Amanda Scott (45 page)

W
ondering if the torch she held could possibly serve as a weapon, Sorcha stood still, trying to calm herself as Waldron approached them. She had slipped the whistle back under her bodice lacing, but it would be of little use to her with no one to hear if she blew it. And to do so would almost certainly infuriate him.

“Light Adela’s torch, Lady Sorcha, and put yours in that holder beside you,” he said. “And do it at once, lass. Don’t think you can defy me.”

Adela moved to Sorcha’s side, holding out the unlit torch she carried. “Here, be quick,” she said. “We must not anger him.”

“Aye, sure,” he said. “You learned that straightaway, did you not, lass?”

Keeping her thoughts to herself, Sorcha lit Adela’s torch but hesitated to relinquish her own, knowing she would feel more vulnerable without it.

In a heartbeat, before she knew he had stirred a muscle, he whipped it from her grasp and raised his free hand to strike.

“Look, sir,” Adela said swiftly, moving toward the glassy lake with her torch. “Do you not agree that these kists must hold the treasure you seek?”

“Stay away from them!” Lowering his hand, he turned toward her.

But Adela seemed not to hear him, for she went straight to the nearer chest, holding her torch so its light fell on the chest.

Waldron was nearly upon her, still carrying Sorcha’s torch.

As Sorcha watched in astonishment, Adela put her free hand to the lid of the chest and tried to raise it. The lid did not move, but to Sorcha’s shock, the chest did.

It slid away from Adela down toward the water.

Adela cried out, and Waldron leaped forward to try to stop its progress. As he did, it slid into the water.

“My apologies, cousin,” Hugo said from the entryway, his sword in hand. “I know you covet all things Sinclair, but that chest does not belong to you.”

Waldron spun, hurling the lit torch at Hugo as he did. Then whipping his sword from the scabbard on his back, he held it in both hands at the ready.

“By heaven, I welcome this day,” he said as he leaped toward Hugo.

To Sorcha’s amazement, although the torch had flown end over end, casting a shower of sparks, Hugo caught it by the handle with his left hand and shoved it into her hands as he passed her to position himself as quickly as Waldron did.

As their swords clashed together, Sorcha moved quickly to put the torch in one of the holders. Her hands were shaking, and she knew that steadier light would be safer for Hugo than light that danced about the cavern.

Adela still held her torch but stood stupefied, apparently frozen in place. Sorcha moved cautiously toward her, keeping her eyes on the men lest they leap her way. When she could reach the blazing torch, she gently took it from Adela. She could not have said why she thought that necessary, only that she did.

Adela did not resist. She seemed scarcely able to breathe, and her eyes did not shift from the combatants. Sorcha dared not speak to her lest one of them distract Hugo, but when she put her free hand on Adela’s arm to draw her farther from the swordsmen, Adela jerked her arm away.

Then Waldron lunged at Hugo, his sword aimed at the center of Hugo’s chest, and Sorcha’s heart threatened to stop beating.

Hugo slashed upward with his sword, catching Waldron’s and deflecting it.

So hard had he struck that Sorcha expected Waldron’s weapon to go flying, but the battle raged on—fearsome, interminable—until Hugo stumbled.

Waldron rushed at him, but Hugo’s sword flashed up again. This time, moving like a cat, he changed direction in midair. Thrusting hard, he leaped forward as Waldron leaped back a pace, forcing him back farther yet.

Then Hugo caught his cousin’s sword yet again with a resounding clang. Knocking it upward as he twisted aside and away, he slashed hard at Waldron as Waldron, recovering, lunged forward again.

Sorcha thought Hugo’s stroke must end the fight, but in a flash, before anyone was aware of her intent, Adela flung herself between the two men.

Waldron grabbed her arm and shoved her away, but he was not quick enough. Hugo’s sword struck them both with his full strength behind it.

Waldron and Adela collapsed to the rocky floor.

Hugo moved swiftly to them, and in stunned horror, Sorcha raced to his side.

“Take care, lass,” he said quietly. “There’s blood everywhere.”

“They are
not
dead,” she said, ignoring his warning to kneel beside Adela. Thrusting the torch at him, she said, “Hold this!” Then, feeling for Adela’s wound, trying to stanch the blood with her bare hands, she muttered, “She cannot die!”

Waldron groaned, but Adela lay terrifyingly still. A sickening amount of blood soaked through her gown and cloak from what appeared to be a deep cut.

Hugo knew that both victims of his slash were in dire straits. He did not much care about his cousin, bleeding heavily from the wound across his chest. He had meant to kill him, so fretting over his injury would be plain hypocrisy.

But it did create a dilemma for him.

He could send Sorcha back alone through the tunnel to the castle, or he could take her with him and Adela. In either case, he’d have to leave Waldron, because he did not know where his own men were. And, even if he had
known, only one of the three in the glen was privy to the cavern’s secrets.

“Where is Einar?” he asked Sorcha.

“Waldron shot him in the back with an arrow,” she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. She had found Adela’s wound and was pressing a wad of her dark cloak against it. As she smoothed strands of hair off Adela’s brow, she added, “I… I had to leave him in the middle of the track. He told me to come here.”

