“Why are all the MacIvors sitting outside the camp?” Cecily asked Bennet, who was escorting her to Sir Fergus’s tent.
“’Tis a puzzle, lass,” replied Bennet; then he grinned. “Howbeit, I think whate’er game they play it is to our advantage.”
“I pray ye are right. I dinnae ken what my uncle’s plan is, but I suspect any advantage will aid him in carrying it out.” She frowned when, at the opening to the tent, two Ogilvey men stopped Bennet and relieved him of his weapons—but still held him back. “He is disarmed now, so why willnae ye let him come in?”
“Only you,” said the shorter of the two men.
“Go on in, lass,” said Bennet. “’Tis no matter. We didnae really think they would let me step inside with ye.”
Heartily wishing yet again that Angus had told her what his plan was, Cecily stepped inside the tent. It took a moment for her eyes to accustom themselves to the darker interior, but when they did, she immediately sought out Artan. Her first sight of him made her fear that she would actually swoon and ruin all of Angus’s plans. He was tied hand and foot and leashed. Even in the position he was in, half curled up on his side, she could see that he suffered from several sword wounds and had been badly beaten. She started to move toward him but a faint shake of his head brought her to her senses.
She turned her attention to Sir Fergus and caught him watching her very intently. Instinct told her that if she had rushed to Artan’s side as she had wished to and exclaimed over his injuries, it could have cost Artan dearly. It would have accomplished what Angus wanted, keeping Sir Fergus’s attention fixed firmly on her, but she suspected using Artan to accomplish that was not what Angus would want.
“I see that your hospitality to a guest is as gracious as ever,” she drawled, and was sure she heard MacIvor snort with laughter, but she did not dare take her gaze from Sir Fergus to see for herself.
“The mon is nay a guest, but a prisoner,” snapped Sir Fergus.
“A prisoner ye said ye would release as soon as I came to ye. Weel, here I am, so release him.”
“I am nay sure I ought to do that. Nay, at least not until we are off the MacReith lands.”
It had been a fleeting hope that he would not only hold to his word but do so without trying any tricks. “Do ye mean to go back on your word?”
“Of course not,” he said so quickly she knew he was lying. “I said I would release him, but I ne’er said when.”
Cecily chanced a fleeting glance toward Laird MacIvor and saw him nod to himself as if he had just had a question answered or some decision confirmed. “That, sir, is naught but a base trickery, for ye ken weel that the immediate release of Sir Artan was what ye had agreed to.”
“’Tis nay my fault that Laird Angus didnae have the wit to make it more specific.”
“Actually, I believe the lass here is the one ye made the agreement with,” murmured Laird MacIvor, standing up and idly leaning against the edge of the table.
“Fine then,” snapped Sir Fergus. “Then ’tis she who lacked the wit to be most specific.” He glared at Cecily. “And why are ye dressed as if someone has died?”
“Nay someone but something. I dress in mourning for all my lost dreams,” she said in a soft, unsteady voice and sighed a little.
“Ye would be wise to nay try to anger me.”
“Sir Fergus, there appears to be verra little anyone can do that doesnae anger ye.”
Cecily could see that she could, indeed, hold his attention on her. Angering him did that very efficiently. She hoped Angus was quick to arrive, however, for angering Sir Fergus Ogilvey was the surest way to get struck down, and she could not be sure that Laird MacIvor would do anything to stop him. While his beating her would certainly keep him occupied, Cecily would greatly prefer it if Angus arrived first.
“It would appear that MacIvor has decided he has had enough of Sir Chinless,” murmured Angus as he looked around at all the MacIvor men now camping outside of Sir Fergus’s camp.
Ian the Fair nodded as he also looked around. “Aye, and I ken weel that they ken we are here, and yet they do naught.”
“But where is MacIvor?”
“Still in the camp? He did give ye his word that Artan willnae be killed. Mayhap he stays near at hand to be sure that promise is kept.”
“Ah, aye. I suspicion that is just what he is doing. And it would seem that he has also figured out we mean to come and get Artan ourselves, hence putting all his men out of the way.”
“Weel, that is a fine thing, but it still leaves us all of those Lowlanders to deal with.”
“But there are holes in the defenses now, lad. ’Twill be easier to slip in and get Artan and Cecily out of there.”
“Aye, I could see that the lass didnae want to get near that bastard Sir Fergus, but she wasnae going to let Artan come to harm. She has spine.”
“Aye, she does.”
