Amanda Scott (47 page)

As the little flotilla of boats sailed down the loch, Duncan lay as still as he could. His shoulder ached where the bullet had struck it, and his pride ached at the memory of his ignominious fall from his saddle. He had lost some blood, and had had to sustain himself through certain uncalled for remarks by Bardie Gillonie, who, having heard the gunshots, had come upon them soon after the ambush. He rode in the second boat now.

Bardie still had no respect for his betters, Duncan thought grimly. Still, it had been Bardie’s herbs that had stilled the throbbing pain in his shoulder, and Bardie’s brews that had put him on his feet again so quickly—Bardie’s brews and his own thoughts of what MacCrichton might well be doing to his precious Mary.

“How are you doing?” Neil asked, moving up beside him and kneeling. He crossed himself. “For the love of heaven, don’t open your eyes. Someone may see.”

Obediently, Duncan shut his eyes. “Going to pray over me, are you?”

“Seemed the least I could do to improve the scene. After all, MacCrichton might have a telescope or two up there on the ramparts. Are you still in much pain?”

“It’s eased, but lying here is a damned penance,” Duncan muttered, keeping his lips as still as he could, in case someone was watching through a telescope.

Neil stifled a chuckle. “Mary would say you deserve to do penance, my lord. I think she will be glad to see us both, however.”

“So help me, Neil, if that bastard has touched her—”

“Aye, I’ll want a piece of him myself. But still your fury for the present, Duncan, or you will spoil our pretty scene. I’ll warrant the murderous bastard is watching us, gloating over your apparent death.”

“Let him gloat. He’ll stop soon enough when he faces my sword.”

“If he’s law-abiding, he will be unarmed, you know.”

“All the better,” Duncan growled.

“Would you spit him even as he yields to you?”

Duncan snorted in derision but stifled it quickly to say, “I am perfectly willing to promise you that if he does yield I won’t lay a finger on him.”

“I find that hard to believe,” Neil said sardonically.

“It will never come to the test. MacCrichton’s bastards were all armed to the teeth, remember, and he’ll not give up now without the devil of a fight.”

“By heaven, I think you are looking forward to it.”

“I am. Did you tell the lads to dip their banners to the villain?”

“Of course I did, since you commanded it. It goes against the grain with every one of them, but they’ll do it. We are beginning to tack inland now. Lie still, my lord, and for the love of heaven, keep your eyes shut.”

“I’m getting damned cold,” Duncan muttered. “Though the sun shines on us from time to time, I’ll be as stiff as my sword if we don’t get there soon.”

“I thought of that,” Neil said. “Here, Bannatyne, bring that plaid and lay it gently over his lordship. “A fine bit of wool, my lord, in pretty Campbell colors. It should warm you, and MacCrichton will think only that it is a mark of clan respect, so as long as no one in authority learns of our activities this fine day …”

“If they hear, they’ll do nothing about it. Ah, that’s better,” he added when Bannatyne draped the plaid over him. Opening his eyes just enough to see through his lashes, he added, “Is there still ice near the shore?”

“Not enough to matter,” Neil said, looking toward Shian. “The boats will break through it easily. I’m more concerned about Patrick Campbell and his lads approaching the castle from the forest. Do you truly think no one will see them?”

“I think MacCrichton has made such a great thing of his delight in my supposed demise that his men will take their lead from him. If he is celebrating, they will be celebrating, and that means they will all want to see the parade, especially since you say you heard him proclaim himself the new lord of Loch Creran.”

“He did, the rogue, shouted it to all of us as he was riding away. If we hadn’t guessed at once who our attackers were, we’d have known then for sure.”

“Still, he should bask in our little show of respect,” Duncan said grimly.

“I hope you’re right,” Neil said, standing to make way for Bannatyne to take his place beside the supposed corpse. He moved back, ducking to avoid the boom.

Duncan wished he could see exactly where they were, but he knew that Neil was right about the possibility of a telescope or two. They would not be powerful enough for a watcher to have seen his lips move, and if one had seen Neil speak, he would assume only that he was praying. But Duncan was not a patient man.

The thought nearly made him smile. How Mary would agree with it. He hoped she had managed to stay out of MacCrichton’s filthy clutches. If she had not, if the scoundrel had raped her … That thought was too awful to contemplate. If he let his mind dwell on such possibilities, he would be unable to remain still, and their entire plan depended upon that. Beneath the plaid, one hand gripped his short sword. Ewan MacCrichton would rue the day he had set eyes on Mary Maclaine.

