by Eliza Knight
“Aye.” Angus sat forward, an elbow on his knee. “Ye think the Rosses were behind the death of your da?”
Roderick pressed his lips together. “I’m nae ruling it out.”
Magnus perked up, catching Roderick’s eye from where he’d been playing a game of knuckles. Roderick gave him a nod. He approached then, dragging up another stool and sitting beside them. “I heard ye say Ina Ross might be responsible for your da’s death. I dinna like that we’ve yet to see them again.”
Roderick shifted on his seat, relieved that the ache in his leg had subsided. “I worry they’ve gone back to attack Gleann Mórinnse.”
“Aye,” Magnus agreed. “Or they will attack us outside Dunrobin.”
“What could the motivation be?” Roderick ran a hand through his hair. “They had both ye and I in once place, and they had to have known it. Hell, your daughter was with us. Why did they nae attack again?”
Magnus shook his head. “’Tis why I’m concerned. Something isna right.”
“They were wearing Ross colors. Do ye think there is a possibility it wasna the Ross men? I didna recognize any of them, though that’s nae saying much.”
Magnus pulled out his dirk and spun the tip on the pad of his index finger. “I didna recognize any of them, either.”
“They didna say a word. Even when I taunted them.”
The grooves in Sutherland’s brow grew deeper. “I’ve a feeling that’s because they were English.”
“Sassenachs?”
“Aye.”
That was a terrifying thought. “I’d nae put it past Ina Ross to pull a stunt like that. Especially now that she’s realigned herself with the English.”
Magnus stood. “I’ll take first watch.” He glanced around the tavern. “On second thought, I’m going with the scouts. We need to find the bastards.”
“I’m going, too.”
He nodded. “Let’s go now.”
* * *
The bath had been lovely, and the vegetable pottage the tavern keeper’s wife made Greer had been delicious. But all of that goodness and even the relief of having escaped the Ross attack was dampened by what she saw now from the window of her borrowed chamber.
In front of the tavern, two distinct figures were mounting equally distinct horses. There was no mistaking it was Roderick and her father. But why? Where were they going?
She didn’t like the answer that particular question led her to, for it brought nothing but danger. Not to mention it completely soured the elation of them all having escaped. Why were the two fools just going to rush headlong back into danger just after they’d managed to escape?
They met with a few of their men out front and then took off down the road and disappeared into thin air.
Greer’s stomach plummeted. What if she never saw either of them again? She’d not even had the chance to say goodbye…
As their shadows disappeared into the darkness, something else caught her eye. A silhouette darting between the village buildings, drawing closer to the tavern. A flutter in her gut warned her of danger as the cloaked figure stole across the road and behind the tavern. Someone was hiding.
Dear God…what if the ambush had been a trap, and the men racing off had no idea the true evil lay right here?
Or was it just a vagabond in search of a few bites of food? Perhaps she was allowing her worries and fears over the attack to get the best of her. It wouldn’t do to accuse a poor beggar of treachery when all he sought was food.
Then again, if it were someone come to do them harm, she couldn’t sit here and keep quiet.
* * *
Ina Ross had to do everything herself. This was nothing new. Even marrying a powerful English lord—twice—hadn’t seemed to give her anything other than more annoyances.
When the raid in the woods had not ended as she’d wanted, she’d decided it was time for her to strike out on her own. And what a perfectly brilliant scheme she had planned. The men were so intent on finding her army, they hadn’t thought twice about dashing off to danger while she lurked right here under their noses.
She’d instructed her imbecile army to take the lass. What was so hard about that? Just go in and take her, for heaven’s sake. Ina scoffed in the dark and stared up at the tavern. Considering she’d not shown her face in Sutherland country in nearly a decade, she doubted she’d be recognized, especially since time had not been kind to her. Whenever she observed her reflection, she barely recognized the hag who stared back.
In fact, she wasn’t quite certain how she’d convinced her new young husband to marry her, though she supposed a hunger for power was a very enticing thing for a young lord. Especially one who was English and wanted to impress his king by taking land and power in Scotland.
