Marmaduke grabbed the man’s arm. “He was English?”
The smithy nodded. “I heard him speak. He cursed me to hell and back when I ruined his second shot. He was aiming for you again, or maybe Lady Caterine. I don’t know, but I jumped him and-”
“How do we know you didn’t loose the arrow that nearly struck Sir Marmaduke?” Sir John grated, suspicion blazing in his eyes.
Keeping his mount, he glanced from the body to the bloodied battle-ax still in Black Dugie’s hand. “Perhaps you axed that poor soul so you could blame him for your own dark deed?”
Black Dugie flung down the ax and clenched meaty fists. “I’ll own I hacked at him a few times but no’ so good as to kill him.”
He turned to Marmaduke. “Word was no’ to kill anyone because you’d want to question any troublemakers,” he said, somewhat calmer. “The second arrow did him in, no’ my ax.”
“An arrow you could have shot.” That from James.
“Nay, he couldn’t have,” Marmaduke said, grimacing at the implication. “The arrow came from thon woods.”
Shifting in his saddle, he pointed his sword at a wooded knoll some distance away. “It exited from there.”
And whoever fired it, meant to silence that wretch’s tongue before Black Dugie could haul him before me.
Keeping that sentiment to himself, Marmaduke sheathed his steel, no longer concerned that a second assassin lurked in the surrounding woods.
His instincts – and a chill slithering down his spine – told him the danger lurked much closer.
So keenly aware of treachery he could taste its foulness on the frosty air, he clamped a hand on the smithy’s blood-sullied shoulder. “I am indebted to you,” he said simply, but meant every word.
“I’d like to see you tending Dunlaidir’s forge, but if you so desire, you are welcome to accompany me to Balkenzie when I leave. I am in need of a good smith.”
The big man inclined his head, clearly not used to praise.
James’ face colored. “And what of Dunlaidir?”
“A new smithy would be found and engaged before my departure,” Marmaduke assured him. “One equally skilled, never worry.”
“Humph,” James returned, but nodded.
Sir John began muttering under his breath about insolents and rabble.
Marmaduke ignored him. “Do something with the body, then take yourself to Eoghann,” he ordered Black Dugie, lifting his voice above Sir John’s grumbles.
“I’ll make sure he prepares a bath and fresh clothes for you. Then join us in the hall for the wedding feast.” He let go of the smith’s shoulder, but clapped him on the arm before he turned away. “You will be made welcome, I promise.”
That settled, Marmaduke swung up onto his saddle and schooled his features into his best set-faced expression, then looked at the other two men.
James.
Sir John.
One, a traitor.
But, why?
He burned to know, and would, but first, he’d bide his time. An enemy watched closely was a harmless one.
He also had other matters weighing on his mind.
“Come, my bride waits,” he said, heeding the most pressing of them. “And we, my good men, have a long night ahead of us.”
Chapter 33
