Ailis sighed, then frowned as she realized the man-at-arms who had ridden off with Alexander had not returned. “And where is Red Ian? Was there some trouble in the village?”
“Nay. Red Ian stayed at the inn to try and increase Father MacNab’s sobriety. Come, dinna be so nervous.”
“I just have a bad feeling about all of this, Alexander. A very bad feeling,” she murmured as she looked around and fixed her gaze upon a small clutch of hens in the churchyard.
When Alexander saw where she was looking, he muttered a mild curse. “I would have thought ye too clever to be unsettled by a child’s warnings and bad dreams. Ye have let them turn ye into a coward,” he added, hoping to goad her out of her hesitation. He did not like being outside of Rathmor, either, and he wanted to get their business with the priest done as quickly as possible so that they could return to the safety of his keep.
“Caution is not cowardice,” she snapped and nudged her horse toward the village. “I just practice it differently. So, since there was no sign of the enemy, let us go and see this wine-soaked man of God.”
Malcolm MacCordy grunted as he dragged the unconscious MacDubh man into a back room of the inn. He dropped the burly redhead down next to the unconscious priest. It was an insult that he was made to perform such menial chores, but it had one advantage he could not ignore. There was less killing. Donald or any of the others would have cut the men’s throats. Malcolm was satisfied just to tie them up and ensure that they would stay quiet.
“Hurry on with it, Malcolm,” Donald grumbled as he strode into the room and scowled at the two men Malcolm was tying together. “Ye make extra work for yourself with these acts of mercy.”
“I have no wish to get the blood of a priest on my hands.” Malcolm donned the priestly garb he had stripped from the drunken Father MacNab.
“I hadna realized ye were such a religious man.”
“I am not, but I see no wisdom in courting excommunication or worse. Are the men all placed as we had planned?”
“Aye. The trap is set. It but awaits ye to take up your place and for the prey to step inside.”
As Malcolm pulled the cowl over his head to conceal his features, he inwardly sighed. Everything was going as planned. The spy they had insinuated into Rathmor had proved well worth the coin paid to him. They had all worked so hard since the MacDubhs had taken Ailis and the children, and now their hard work was to be rewarded. Malcolm knew he should be echoing the gloating of his kinsmen. He suspected that his character was weak enough that he would be if he was to share in some way in the rewards for this act of treachery. But there would be no benefit to him, so he could afford the hint of morality, even a small, silent act or two of rebellion. Malcolm would do as his kinsmen demanded, but he would pray that the trap they set would fail. He would pray that their traps failed and that there was very little blood spilled.
He would also pray for little Ailis, he decided. At best the day would end with her escape; at worst she would end up back in Donald MacCordy’s hands. If Donald meant even half of the threats he had made, Malcolm would not wish the fate of marriage to the man on any woman. From all he had heard, the Laird of Rathmor had become a cold, cynical man, but Ailis would not be brutalized. Malcolm could not say the same for the lass’s treatment at Donald’s hands. Donald was furious, and he would undoubtedly take that anger out on his bride—a bride who now carried the taint of an enemy’s touch.
Malcolm sat in a shadowy corner and bandaged up his foot to match the priest’s. He was just resting his foot on a stool when the arrival of MacDubh and Ailis was announced. The way his kinsmen scurried out of sight reminded Malcolm a little too much of vermin rushing to the shadows after being abruptly exposed to the light. Since he was about to help them gain a victory, it was an uncomfortable insight to have. He tugged the cowl over his face a little more and swore to himself that he would work harder to break free of his kinsmen before his hands became too stained with their crimes. In an attempt to steady his nerves, he took a long drink of ale as he waited for the confrontation with MacDubh and Ailis.
Ailis frowned at the low, thatched-roof inn when they reined in before it. She found the name of the place a matter of concern and almost said something to Alexander as he helped her dismount. One look into Alexander’s alluring blue eyes told her that she would be wise not to comment on the inn’s being called the Red Hen. Nor the unusual number of chickens clucking about the deeply rutted road, she mused as they walked into the inn and had to shoo away a fat squawking hen right in front of the door. Complete silence on the matter was far more than she could manage, however.
“There are an awful lot of chicken signs,” she murmured as he ducked through the low door and tugged her in after him. “Are ye certain this place is safe?”
“Ailis, ye must not allow yourself to be ruled by superstition.” Alexander scolded himself as much as he did her, for he was feeling uneasy. “There sits our priest. Angus, ye should watch the door.”
“Aye, but ye watch your back. I have an ill feeling about this.” Angus scowled toward the priest. “Where is Red Ian?”
“Probably just off relieving himself. We will move quickly, Angus. I dinna mean to linger here.”
With Jaime and the second man-at-arms right behind them, Alexander took Ailis over to the priest. She found the way the man was shrouded from view by his cowl and the shadows almost as troubling as the fact that a half-devoured roasted chicken cluttered the table he sat at. One sign she could have talked herself into ignoring, but the signs had accumulated to the point of making her want to turn around and run back to Rathmor. She wondered if Alexander had guessed that, for his grip upon her hand had tightened slightly.
“I hope ye have sobered some, Father MacNab,” Alexander said. “We want no delay in the service.”
“ ‘Twill soon be done.” Malcolm held out his hand toward Ailis. “Come closer, m’child. Let me see you.”
“There isna time for all these niceties,” Alexander protested, yet released Ailis’s hand so that she could step closer to the priest.
“Patience, my son.”
Even as Ailis put her hand into the cowled man’s, she knew it was a big mistake. She gave a soft cry of alarm and tried to yank her hand back, but it was too late. The man pulled her toward him so abruptly that she fell into his lap. He wrapped his arm around her chest, entrapping her arms at her side. The thought that he was very strong for a drunken priest was just passing through her mind when she felt the touch of cold steel across her throat. As the man urged her to lean against him more firmly, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and her heart skipped to a brief stop.
“Malcolm,” she whispered. “Nay!”
“Aye, my bonny lassie.” He watched MacDubh, Jaime, and the man-at-arms with them. “Dinna move, laddies. She has a very wee neck and soft skin. ‘Twill be very easy to cut her throat.”
Before any of her companions could move, the room filled up with MacCordy men. Ailis groaned as she saw Donald, Duncan, and William approach. She cried out when the MacDubh man-at-arms tried to prevent his laird from being attacked or taken prisoner, and Donald callously cut him down. Jaime and Alexander were unable to act, for they were quickly surrounded by MacCordy men. Even if Jaime had been armed and could have fought beside Alexander, there were simply too many swords pointed their way. It would be a hopeless fight. Ailis could see Angus’s body slumped in the doorway. Along with a touch of grief for the man, she felt the chill of hopelessness. There would be no one to warn Barra, thus there could be little or no chance for rescue, at least not in time to help them before they were trapped at Leargan.
“So, my betrothed, ye are returned to me.” Donald stepped forward and, grasping her by the wrist, yanked her out of Malcolm’s hold. ‘”Tis a shame ye havena come back as ye left,” he said in an almost friendly tone before he backhanded her across the face.
“Nay!” bellowed Jaime as Ailis nearly fell back into Malcolm’s lap again only to have Donald pull her back his way. “Leave her be—ye will hurt the bairn!” A half-dozen men clung to Jaime to hold him in place despite his efforts to reach Ailis.
