One Snowy Knight (34 page)

“Stupid cow,” he said through gritted teeth as he landed on his feet, trying to jerk the rope from around his thigh. He reached up and behind, to wrap his hand around the hilt of his broadsword, but had to stop as Ella flew at him like a berserker, her right arm back with a knife in her hand. Noel had never hit a woman before, but he did not hesitate to draw up his foot and give her a hard shove to the belly, sending her backward.

“To me!” he shouted to Guillaume waiting outside. “To me!”

Pulling the sword, he took steps toward Skena, only to have Ella jump him, latching on to his sword arm and swinging him off balance. The woman was heavy as a man her size and muscular. She slapped out with one hand trying to scratch his face. Forced to keep the crazed woman off him, dodging, careful she did not put out an eye, he had a hard time seeing what was happening. Skena tugged Muriel and the kids to their feet, and was pushing them farther back in the darkened corner, but then Dorcas grabbed Skena by her long hair and dragged her forward, nearly jerking her off her feet. Noel’s eyes searched for Fadden; he spotted his head behind Skena, who was still struggling with the redhead.

Fed up with thrashing about with Ella, he flung the woman to the stone floor. Once more, he started to Skena. Only this time, instead of attacking him, Ella rushed toward Muriel and the twins. Muriel stepped to shield Skena’s children, catching Ella’s arm as she slashed through the air with the dagger. With her hands twisted with age, Muriel was no match for the stout Ella. The knife caught Muriel on the upper arm, rending fabric and reaching the flesh beneath. Ready to strangle the loathsome woman, Noel seized Ella and dragged her away from the valiant Muriel.

The light in the room shifted as someone grabbed the torch from the wall sconce. Then suddenly the room went to darkness, just as Guillaume and Mallory came through the entrance. Noel shoved Ella toward them, letting them deal with the crazed female.

Muriel collapsed against Noel’s arm, sobbing. The children clung to his legs, hugging him. He wanted to comfort them, but he had to reach Skena.

“Torches! Bring torches!” Noel yelled the command.

Torches were brought in, the yellow light banishing the impenetrable darkness. Everyone blinked as the light in the tower revealed Skena was gone.

“Where the hell is Skena?” Noel snarled his demand.

Guillaume moved around the circular hall, poking the torch into several openings that obviously had been intended for small rooms. “She is gone.”

“Merde! Think me a halfwit? I can see that. So are Fadden and that bitch Dorcas.” Noel bit back the howl of madness rising in his throat.

Perplexed, Guillaume glanced around. “Mayhap a tunnel into a cave?” he suggested.

“Aye, could be.” Galen added, “Tis one under Craigendan. Two others on this side of the loch.”

Guillaume moved to the fireplace. “Always figured it none too smart to hole up in a tower with no path to escape. You could run out of food and water, not a detail you overlook in finding a place to make a stand. To my way of thinking, people clever enough to devise these brochs and place them so perfectly would never put themselves in a trap. If there was a passage, then they had the choice of slipping away before they were doomed.”

In question, Guillaume looked to Noel, who in turn rounded on Ella. “Where is the entrance, old woman?”

“I ken naught. Cut out my tongue for I will never tell you, English.” Eyes gleaming, Ella stuck out her square chin, happy at the turn of events and oddly not comprehending the bad position she was now in. “My Dorcas is with your Skena. Mayhap you will get a dead woman back for your bed, Lord de Servian. Like that turn of fate?”

Noel’s hand lashed out before she could blink, wrapped around her thick neck, and squeezed. She strangled, her arms striking out frantically trying to hit him. Ignoring her, he held her stiff-armed, keeping himself out of her reach. The old woman was surprisingly strong, but she could do no more than flail against the arm that held her. “You best get down on your knees and use that tongue, pray I find her unharmed, you swort hag, for if I do not I will snap your neck like a twig and feed you to your pigs whilst you draw a last breath. Now where
is
the tunnel entrance?”

Ella looked into his eyes and saw he stone cold meant every word of his threat. She finally gasped, “He did not tell me, always kept everythin’ to himself. I do not ken. He first said he’d take them to the sheiling in the hills, and leave the Comyn
plaide
to make you ride toward his land. But the storm came, and he changed plans. He has been holding up here. Said it was better to fetch them to the broch. Stupid Muriel saw the children going off with Dorcas and followed.”

Frustrated, Noel turned back to Galen. “Do you know where the damn thing is?”

He shook his head. “This place was long abandoned before I was a bairn. Such knowledge would be something only the laird would ken and naught any others. Never a servant such as myself.”

“Noel,” Guillaume called, “the peat is mashed down and has a clear footprint in the middle. There must be a way through the back of the fireplace.”

“Find it,” Noel barked as he bent over to inspect the stone structure.

Skena’s foot hit something hard, slamming her down onto her hands and knees, a groan forced from her body. The rough, uneven stones on the cave floor abraded her palms, stinging. Just as she started to get up, Dorcas perversely kicked her backside. She struggled to keep from going face down in the dirt again. Fury bubbling inside her, Skena gritted her teeth against the pains. Recalling her
sgian dubh
was still tucked in her belt at her back, she resisted the urge to plant it in Dorcas’s thigh.

