightened and alone. Delilah’s arms ached for the sweet weight of the child in her arms where she could be safe.

  Delilah pushed on the door to the dungeon. A hearty clack met her ears.

  Locked.

  She dropped to her knees and pulled the pick from her hair. Her fingers trembled.

  She drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out in an attempt to calm herself. The shaking stilled enough to allow her to slip the pick into the gaping lock.

  Footsteps sounded to her right, heavy and rapid. She turned to the sound to find one of the MacKenzie’s paid mercenaries charging toward her. She leapt to her feet and swept her sword free.

  She’d battled men many times, but usually she had a pill to slip them once they were unconscious, to keep them sleeping for a while. But none of the women had any this time.

  This was no mission of discretion—this was battle. There would be death.

  It was information they all knew going into it, and yet now Delilah’s conviction faltered.

  “I don’t want to kill you,” Delilah said. “If you leave now, you can do so with your life.”

  The man smirked. “And what if I want to kill ye?”

  He didn’t give her a chance to reply, but swung out at her with the huge war axe he clutched between his meaty fists.

  Delilah ducked and lunged toward him. Not only did she fail to knock him down, but running into him was like hitting a solid tree trunk. The breath whooshed out of her, and she was knocked backward, momentarily stunned. He swiped at her, but she dropped into a ball and rolled between his spread legs.

  Before he could lumber around, she shoved her sword forward with a grunt of exertion. It pushed through his body with far more ease than she could ever have imagined.

  He roared, and the axe slipped from his grip, landing with a metallic clunk before he sagged to his kn
ees and pitched forward.

  All the strength sapped suddenly from Delilah’s body. She stared down at the large man who had meant to kill her.

  The man she had killed.

  Footsteps sounded behind her, and her body launched into action before her mind could catch up with what she was doing. She pulled at her sword to free it, but found the blade stuck.

  The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she turned quickly to face her new opponent. A fist punched the side of her arm with enough force to leave it numb for a brief moment.

  The man was dark-haired and short, his face set in a grimace of concentration. Energy roared through Delilah and her blade pulled free with a sickening wet sound. She did not hesitate this time.

  The man swept his dagger at her, the blade still red with the blood of his previous victim. Delilah bent low to evade the hit and came up with her sword aimed at his heart. Which was exactly where the blade pierced.

  Everything went still save the frenzied hammering of her heart. She pulled her blade free, this time with learned strength, and sagged against the stone wall. It was cold against the heat of her back. Her hard breathing filled the narrow hall, panting and wild.

  She was wasting time.

  She knelt at the door once more and squeezed her fingers around the pick where it still jutted from the lock. This time she could not still her fingers from shaking.

  Her arm was tired where it’d been hit. It was an exhausted, bone-deep ache, and the limb didn’t seem to work properly as a result. The man had punched her harder than she thought.

  The lock popped free, and she pushed the door open. The wet, dank air slammed into her, bringing back memories of fear and uncertainty.

  It was dark below. Too dark to see.

  Her skin prickled, and she rubbed the sore spot on her arm. Something wet met her fingertips.

  She pulled her hand back in horror and stared down at the brilliant smear of blood on her fingers. Confusion rocked her brain. Had the men bled on her? When had they had a chance to?

  Pain penetrated her muddled thoughts, a deep, burning hurt spiraling out from her arm where she’d been hit and out through her whole body. With great trepidation she looked down at her arm and found a gaping slash there.

  Her sword arm.

  Damn.

  Keeping her ears pricked for the sound of any more men heading toward her, she ripped free a section of her shirt and tied it over the wound, as she’d seen Percy do. It was an awkward bandage, and she had to use her teeth to secure the binding, but it was done.

  Fortunately, Sylvi had insisted they all learn to train with both arms. While Delilah’s left had never been as strong as her right, she was at least still capable.

  She lifted the weight of her sword into her left hand and tried to ignore how unwieldy and foreign it seemed. Then she plunged into the uncertain darkness in search of Claire.

  • • •

  Kaid stopped and strained to listen for the sound which had stopped him dead in his tracks.

  It sounded again: a high-pitched cry.

  A child.

  Kaid’s heartbeat sped. He turned in the direction of the sound, where a long hallway led to a large closed door banded with metal.

  Without hesitation, he sped toward it and kicked it open. It hadn’t been locked and flew open so hard it slammed against the stone wall with a reverberating smack.

  Rhona stood toward the rear of the room with Claire pinned into place in front of her by the shoulders and a woman beside her who looked like a rumpled version of Delilah whose hands were bound by rope. A woman he’d seen before.

  Elizabeth—the real Elizabeth.

  Claire’s reddened eyes lit up when she saw him. His throat grew tight. She tried to run toward him, but Rhona kept her hands clutched at Claire’s slender shoulders.

  The girl’s blonde hair fell in messy tangles around a dirty face, but aside from that, she looked well enough.

  “Well, if it isn’t the failing laird of the MacLeods,” Rhona said with a sneer. “How are yer nightmares?”

  Kaid steeled himself against her words. He’d worried too often about how he’d failed his people. He wasn’t failing them now, though. With Delilah’s help, he’d saved Torra and banded together the MacKenzies and the MacLeods for peace.

