An odd foreboding rode his back, too, but he quelled his own disquiet long enough to school his features. Daring his friends with his show of calm to reach inside themselves and recover their own.
“I thought they’d come flying down the stairs the moment we rode in,” James said, frowning at the outer stairs.
Cold and wet, the stone steps rose to an equally bleak landing where the hall’s entrance door remained unmoving, its thick, iron-studded strength closed against them.
“I would’ve sworn they’d have waited by thon door,” James declared, dismounting.
Marmaduke clapped a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I’d have enjoyed a warmer welcome, too, my friend.” He forced a smile. “Come, let us tend to these beasts, wash away the muck, and then we shall see what keeps our ladies.”
He broke off at the sound of pounding footsteps.
Black Dugie’s.
The great bear of a man ran toward them, his eyes round and staring, his chest heaving when at last he reached them.
“Dia!” the smithy cried, eyes bulging. “We thought you were dead. Every last one o’ you.”
“Dead?” Gowan snorted. “Dead weary and ready to drown ourselves in ale rather than this slashing rain, but no’ dead as you mean,” he said, swiping his wet forehead with the back of a burly arm.
“It’d take more than a handful of sword-swinging Sassunachs to put MacKenzies to earth.” Sir Alec strode up to them, his own bedraggled and blood-stained appearance making him look every inch a dead man.
“But…” Black Dugie gaped at them, doubt still all over his broad face.
“We may look dead, but I assure you we are very much alive,” James said, speaking to the smithy, but still staring at the hall’s closed door. “Where are our ladies? Why aren’t they here to greet us?”
“Because they will be busy preparing a fine reception for us in the great hall.” Marmaduke slung an arm about James’ shoulders, and hoped he spoke true. “Be glad they-”
“Oh, nae, that isn’t what they’re about,” Black Dugie said, something in his words drawing the attention of all. “They’re huddled at the high table, trying to come up with a way to pay for perpetual prayers for the lot o’ you.”
“Perpetual prayers?” Marmaduke’s astonishment couldn’t have been greater. “Did they have so little faith in our return?”
Black Dugie shuffled his feet. “My pardon, sir, but how could they think otherwise when Sir John told us you’d all been killed?”
“Sir John?” Marmaduke stared at the smithy, incredulity whirling through him.
It couldn’t be.
They’d seen the older Scotsman slain.
“There must be some mistake.” Sir Ross frowned, pulled on his beard. “Sir John cannot have told you aught. The man is dead.”
He glanced at Marmaduke, then back at the smithy. “We saw him cut down.”
“Then his wraith rode in here all a-fire to lie to us.” Black Dugie pointed to the hall door. “He’s up there now. Trying to console your womenfolk.”
“Bluidy hell!” one of the Highlanders growled, his fury accompanied by thezingof metal as he whipped out his sword.
“But…” Gowan puzzled, his rain-flecked brow creasing. “We saw him killed.”
“Nay, my friend,” Marmaduke said, comprehending at last. “We saw him fall from his horse and roll down the hill.”
“Aye, to ride back here and announce our demise,” Ross added, and Marmaduke agreed.
“So it would seem,” he said aloud, reaching for his own steel. “Come, men,” he said, already striding for the keep. “Now we have certainty.”
It was time to corner a swine.
* * *