“Get up, Skena.” Daragh came back, tilting the torch to dispel the impenetrable darkness.

“I am trying, lackwit! Your bastard whore, spawn of a pig woman—” Skena flinched as Dorcas delivered another kick to her rump. “If you want me on my feet and walking, call off your stupid bitch!”

Dorcas took a step to kick her again, but Daragh moved between them. The two stared at each other in the flickering torchlight. At length he spoke, his tone soft, but menacing. “Dorcas, you came because you feared staying behind and facing Lord de Servian. Cease contrarying me with your petty jealousies. Let Skena be. Kicking her when she falls only slows our escape and gives the Englishman time to follow.”

“But you said he could not find the tunnel entrance. Even if he does, you jammed the boulder against the passage to block them from pushing it open,” Dorcas pointed out in a tight, frustrated voice.

“Stupid cow, you think he will give up when he fails to discover the way into the tunnel?” Daragh’s look was one of exasperation. “Someone will likely tell him of the caves and then the bloody
Sasunnach
will come after us. I hope for enough time to get away in the boat. If we can cross the loch, mayhap we have a chance of reaching Duncan Comyn.”

Dorcas glared. “Leave her. Kill her now. She slows us down.”

“Us?” His brow lifted in mocking. “You are what slows us. Skena comes—a shield should de Servian catch us. Moreover, Comyn will give us shelter if we hand him the lady of Craigendan as a prize. Listen well; you hold little value now since you are naught but Ella’s get. Do not make me stop and upbraid your stupidity again.” Finally satisfied Dorcas would not cross him, Daragh used his free hand to catch Skena’s lower arm and help her to her feet.

To hurry her along as they passed through the dark cavern, Daragh kept a hold on her arm. Steps rushed, her foot came down on something with a loud snap. She jumped, scared. Skena had been in the cave under Craigendan many times, but it was kept dry and clean. No animals ever got into that area, as they kept a wooden fence over the passage into the bowels of the fortress. As she moved through the long shadows, which seemed to swallow the light from the single torch, her nose disquietingly detected a fetid smell heavy with urine. That caused an alarm within her.

“What is it?” Daragh tugged on her arm when Skena backed up.

Taking hold of her kirtle’s sides, she raised the hem and glanced down. “I stepped on something.” He lowered the torch to illuminate the cave floor littered with sticks of white.

“Awh! Bones!” Skena hopped back, yanking to break free from his grasp. Her eyes searched the tops of the rocks, many overhanging, almost forming a natural ledge on either side, just above their heads. “Wolves! Och, ’tis their lair.” Images of both times she had faced the animals flashed through her mind, causing her stomach to knot.

Daragh whipped around in all directions and lifted the torch high to see along the ledge on both sides. “No wolves here.”

“This is their lair,” Skena insisted. “Look at all the bones. They drag their kills back here and eat them. You can smell their rank stench.”

Dorcas, who had been trailing behind, tugged her mantle around her and moved closer to the circle of light. “Let us flee this accursed place before they return. Likely they hunt, but will come back if this storm continues.”

“We only have a short distance. Come.” He put a hand on Skena’s back and nudged her forward.

After two twists through the rocks, cold wind and blowing snow greeted them. They had reached the cave’s mouth. Uneasy, Skena glanced back, wondering if Noel had found the passage yet. Was he only steps behind them?

Just at the edge of the cove, an overturned boat was half hidden by some brush. Letting go of Skena’s arm, Daragh hurriedly cleared away the pine limbs with his free hand, and then ordered, “Here, help me get the boat to the loch. ’Tis easier to carry if we lift whilst ’tis still right side down.”

Forming her face into a harsh scowl, Dorcas stood unmoving. “Help carry the boat? A boat that is made to hold only two?”

Cautiously, Skena shifted her arm under the mantle, reaching behind to wrap her hand around the hilt of the
sgian dubh.
“Och, I hold no desire to ride in that becursed thing on Loch Shane Mohr at night in a snowstorm. You have my hearty approval to leave me behind.”

“Skena, whilst my plans have changed—and likely may yet change again—you come. Comyn wants Craigendan and you. You are my ransom. As long as I hold you, I have something to barter with. If not him, then I am sure the Campbells will aid me. They evidently wish a foothold in Glen Shane as well.”

“And where does that leave me? There is no room for three in that boat you want me to help you carry,” Dorcas fussed.

Daragh gave her a half smile. “I admire your grasp of the obvious, Dorcas. You, of course, regretfully must stay behind. I do not ken your loch well enough to risk overloading the small craft. De Servian will be out for blood, but I seriously doubt he will take it out on you. Howbeit, if you fear his wrath, then hide in the cave until first light; at dawn, make your way to Campbell land. I am sure they will take you in. A
talented
lass such as yourself will always find a bed to warm.”