But he wasn’t doing what she wanted, which was to take control of all the surrounding lands so she could be mistress of Scotland. The Bruce was growing old, but unfortunately for her, he’d married once more. He’d not been willing to marry her; she’d already tried that. So, what was the next best thing? Ina wanted to kill them all. That would make her feel better. But her silly wee husband had decided these small raids would be best, that instilling fear in the people before swooping in to save them would somehow work. He knew nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He was nothing but a flea-bitten mandrake mymmerkin.
She was growing tired of trying to instruct him. So she’d followed the men on their last raid and watched how they’d given up against the MacCulloch and Sutherland band, but that was not what had intrigued her the most. Nay, what had gotten her very excited was what she’d seen they were protecting—a lass. One who looked so much like her mother it could be none other than a daughter of Magnus and Arbella Sutherland.
Och, but it gave her chills just thinking about it.
What was the chit doing out in the woods with the men? Was it possible she’d been wed to the MacCulloch? That seemed likely, though she would have thought Magnus would want to align his daughter to a more powerful laird, not a usurper like MacCulloch. How was the cheater even able to maintain loyalty among his men?
He was a swindler, for bloody’s sake! By principle alone, it meant he had no loyalty, the fetid churl. She would show him what happened to men without loyalty. If they could be called men at all.
Ina stole across the road, edging toward the rear of the tavern where the servants entered. With a plain wool cape pulled up over her head, she knocked on the back door. A harried-looking woman answered and eyed her up and down as though she were the rubbish that needed to be tossed out into the loch with the rest of the chamber pot contents.
“No beggars. Be on your way.” The maggot-licking wench had the audacity to wave her hand at Ina, shooing her.
Shooing her! Oh, but she was going to pay for that.
Ina narrowed her eyes and flashed her best ye’re-an-idiot-and-lucky-I-dinna-kill-ye smile. “Please, madam, I have a message for the lady.”
The woman eyed her suspiciously. “What lady?” She crossed her arms over her chest as though she’d best Ina in a test.
Bloody foolish, woman.
“Lady Sutherland. I’ve only just seen his lairdship, and he asked me to come right away.”
The woman thought about this for a moment, clearly trying to decide if she should trust Ina.
Ina pulled back her cape, letting the jewels she wore at her neck show, as if proving her right to be there by demonstrating her wealth. As sad as it was, that seemed to do the trick.
“She’s up in her chamber.”
“Will ye show me to her, please?”
The woman nodded, and as soon as she turned around, Ina grabbed up the nearest pot and hit her on the side of the head with it, relishing the sickening cracking sound her skull made on impact. The bitch dropped like a sack of wheat, her head hitting the floor once more. A trickle of blood spilled from a gash on her scalp.
That was going to hurt like hell if the wench ever woke up. Ina searched the meager are
a, not finding a suitable place to hide the body. Och, she supposed it was all well and good to take her out back anyway. Less chance of discovery then. Ina lifted the wench’s feet and dragged her outside with a power that often surprised others. She might be thin, but she’d always been strong. Alas, dragging the woman did cause her to break a sweat, and it had her panting a bit more than it would have when she was young. Blast it all. Ina abandoned the woman behind the woodpile. When she came back inside, she locked the door in case the wench woke up and tried to regain entry.
A wide grin crossed over Ina’s features as she slipped up the stairs.
This is much too easy.
Chapter Eighteen
Greer opened her chamber door slowly, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Just as she was about to step out, a blur of movement barreled toward her. But she was faster.
Greer stepped aside at the last minute, and her assailant fell forward into the borrowed chamber in a heap of limbs and woolen cloak. Her mother and father probably would have advised her to close the door tightly then, locking the person inside while she shouted for help. That would have been the least risky thing to do. Alas, Greer was not one to always listen to advice, so she leapt on her assailant and yanked back the hood.
