Shoving aside the fear that he was right when he said Artan had taken those secrets to the grave, Cecily forced herself to look at Fergus with scorn. “Did ye ne’er think that they might be planning the same fate for you?”
“Of course. I ne’er let myself forget that they have already killed to gain Dunburn and its wealth. It troubles me not. I am a match for them.”
“Intend to rid yourself of Anabel the next time ye share her bed?” She was a little surprised by the look of distaste that crossed his face.
“She wasnae to my taste. The woman enjoys it too much.”
“Itbeing the occasional loving punch in the face?”
He scowled at her. “That bastard told ye about the maid, didnae he? He nearly killed me!”
Cecily snorted. “If he had wanted ye dead, then ye wouldnae be standing here acting so proud of all your crimes.”
“Oh, aye? Just who has won this game, eh?”
“I wouldnae play head cock of the dunghill yet, Sir Fergus. Ye ne’er saw Artan’s body.”
To her amazement he paled and hurried over to the tent opening, calling over one of his men. “Have Tom and his men returned yet?”
“Nay,” replied the man, “we have been waiting for them, but mayhap the fading light slows them down.”
The man did not sound too sure of that, and although Cecily would not have thought it possible, Sir Fergus grew even paler before he abruptly dismissed the man. She watched as Sir Fergus poured himself another tankard of wine and gulped down the whole thing. Artan terrified him.
“See? No body yet.”
“Heisdead,” Sir Fergus hissed, then kicked her in the side. “I left ten men there to see to it. He couldnae survive that.”
“He survived the eight men ye sent after him last time.”
Cecily hastily scrambled out of his way when he tried to kick her again. It might be gratifying to taunt him, but it was not wise. Even as she prayed that she had the right to hope, she planned how she could keep Sir Fergus from beating her too badly or raping her before Artan came for her.
Artan held his sword at the throat of the last man standing, and demanded, “Where has he taken her?”
“He is camped in a clearing about a mile from here. A mile to the north. Ye cannae miss him. He has a huge tent set up. Aye, with pennants on it.”
“Pennants?”
The man nodded, but carefully, all too aware of the sword point but inches from his throat. “He had them made when he was knighted.”
“What is on them?”
“Some wee blue flower and a rampant boar.”
“How fitting. Now, ye are a Donaldson, aye?”
“Aye, her ladyship sent near thirty of us with Sir Fergus.”
“Do ye ken that her ladyship and her rutting swine of a husband are nay the true owners of Dunburn?”
The man grimaced. “’Tis the lass, isnae it?”
“Aye, ’tis the lass, and verra soon Sir Edmund and Lady Anabel will be made to pay for their thievery and for the murder of Lady Cecily’s father and brother.” He nodded when the man just stared at him in shock. “I would suggest that ye slip away home. Now.”
The moment the man ran away, Artan sheathed his sword and whistled for Thunderbolt. He ached all over and had a few small wounds that stung badly, but he had survived hale and strong enough to go after his woman. Hearing a groan, he quickly mounted his horse and started to ride away. Some of the men were starting to wake up and he had no wish to fight them all over again. With one man having fled, one dead, and two seriously wounded, he would only have to fight six, but he did not want to risk it. It was more important to get to Cecily as fast as he could.
He saw the pennant first and nearly laughed. There was so much white in the thing that it fairly glowed like a lantern even in the fading light caused by the increasing clouds. He suspected Sir Fergus’s men were heartily cursing the man’s vanity. Silently, he drew as close as he dared to the back of the tent. Dismounting, he began to move toward the tent when he espied one of the Ogilveys standing guard in front of a shepherd’s shieling. Although he doubted Fergus would have put Cecily in there, he had to check.
After slamming the hilt of his sword into the man’s head, Artan carefully set him on the ground. He pulled aside the oiled leather door of the shieling and found himself staring at two very young men. Despite the fact that he knew he looked like he had been in a hard fight and he held a sword in his hand, both young men smiled at him. Artan suspected it was because they were pleased to see one of their own.