Beside him, the kneeling Bannatyne murmured, “We near the shore, sir.”

“Excellent.”

The next few minutes passed slowly, but at last, he heard the sound of his banner coming down the mast. It stopped halfway, where someone tied it.

That would give MacCrichton pause, he thought. Properly, they should raise it to the top again. Would MacCrichton think they stopped it as a sign of their grief? He knew the other boats would do what their leader did. Gripping his sword tightly, he hoped his limbs had not stiffened too much. The dull, persistent ache from the flesh wound in his left shoulder would not affect his swordplay.

“Hoots,” Chuff said. “I canna see my hand in front o’ my face the noo.”

Mary said, “You can still feel the rock wall, can you not?”

“Aye.”

“Then keep helping me, Chuff. We must make this hole much bigger.”

The boy remained silent for a long moment while Mary scraped dirt from the next stone and began to ease it from its bed. Then he muttered, “I dinna like it doon here. I’m afeared tae be in the dark wi’ a dead corpus.”

“He cannot harm you now, Chuff,” Mary said.

“Pinkie killed him.”

“No, he died in an unfortunate accident.”

“She poked him wi’ that lance, she did. Got him right in the neck.”

“I don’t think the lance actually touched him, Chuff. The laird pushed him out of the way, and then Allan Breck stumbled. He just tripped over his own feet, and if the two of them had not opened the pit to drop me into it, the accident would never have happened. You must never tell Pinkie that you think she—”

“Och, then, I wadna! But she may think she did, even so.”

“Then we shall simply tell her that she did not,” Mary said firmly.

“Aye, sure.” Chuff’s tone remained doubtful, but a moment later, Mary felt his hands alongside hers, prying, scraping, and pulling.

“Take care that you don’t get your hands too near the dirk,” she warned.

“Aye.”

As she set down the dirk to brush some dirt to the floor, she heard metal scraping against rock. “What’s that noise, Chuff.”

“I took off my belt,” he said. “The wee charm my daddy left us fits between the rocks, and it’s stronger than my fingers for the diggin’.”

“Perhaps it will bring us luck then,” she said, using the dirk again.

“Aye, maybe.” Shortly thereafter when another rock came free, he said, “Will the laird no see all them rocks when next he looks doon here?”

“I don’t think so. The stones are much the same color as the dirt on the floor, and recollect that Allan Breck had to hold that torch well down into the pit before he could see the bottom—if he could even see it then. He said it was littered with bones, remember?”

“Aye, and it isna, which I’m right glad tae ken, I tell ye.”

“I’m glad, too, Chuff.”

Another stone joined the others, and another, and yet another. Ewan came twice more, gloating, to report on the progress of the funeral procession. Each time, when the trap door opened, Mary and Chuff stopped working to look up. Ewan did not seem to notice anything amiss.

The next time he came, he said, “You’ll be pleased to know, lass, that the captains of yon sailboats know their duty.”

“Do they, indeed?”

“Aye, they’ve drawn close to shore to dip their banners in respect to one they all recognize now as lord of Loch Creran. They raised them only halfway afterward, too, proving Duncan is dead. No one remains now to challenge my authority.”

“When will you let us out of here, then?”

“Now that’s not up to me, that isn’t. You’ll stay down there, lassie, until you’ve done as you were bid. Have you had no visions yet?”

Wondering if the Lord would ever forgive her for the lies she had told, she said firmly, “I have not.”

“Then—”

A shout interrupted him, and he straightened, leaving the trap open.

“Master, they’re landing! The boats are landing!”

“Damn them,” Ewan snapped. “Call out the men!”

Another shout, unintelligible to those in the pit, sounded from a distance.

“Soldiers! They’ve tricked us,” Ewan screamed.

Duncan’s nerves were singing, and he remembered the feeling from previous battles. War was dreadful, but fighting did something to a man. Energy surged through him, and he welcomed the lurching shudder when the boat crunched against ice and then solid ground. He did not think he could have kept still much longer.

With a roar, he sprang to his feet, feeling no pain at all. Leaping ashore with his sword aloft, he shouted the ancient Campbell war cry,
“A Cruachan!”

Echoing the cry, his men charged toward the gate, and before they reached it, it opened. Patrick’s lads had successfully scaled the rear walls.