A woman most assuredly older than Greer’s mother, with hair that had likely once been nearly black, snarled beneath her. Deep grooves were etched into the corners of her eyes and the sides of her mouth, giving her what seemed a permanent frown—probably because she’d spent most of her time like that. Beady eyes narrowed on Greer, and the woman spat out obscenities Greer had not even heard from her father’s men.
“That’ll be quite enough,” Greer snapped. “Who are ye, and what do ye want?”
The snarl faded and was replaced by a terrifying smile. In that one gesture, her features seemed to transform. Beneath the ugliness, Greer could see she had at one time been a rather handsome woman. But the vileness in her heart and the lawless way she lived her life had soured everything about her. Greer supposed the smile was supposed to be disarming, but it only made the hair on the back of her neck stand more on end.
“I’ve come with a message, dear child, now will ye not let me up? Is that any way to treat a guest?”
“Ye’re no guest, and messengers dinna sneak and try to attack people. Ye must think me verra naïve.”
The woman clucked her tongue. “Nay, I would never think a clever lass like ye could be naïve. Look at me now, I’m on the ground with ye atop me.” The nauseating smile only grew. But the honey in her tone had an underlying hint of malice. “Clearly, ye are far from unintelligent. Now let me up so we might discuss why I’ve come.”
Despite the woman’s saccharine air, Greer could tell that something wasn’t right. She didn’t know who this woman was, but the sick feeling in her gut told her to remain on her guard.
“I think I’ll be the one deciding when ye can get up, hag.”
A flash of anger screwed up the woman’s face, showing the side of her she’d noticeably been trying to keep hidden before.
“Let me up, bitch.”
Greer grinned. “I see your true colors are coming out now, are they no’?”
The woman bared her teeth, snapping them like a wild animal. She began furiously bucking beneath Greer, which was unexpected. Though Greer held on to the maelstrom beneath her, the fourth or fifth violent buck tossed her off-balance. She fell to the side, and that gave the madwoman a moment to gain a little bit of footing. She rolled away from Greer and leapt to her feet. As she did, she pulled a dagger from her boot and brandished it at Greer, swiping madly at the air in front of her.
“Walk slowly from the chamber. We’re going outside. Dinna argue, or I’ll no’ hesitate to gut ye.”
Greer didn’t move. She just stared at her and blinked blankly. “Will ye at least tell me who ye are? I should think if ye’re willing to pull a weapon on me, ye’ll share your identity. Seems only natural.”
The woman straightened only slightly, still keeping her feet spread apart the way Greer knew most warriors did for hand-to-hand combat. “Dinna spout to me about natural. I’m your worst nightmare.”
To this, Greer grinned. “Och, nay, not by half. I nearly died a few days ago upon the firth. Not even that was my worst night terror.”
This seemed to surprise the woman, for the baring of her teeth faltered. “Dinna cause me more trouble than ye already have. Be a good lass and walk out that door.”
Greer shook her head. “Ye dinna know me, so ’tis understandable ye’d think because I’m a lady I’ll be compliant when a weapon is pointed at me. But ye see, I’m most assuredly not going to comply. In fact, if ye know what’s good for ye, ye’ll simply put the dagger away and walk with me down the stairs, where I might hand ye over to my men.”
The madwoman laughed aloud, an eerie hawk-like screeching. Greer had to temper the urge to cover her ears with her hands.
“Ye wee stupid, wench. Ye think this is a jest?”
“Quite the contrary.” Greer shrugged and rolled up her sleeves, prepared to fight if need be. She’d spent plenty of time wrestling with her brothers and trying to keep up with them. This would be nothing compared to that. “Much time has passed since I’ve had a scuffle. But I’m certain the movements will come back to me.”
“If ’tis a fight ye want, wee lass, that is what ye’ll get. But I promise ye, I’ll win. I’ve got more experience than ye by half.”
Greer rolled her neck from side to side, laced her fingers, and bent them back to crack them. “I dinna believe that experience is always what wins out. Sometimes ’tis simply having more heart.”
