"Aye, and have led you right to their gates, led you deep into their lands, amidst their allies and kinsmen."
Harold lunged at her, and, to her surprise, Martin grabbed him. For a few minutes the two men staggered around the chamber as Harold cursed and threatened Martin, but, despite the blows he took, Martin did not let go. Finally, Harold grew still. Martin slowly released him and stepped back. Harold drew his sword and held it on Martin so quickly, Jolene gasped. She put her hand to the back of Reynard's head and kept his face pressed against her, certain murder was about to be done. Either Martin had more confidence in his worth to Harold than she did, or, for his own reasons, he refused to draw a sword on the man, for he just stood there. Then she caught the glint of a knife's blade by his hip and realized the man held a knife in his hand. She knew Martin could deliver a mortal wound with that before Harold could make good use of his sword. All the men stood tensely, watching, and Jolene had the strong feeling that their loyalty lay more with Martin than with Harold.
"You would defend the little bitch?” Harold asked in a voice hoarse with fury.
"For now,” replied Martin. “If naught else, she holds the boy and he must not be harmed."
Harold shuddered faintly and closed his eyes, then slowly resheathed his sword. “I will deal with her later."
Martin nodded and his knife disappeared. “If you wish. You might also consider the possibility of using her to keep the Camerons from slaughtering us.” There was the whisper of agreement from the other men in the chamber.
"The Camerons? They are no real threat. They have done nothing but run from us, have ne'er e'en tried to face us or fight us."
"Not yet.” Martin watched Harold until the man began to frown, obviously considering Martin's words. “There were but six of them and they had her and the boy with them. It might have seemed cowardly to some that they did naught but elude us, but I did not see it thus. It was clever and the right choice of tactic. She is right. We are now deep in their lands, surrounded by his kinsmen and his allies. We are now the ones outnumbered, the ones hiding from the hunters."
Jolene looked around at the men in the chamber who all watched Harold closely. It was very clear to see that they all agreed with Martin and waited to see if Harold would as well. They understood that they had been caught in an ever tightening net and they wanted out of it. She strongly suspected that, if Harold did not begin to show that he had more interest in getting out of the trap alive than in revenge, he would find himself without any swords to call to his aid. Jolene smothered the sudden hope that a rebellion in the ranks could offer her a chance to escape, but she still watched closely for one.
"And, I suppose you have some plan?” Harold asked, mockery weighting every word.
"Aye, I do,” replied Martin, ignoring the taunt. “We use the boy to get the English swords sheathed and we use her to get us safely out of this cursed country.” Martin sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “She is Sir Sigimor's wife. If naught else, honor will demand that he do whate'er he must to protect her and keep her alive. Between ransoming the boy to the English and her to the Scots, we may yet come out of this tangle with a heavy purse. At least we have a chance of coming out of this alive. Study this as I do; the only other choice I see is that we try to at least make it a little difficult for them to slaughter us."
A faint sound plucked at Jolene's attention, but she fought to ignore it. What was happening between Martin and Harold was too important to miss. Her fate was in the balance here. She knew Harold needed to make her pay for all he had lost, for the failure of all his plots, but, if Martin convinced him that she could be of use to them, her chance of survival rose. She silently prayed for Harold to heed Martin's advice, to hold her as a shield between them and the Camerons until they could reach a port and flee to France. The thought of spending days as Harold's captive was a chilling one, but she would be alive, and she knew that Sigimor would come after her.
Sigimor gently lowered to the ground the body of the man he had just killed and then scowled at the old church. Beneath the slowly crumbling building was Jolene. She had been in Harold's hands for an hour, maybe even longer. The thought of what that man might have already done to her had his stomach twisted in knots. It took all of his willpower, and the occasional watchful presence of Liam, to stop himself from simply racing down to the burial chambers screaming for Harold's blood.
From the moment Fergus had told him Jolene was gone, he had felt cold with fear, a fear for her. Even more so, a fear of losing her, of not being able to save her. It was almost impossible to keep his mind from conjuring up grim images of what Harold had said he would do to her. He kept hearing the man speak of his plans for her. Logic told him that Harold could not accomplish much in the time he had had, but Sigimor was not having much success at remaining logical at the moment. It also only took an instant to kill someone, his mind kept whispering to him.
"The guards are all cleared away, inside and out,” said Liam as he stepped up next to Sigimor.
"Aye,” said Somerled as he moved to stand on Sigimor's other side. “Those two Scots fled for the hills, didnae e'en warn these men."
"No honor amongst thieves,” murmured Tait, crouching by the body of the man Sigimor had killed and studying him closely. “Hired swords, I think. If we can get the ones below cornered or surrounded, they might well surrender."
"How do we get in?” Sigimor asked, knowing that concentrating on the battle ahead of them was the only thing keeping him sane.
"Three ways,” replied Liam. “There were guards at the opening of only two so I think we can safely assume they dinnae ken about the third."
"Mayhap one of those swift-footed Scots was supposed to guard it."
"Nay. They had been set out to watch for us, probably to warn Harold if our search drew too close to them. When we headed straight here, moving with some stealth, they realized that we were nay longer searching and decided the game was lost. Decided to leave the Sassenachs to their fate and save their own necks. Our plan?"
"Tell me where the entrances are and where ye think Harold will have set up his little refuge."
Sigimor closed his eyes and listened carefully, relaxing a little when Liam and Somerled both said there was only one chamber below where Harold and his men could camp in any comfort. After a moment's thought, he began to disperse the nearly thirty men with him, seven through each entrance and the rest to stay above and make sure none of Harold's men escaped, as well as to stand guard at their backs. They decided on how much time would be needed for each group to get into position and Sigimor chose a signal to annouce the attack. Nanty stayed above with the guards, Somerled took six men to the main entrance inside the church, Liam took six more to the hidden inside entrance, and Sigimor took six to the outside entrance only feet away from the man he had killed.
Moving through the passageway was slow work and Sigimor cursed the dark every step of the way. Then a faint light began to pierce the dark and he smiled. Harold was near and it took every scrap of control he had to keep moving slowly. His well-trained men needed no signal to press close to the wall as the sound of voices reached them. Inching along until he reached the end of the passage, Sigimor chanced a peek inside. He counted six men, and Harold and the man he was standing with, a man Sigimor recalled from Drumwich called Martin.
Just as he was about to pull back into the full shadows, Sigimor heard a soft sniff. He glanced to the right and nearly gave himself away with an abrupt cry of joy. Jolene sat on the floor barely two feet away. She was set snug in the corner made by the wall of the chamber and a large stone coffin, holding Reynard in her lap, and watching Harold closely. Sigimor quickly pressed himself back into the shadow and closed his eyes, feeling nearly weak-kneed with relief. Jolene did not appear to even have a bruise.
"Your idea has some merit,” Harold said. “I must think about it."
"What is there to think about?"
"I need to think of a way to do as you say, but keep hold of Jolene."
Martin swore. “That woman isnae worth dying for!"
"I do not intend to die for her."