Fighting in the courtyard was already fierce when the men from the boats charged in to join the fray. Duncan saw two MacCrichton soldiers dashing toward the wooden stairway that led to the castle entrance.

“At them, lads! Don’t let them burn the stairs!”

As Duncan reached the foot of the stairway, a large key clattered to the ground beside him. Astonished, he bent to pick it up.

When he straightened, he saw that his men had those who would have burned the stairs in custody. Looking up, he saw a child’s hand waving from an arrow slit. He smiled.

Sudden silence filled the courtyard. Turning, he saw that his men and Patrick’s had gained control. He waved to Neil. “Come see what I’ve found.”

Neil hurried to his side, staring in amazement at the key. “What the devil—?”

“Don’t blaspheme, my lad,” Duncan said. “’Tis a gift from above. Shall we see if it fits the door?”

As they hurried up the stairs, Neil said, “I thought MacCrichton would be out here with the others, but they say he is inside.”

“So he’s a coward as well as a scoundrel. Let’s have at him.” Realizing that MacCrichton would not be alone, he shouted to the men below, “Who’s with us?”

The prisoners had been herded into one corner, and a number of his men were already moving toward the stairs. Patrick Campbell waved.
“A Cruachan!”

“MacCrichton is mine,” Duncan muttered to Neil.

The younger man made no comment.

As Duncan fitted the big black key into the lock, he caught sight of Bardie Gillonie lumbering toward the stairs in the wake of the other men. Knowing the dwarf was unarmed, Duncan hoped he would keep out of the way.

The big door swung wide enough to hit the yett, but the heavy iron gate yielded to the same key. In moments, with swords and pistols at the ready and with no attempt at stealth, the men clattered up the spiral stone stairs to the great hall.

Pausing in the doorway, Duncan saw MacCrichton and two other men. Ewan held a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. His companions likewise bore arms. There was no sign of Allan Breck, however.

“So the lass lied to me and you’re not dead, after all,” MacCrichton said gently. “I’ll have to remedy that wee mistake.”

In a quiet aside, Duncan said to Neil, “Tell the men to watch out for Breck.”

“Aye,” Neil murmured, turning to speak to Bannatyne and Patrick, just behind him.

“If you are going to shoot me again,” Duncan said, “you’d better do so at once, MacCrichton, but it is only fair to warn you that our men are all armed and will not hesitate to shoot you down like the villain you are. Where is my wife?”

“We can discuss that if she is not a widow when our little scene is played out here. That way I know you won’t simply shoot me.”

“Your men are prisoners, MacCrichton,” Patrick Campbell said from the doorway. “The only ones still with you are the two standing yonder.”

“So you think, but I have a bargain to put to Black Duncan.”

“You are scarcely in any position to bargain,” Duncan told him.

“Do you think I cannot shoot you and Maclean where you stand before any other man reaches me? Do you think we cannot account for a few more before they take us? Look up, Duncan. One of my lads is in the minstrel’s gallery yonder with a brace of pistols. He’s aiming one at you now.”

“He won’t save you, MacCrichton. He cannot shoot more than one of us before you die.”

“Fight me, Duncan. If you win, I’ll tell you where Mary is.”

“She is Lady Balcardane, if you please. What if you win?”

“Then you guarantee my release.”

Duncan laughed. “I’d fight you for nothing, MacCrichton.”

“Aye, sir, you would that,” Bardie Gillonie said from the minstrel’s gallery.

MacCrichton whirled, raising his pistol toward the dwarf, and Duncan lunged forward, striking it from his hand with the flat of his sword. MacCrichton leapt back, smoothly shifting his sword to his right hand. With a growl of fury, he lunged toward Duncan.

“Stand back, men,” Duncan cried. “He’s mine!”

Aware that Neil, Patrick, and Bannatyne had moved swiftly to disarm MacCrichton’s two companions, Duncan fixed his attention on his foe, and for the next few minutes the clash of steel against steel rang through the hall.

MacCrichton was well taught, but Duncan was the better swordsman. Had his injury not weakened him, the fight would have been swiftly over. As it was, MacCrichton nearly nicked him once. Even so, it was only moments before Duncan saw an opening; and, expecting to pink MacCrichton’s sword arm, he took it. As he lunged forward, MacCrichton moved to parry, and before Duncan could draw back, the sword pierced MacCrichton’s chest. He fell, gasping.