“He’s a good man,” Hugo said, adding gently, “We’ll find him, lass. He was nowhere in sight when I came, and Waldron would not have buried him yet. So he must have gone to ground. I can take only one of them out by myself, though.”

“You’ll take Adela, of course.”

“Aye, but although Waldron may look defenseless and near death, I dare not leave him here alone. And I cannot simply spit the man whilst he’s unconscious.”

“I’ll watch him,” she said impatiently. “Just help Adela.”

“I don’t like leaving you alone with him,” he said. “But if you’ll tear a strip off your shift, then hold this damned torch for me, I’ll bind her up to slow her bleeding. We’ve people at Roslin who can help her, but I can do little for her here.”

“How did you get here?”

“I left the men with Michael and my father at Edgelaw when we realized Waldron had got away. I feared what he’d do if he caught you, but once he found this place, I doubt he thought of anything but those chests.”

“Adela pointed them out to him,” Sorcha said as she ripped away as much of her cambric shift as she could
and handed it to him, taking back the torch. “But you knew they were here,” she added as she went to set it in a holder.

“Aye,” he said, ripping Adela’s clothing from the wound near her shoulder. He quickly did what he could for her, then moved to examine Waldron.

His cousin was still alive, but the wound in his chest was dreadful, his breathing rough, irregular, and congested. Hugo knew he would not last long.

Waldron’s eyes flickered open and seemed to focus on Hugo, but he did not try to speak and they shut again.

Hugo glanced at Sorcha, trying to judge the limits of her strength.

“What is it?” she demanded. “Do you think I’ll be afraid? I won’t be.”

“I know that,” he said gently. “You have the heart of a lion, Skelpie, but for mercy’s sake, don’t try to aid him.”

“I won’t.” She had come close again and stood watching Adela.

“You keep well away from him,” he said. “He’s got little strength left, but he’s already proven himself well nigh indestructible, so don’t go near enough to let him catch hold of you. I see you still have your whistle,” he added. “Blow it if you need me. I’ll not be far. I’ll just shout up my lads and send Adela on her way.”

She nodded, but he knew she barely heeded him, her thoughts now solely for her sister’s welfare.

“We’ll devise a way to get her to Roslin as quickly and comfortably as we can,” he said. “My aunt and her people will do the rest. They are very skilled.”

“Could you not just carry her through the tunnel?” Sorcha asked.

He glanced at Waldron to see if he was paying heed, hoping that if he was, his mind would be too addled from loss of blood to realize she did not speak of the passageway through which they had just come.

Satisfied that he was too weak to do much at all, Hugo said, “I won’t be long. If one of those torches starts to sputter, there are more in that chest by the dais.”

He picked up Adela as gently as he could and strode toward the passageway.

Sorcha watched as Hugo disappeared into the passage with Adela. Then, hearing a sound behind her, she turned back toward Waldron.

To her astonishment, he was struggling to sit up.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

He was sitting now. He tried to stand.

“I want to look into the water,” he said weakly but as if it were a natural thing to want to do at such a time. “Come, lass, help me up.”

“You’re daft if you think I’m getting anywhere near you,” she said. “You’re an evil man, Waldron of Edgelaw, but you are
not
an immortal one. Lie down, save your strength, and you may yet survive this day. I’ll help Sir Hugo tend your wound when he returns, but that is all I’ll do for you, and I’ll do it only because I believe you sacrificed yourself to save Adela.”

“You’re the daft one if you think that,” he growled. “I did what I had to do when your fool of a sister tried to interfere, but I’ll live yet to finish God’s work.”

“She saved your life, and you know it,” Sorcha said.
“She rushed between you because she feared Sir Hugo would kill you. She was watching him, not you. Still, if she lives, ’tis because of you.”

“You’re mad, or she is,” he muttered, but his tone was sulky, like a boy talking of something that discomfited or embarrassed him.

“Neither of us is mad,” she said. “Still, I don’t know why she tried to save you. You probably raped her. You’ve certainly done all you could to ruin her. Did you know she loved Hugo? Is that why you did it?”

“Faugh, she does not love him,” he said. “Anyone can see that you’re the one who does, except perhaps our doltish Hugo.”

“My feelings are of no concern to you or anyone else,” she snapped. “And Adela does love him. But, doubtless, she fears he will not want her now.”

“I did not rape her,” he said. “She is as chaste as she was when I took her, not that you or others will believe that unless she submits to examination.”

“She would enter a nunnery first,” Sorcha said. Oddly, though, she believed him. “Why didn’t you rape her?”

He snapped, “She is too old to tempt me.” But he looked away as he said it.

“You’re lying,” she retorted. “As evil as you are, you’d ravish a hag to hear her screams or if you thought hearing them would distress others. You are no servant of God, sir! The devil is more likely to seize you when you die.”

“You have a sordid imagination for one so young,” he said. His voice had grown weaker, and he seemed to realize what that meant, because he stopped speaking and struggled harder to get to his feet.