Highland Barbarian Part 55

Again her heart began a painful hammering in her chest. If Holden Mackay had already reached his chambers, he would discover Rowena in her place. And if he were to call out now, these two riders would seize her and return her to certain death.

She nudged her horse into a run. As she pa.s.sed the two riders, she kept her face averted.

The two, intent upon their mission, barely noticed the old hunched crone who pa.s.sed them in the courtyard.

Chapter Nineteen

As the hunched woman approached on her horse, Brice felt a p.r.i.c.kly feeling at the base of his neck. Something was very wrong. Something he couldn't quite place. Then, as horse and rider drew nearer, a name came into his mind.

Rowena. Of course. The young hunchbacked seamstress who had been cruelly banished by Catherine de' Medici had been from the Mackay clan.

He had accompanied her from France to her home in the Highlands, where Holden Mackay had promised to see to her care. Brice felt a momentary stab of regret. He had been too busy to see if Mackay had lived up to his promise.

Rowena had always been an open, friendly woman. That would explain her warm reception by the guards in the courtyard. The soldiers, if they were a decent sort, would take the time to chat with her, a.s.sist her.

With hasty movements he pulled the plumed hat low on his head and kept his gaze downcast. If she was familiar with all the soldiers at Mackay's fortress, she might recognize that he and Angus were imposters. Worse, if she were to recognize him from their days at the French Court, she would call out his name. All their carefully laid plans would be for naught.

From the corner of his eye he watched as horse and rider galloped past. She had "not even given him so much as a glance.

For another moment he continued to feel that tingling sensation, as though something was not quite right. He shrugged it off. The worst thing a warrior could do before going into battle was to allow himself to be distracted.

He and Angus approached the guards. He experienced the rush of energy he always felt just before battle. Their plan was going to work. He knew it. He felt it.

As their horses drew near, one of the guards called out to a servant inside the house, announcing their arrival. The Umber bracing the doors was thrown aside and the doors swung open. Even as a stable boy was reaching for the reins of their horses, Brice and Angus, heads lowered, hats pulled low, were swinging from the saddle and striding toward the open doors.

Once inside they waited as the servant greeted them and began to close the heavy doors. A movement in the shadows of the courtyard alerted Brice and Angus that their men were in place and already overpowering the unsuspecting guards outside.

Drawing a dirk from his waist Angus held the blade to the servant's throat.

"Step away from the door," he ordered.

The wide-eyed servant obeyed.

"Where is your master?" At the man's momentary silence Brice pulled his sword from the scabbard.

The servant stammered,

"My lord Mackay has gone to his chambers."

"Where?"

The servant pointed up the wide stone stairs.

"And the woman?"

The servant blinked, then stared transfixed at the sword in Brice's hand.

"With my lord Mackay."

Brice's hand tightened about the sword. He would kill Mackay. With his bare hands if necessary.

"And where are his men?"

"In the great hall, my lord." The servant pointed again, then trembled in fear as Brice's men poured through the open front doors.

"Go to Meredith," Angus whispered.

"We will take Mackay's men."

"Aye." With his sword drawn, Brice started up the stairs.

Just then the door to the great hall opened and several of Mackay's men, obviously drunk, stumbled out. For a moment they simply stared at the dozen strangers who advanced on them. Then, with a shout, they drew their weapons.

Within minutes the rest of Mackay's men spilled through the door of the great hall and joined the battle. Though Brice longed to go to Meredith's aid, he knew that his men were greatly outnumbered.

Without a thought to his own safety, he leaped the several steps that separated them and joined in the fighting.

The air was filled with the sound of sword striking sword as every man fought for his life.

Two men advanced on Brice. With flas.h.i.+ng blade he disarmed the first, then traded thrusts with the second soldier, backing him to the wall.

As the soldier brought his arm high for the final thrust, Brice was a step quicker, and his blade pierced the man's heart. Clutching his chest the man dropped to the floor. Before Brice could catch his breath the first man, now armed with another sword, took up the fight.

Again Brice was forced to defend himself.

This man was a far better swordsman than the other. It took all of Brice's skill to evade his thrusts. But at last he left the man gravely wounded.

Turning away, Brice found himself facing three more opponents. As they fought, Brice felt his energy flagging. The wounds from which he had so recently recovered had left him too drained. Had he possessed less skill with a sword, he would have joined the others who lay on the floor of the great hall, writhing and twisting in pain.

"Behind you," Brice shouted to Angus.

Angus turned to find a swordsman about to land a deadly blow. With agile steps Angus managed to evade the man's blade. With one quick thrust, the man joined his comrades who lay dead and wounded.

"My thanks, old friend." As Angus turned his head he saw two swordsmen behind Brice, about to attack while he fended off a third.

Immediately Angus leaped to Brice's aid. But even while he and Brice fought the three, he could see what a terrible effort this battle was costing his friend. Though Brice's thrusts with the sword were still straight and true, there was a sheen on his forehead and his eyes were glazed with pain.

Two men cut between them, dueling until one of them fell. The other quickly joined in the fight against Angus, and he found himself unable to worry any longer about Brice. It would take all of his concentration and skill just to stay alive.

While Brice continued fighting off the attack of two men, a tall, ma.s.sive figure filled the doorway. While Brice stood, sword to sword with his opponents, he glanced up and saw Holden Mackay, his sword at the ready, a look of murderous rage in his eyes.

All feeling of weakness vanished. For Brice there was only a wild, churning hatred for this vicious monster. With a few skillful thrusts Brice disposed of his opponents and advanced upon Mackay.

"What have you done to Meredith?"

For a moment Mackay could only stare at Brice with hate-glazed eyes.

Could it be that the fool did not know? His lips curled back in a sneer of contempt.