The woman waved her hand dismissively, as though Greer were a stupid child. But she wasn’t going to take offense to it. For quite frankly, Greer didn’t care.
“My parents call me a hellion.”
“They should call ye an idiot.”
Greer laughed. “Sometimes they do.” And then she lunged forward, ducking beneath the woman’s stabbing dagger. Greer kicked out her foot, sweeping it toward the woman’s legs, satisfied with the connecting crunch and the subsequent howl of the hag as she fell backward.
As predicted, she lost hold of her dagger, and it clattered across the floor. When she rolled to scramble for it, Greer grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her away.
“Oh, nay, Mistress of the Dark. I said no weapons in this fight, and ye dinna want to play fair.” She sat on the woman’s back, pinning her arms on either side of her body with her knees.
“There is no fair in battle.”
“Well, that is a good point, I’ll give ye that. Pray tell, what are we fighting for?”
“Everything,” she sneered and spat on the ground, but given her position, it only landed an inch or so from her own face.
Greer couldn’t even begin to imagine what everything meant. She’d never met this woman before in her life. How could they possibly have anything to war over? “Who are ye? Who do ye work for?”
“I work for myself, now and always. Ye really are a dimwitted chit.”
Greer ignored the insults. Why did this feel like a game of ridiculous riddles? “And who is yourself?”
“I’m Ina Ross, ye miserable pus.”
The saucy grin fell from Greer’s face, and she stared at the profile of the woman pinned beneath her. The name rang instantly familiar. This was Ina Ross? She’d heard tales of this woman since she was a child. A cruel madwoman who’d spent her entire life in pursuit of everything that wasn’t hers. Now that Greer knew who the woman was, saying they were fighting for everything made sense. Ina wanted everything. From the stories she’d heard, the woman was completely deranged.
And she’d come after Greer. What did Greer have that she wanted? Nothing truly, except her own life. Perhaps it had been Ina’s intention to abduct her and issue a ransom note to Greer’s father.
But wasn’t Roderick somehow involved with the Ross clan, too? The reason he’d been on his way to s
peak to her father was because of raids from the Ross clan. And wasn’t it his cousin who’d been held hostage by Ina Ross? Emily or Emilia? She couldn’t quite recall as she’d only heard the information secondhand, and that had been years before.
Whatever the case might be, she had a wanted criminal beneath her, and if the men below stairs hadn’t heard the scuffling and shouting already, she would have to handle this herself.
With her knees on Ina’s arms to keep her in place, Greer tore at the hem of her own chemise.
“Ye can struggle all ye want, but I’m quite sure I’m stronger than ye. It takes a lot to sail a birlinn, to swim, and to run my brothers into ragged heaps. ’Tis really no use—ye might as well submit to me.” She tied a length of linen onto one of Ina’s wrists, and then a length of linen to the opposite one. She couldn’t risk letting go of her captive, so the next best thing was to tie the two strips together and slowly bring the older woman’s wrists behind her back. Ina did not make it easy. Good heavens, Greer’s muscles strained against the woman’s struggles, but at last, she got the two ends tied together.
“Ye’re going to pay for this,” Ina snarled.
“Somehow, I really doubt it.”
“My husband will come looking for me.” Though this was likely meant as a threat, Greer could sense the woman’s doubt in her tone.
“Does he know ye’re here?”
“Aye.” The slight hesitation before she answered gave Greer all the information she needed.
Greer tsked. “A man can only come for his wife if he knows where she is. Ye see, if I were in your shoes, I would have made certain he knew. If I wanted to be as sneaky as ye were, I would have left a missive somewhere for him to find later. But I’m guessing ye didna think to do that, either.”
Greer stood and yanked up her prisoner, who tried to kick her, but Greer was able to leap out of the way in time.
“Ye’re tied up, remember? Ye’ll not be getting far, and I’m not opposed to tying your feet.”