“Hide in the cave where wolves will return? This is the reward for all the help I have given you?” Her voice rose in ire.

“Things change, lass. As The MacIain’s by-blow you were an asset. As the daughter of Ella? You are worth a handful of wind. My schemes have come a cropper because of you and that fat old woman. Count your blessings I must press on instead of giving you just dues for that turn. I needs must salvage what I can. You best do same. You will land on your feet—you have the way of the cat about you.”

“Then force Skena to carry the boat,” Dorcas refused. “I see no reason to help.”

Skena took a step back. “I cannot carry anything, thanks to Dorcas’s kicking me into the dirt. My hands are cut and bleeding.” She held out one palm—her left one—to show she was telling the truth.

“Both of you cease defying me. I’d just as soon split your throats and leave you here for the wolves,” Daragh threatened.

Skena forced a laugh. “Clearly, you are used to dealing with lackwit Dorcas and crazy Ella. You will not kill me—your bartering tool. Kill me and de Servian will follow you to the ends of the earth to destroy you. I cannot carry the boat. My hands are raw and bleeding.”

Not deigning to reply, Daragh turned to Dorcas. He leaned the torch forward, briefly touching the ends of her long red hair, close enough to singe one strand. The pungent smell of the curling hair filled the air. “Pick…up…the…boat, Dorcas.”

With that small threatening gesture, he warned he would kill her, or, worse in Dorcas’s mind, set her hair aflame. If she lived long enough to put it out, she would likely be disfigured, a hideous mockery of the beautiful woman she now was. Dorcas swallowed hard. Oh, her eyes flashed daggers of hatred toward the brother of the man she had loved, but she knew now was not the moment to cross him.

“What about her? I care naught if her hands are bloody. She should still help move the boat,” she complained.

“Two will manage just fine—”

Dorcas protested, “But she will run off, lackwit.”

Sticking the torch into the snow, Daragh pulled out a thin thong of leather from the small bag tied at his waist. “Hold out your hands, Skena.”

“Nay,” she backed up another step. “My hands will not stop bleeding. I hold them against my kirtle to staunch them. Tying them will only see it worsen, maybe fester. I shall become a millstone for you if I bleed too much and become weak, useless if I rage with a fever when you drag me before Duncan Comyn.”

His frown was chilling. “Fine.” He slapped out and caught her neck. Threading the leather under her hair, he secured the loop around her throat. “Mind, do not make me tug on it, Skena. The knot will tighten. Might make you strangle.”

Skena’s left fingers clawed at the leather where it curled around her neck. “Again, a half choked woman is no asset, eh?”

Furious, Daragh gave a yank on the cord. Instantly, it tightened. She wiggled two fingers under the band, but winced when the thin strip of leather cut into the raw scrapes. In feint, she gave a strangled cough, knowing by the single torchlight he could not discern that she prevented the thong from cutting off her air.

“Now we move the boat. Skena come.” He scooped up the torch and gave them a smile, little more than a bearing of teeth. Once more, it conjured images of that wolf as he had dared to venture closer to her standing over de Servian.

Recognizing he would not accept blether from either of them, Dorcas knelt down and lifted the rear end of the boat. “This is heavy,” she grumbled.

“Not trusting either of you with the torch, I hold it and Skena’s tether in one hand, so I lift with only partial strength with my left arm,” he snarled, wasting breath to explain the obvious. “Sorry,” he said, clearly not meaning the sentiment.

As they moved away from the mouth of the cave, Daragh gave a stiff pull on the leather cord, forcing Skena to follow them or fall. Using common sense, she had chosen not to put up resistance in the cave. The prospect of being cornered in there if the wolves returned from the hunt was daunting. Also, there simply was no place to escape. The walls were barely wide enough for three people. She had failed to notice any branches off the main one, nor did she relish running down some passage in the dark, with no idea where it led or where her next footfall would land. That left retracing their route to the passage entrance at the back of the fireplace. A bad choice. Daragh could run faster than she could, so would overtake her. Even if she accidently reached the opening with space to breathe, she doubted she could shove the rock back from where Daragh had wedged it. Logic said get out into the open where she might stand a chance of eluding him and possibly hide long enough for Noel to come.

That Noel would come she never doubted for an instant. He would come. She merely needed to buy time until he arrived.

“Set the boat down and help turn it over,” Daragh said, dropping his side of the wooden craft. When the boat was flipped, he pushed it into the edge of the black water, and ordered, “Get in, Lady Craigendan.”

When she stood there, he gave another sharp tug on the leather, a reminder to obey. “Go ahead and choke me to death, Daragh Fadden; better that than getting in that leaky boat. Loch Shane Mohr is treacherous for people unfamiliar with it. In places, rocks are hidden just under the surface and will rip that boat to pieces.” Skena backed up, straining against the leather at the back of her neck.

As Daragh moved toward Skena, Dorcas seized the chance to dart off in the darkness. His head whipped around to his right; he watched her disappear into the snowy gloom. He shrugged. “She must figure to outrun de Servian before he can catch her.”