  He had not failed.

  “I dinna have them anymore once I found out ye were poisoning me.” He didn’t attack, but he didn’t lower his blade either.

  “It was that woman.” She spit out the word “woman” as if it were bitter. “The one ye used to trick Seumas, along with this one.” She jerked her head toward Elizabeth.

  “Ye were poisoning me.” Kaid’s hand tightened around the hilt of his blade. “We took ye in when ye needed the help of a clan.”

  Rhona shook her head and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Ye daft fool. I came to spy on ye to see if we could take Ardvreck. Ye’ve more coin than ye need and Seumas needed some to secure his marriage.”

  Kaid let his disgust show. “I suppose yer foolish grandson spent everything on men paid to fight?”

  “An investment,” Rhona said. “And a means of seeking revenge from ye killing his ma. My daughter.” She leaned forward, and Claire gave a whimper, ducking low as if she could free her shoulders from Rhona’s clutch.

  “Leave the girl out of this, Rhona,” he snarled. “We tried to help yer daughter—”

  “Ye let her die.” The accusation rasped from Rhona’s throat. “It’s because of ye she never wed Seumas’s da before Seumas was born. It’s yer fault he was a bastard.”

  “She was ill.” Kaid still remembered when the woman had been brought to Ardvreck Castle, pale and soaked in sweat. She remained that way for two weeks after giving birth before she finally died. The healer at the time had only just been able to save the baby. “We couldna help her, but were at least able to save Seumas. We told Laird MacKenzie several times of her condition, but he never came.”

  “Lies,” Rhona hissed. She pulled a blade from her waist and held it to Claire’s throat before the girl could wriggle away. “I wanted to wait for that woman to be here before I did this. So ye’d both ken the pain of loss as I did.”

  Kaid tensed and weighed her words for a bluff. If she were being honest, he could lose Claire. If she were lying, he would be killing an old woman.

  “Ye couldna protect yer father or yer people,” she said. “No’ when ye mysteriously had the sense knocked from ye.” She gave him a cruel grin, one which told him exactly who had struck him on the head that day. “And ye canna save the girl.”

  “I’ll kill ye.” Kaid stepped closer.

  Aye, she was an old woman. But she’d been responsible for the deaths of too many of his men. He’d be damned if he let her cause Claire’s also.

  “It doesna matter.” She gripped Claire’s hair and jerked her head back so the translucent skin of her fragile neck was exposed.

  A scream strangled from the girl, and Kaid flew forward. Before he could reach her, Elizabeth lunged at the old woman, grabbed her blade, and jerked it upward into Rhona’s narrow chest. She blinked in surprise as red seeped in a glistening pool on her purple cloak.

  Claire bowed her head free of the clutched hand and met Kaid’s gaze with wide eyes. “Laird!”

  A warning rang out in the back of Kaid’s mind, but it was too late. Fire split through him and the bloody point of a blade sprouted from his chest.

  As soon as the sword was in him, it pulled free. Kaid stared down at the gash, disbelief churning in his head before his legs failed to support him. He staggered to the floor, and the wash of his own blood spread hot and wet beneath his body.

  A scream filled Kaid’s ears and raked over his brain until his nerves were raw from it.

  MacKenzie stepped over him, and the screaming pitched to a wild frenzy, something no longer human, but an animalistic, primal fear.

  He grabbed Elizabeth by the throat.

  Kaid pushed with all his might and li
fted himself onto one arm. Despite his efforts, his hand slipped in the blood, and he crashed to the floor in another spray of agony so powerful it left spots of white pulsing in his vision.

  Claire grasped MacKenzie’s arm, but he knocked her out of his way. She flew across the room and landed with a hard smack of her head against the edge of a table.

  She fell still.

  Kaid gave a wounded groan and tried to rise once more. Daggers of pain shot through him, and his chest felt as though a boulder sat atop it.

  The scream cut short.

  Kaid jerked his attention to where MacKenzie had held Elizabeth, where she now lay crumpled on the floor in a pool of blood large enough to rival Kaid’s.

  MacKenzie turned from Elizabeth and strode to the other side of the room.

  Toward Claire.

  Kaid’s heart pumped harder. He gritted his teeth against the ache and rose a foot, two feet. The pressure on the wound eased. “No,” he ground out.

  MacKenzie stopped midstride and turned to Kaid. “Still alive?” Two short steps brought him in front of Kaid. “Then I’ll let ye watch, and kill ye later after I’ve caught yer woman.”

  He pulled his leg back and slammed it into Kaid’s back.

  The impact was indescribably excruciating, a ball of white-hot blistering pain curling in on itself until it robbed him of breath and thought. Kaid collapsed onto the floor, helpless as a babe.

  MacKenzie turned back to where Claire lay still on the ground.

  “You will die a thousand deaths before you touch that girl.” The threat was spoken with the vehemence of a mother protecting her child.

  Kaid’s heart rose in his throat in a mix of relief and indescribable fear.

  Delilah had arrived.

  And he could not help.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Delilah’s footsteps were quiet on the floor, but Kaid sensed her nearing. Her sharp gasp told him she’d seen him.

  “Have you killed him?” she asked in a hollow tone.

  Kaid tried to speak, but only a low groan sounded in his throat.